Chapter Five

Dr. Aliev kept to his word and put an ankle splint on my repaired ankle, not too long after I woke up. He was especially gentle with it, being extra careful not to break my ankle again. If I was in any pain, however, Whiskey kept his coarse on top of mine, allowing me to squeeze it hard if I was hurting. That's how much Whiskey has grown since I met him.

At first, when I met him, Whiskey seemed like the tough-skinned, crazy-ass cowboy who was incapable of love. Now that I've known him for some time, I realized that I was the one who feared love rather than him. I guess that's what happens when you try to recover from a big tragedy like your twin brother's death.

"Just make sure you're careful," the doctor advised as Whiskey and I left the medical bay and headed to our refuge wing.

The Romanov Agency was gracious enough to find us our very own room for us to rest and recover in. It was a large, very nice room that would put any normal hotel room to shame. This was not a simple hotel room. It was a suite. There was a soft, queen-sized bed that was directly adjacent from a decently sized window that overlooked a sweet view of Yekaterinburg. There was also a nice couch, a couple chairs, a side table, and a big flat-screen television. I could live here if I wanted to, but I knew that I couldn't because of this mission.

Balor needed to be stopped, and Whiskey and I were the only ones who could do just that.

I was sprawled out across the bed, while Whiskey leaned against the window frame, looking out to the city outside. He was running a plan in his head about what to do next, since this surgery of mine threw everything out of proportion. However, it was necessary for me to get this surgery. Otherwise, I'd be in much worse condition than I was already in.

"So what now?" I asked Whiskey, still keeping my eyes glued to the ceiling above.

Whiskey, meanwhile, kept his eyes glued on the world outside the window. "Nothing we can do but to go to that ball tonight, sugar."

"Luckily, I used the express mail and ordered a ball gown just in time," I remarked. "It should be here any minute now."

Whiskey gave me a confused and shocked glance. "When did you order that?"

"On the private jet to Russia, right before I fell asleep."

Whiskey chuckled as he moved away from the window and sat along the edge of the bed, slowly running his hand up and down the inside of my thigh. "I learn somethin' new about ya every day."

"So do I," I said, swallowing some water and two painkiller tablets. "I didn't know about half the shit I did."

A knock then emerged at the door, which caused me to stir. Slowly, I rolled out of the bed, swung my feet around to the floor, and hobbled over to the door. I walked like a pirate with a peg leg, with my right leg remaining straight, while my left leg operated normally. It pained me to be handicapped like this, but I knew that this was the very best case scenario for someone like me with a broken fucking ankle.

When I opened the door, I saw the package sitting on the ground in front of me. It was a normal, six-by-eight foot cardboard box, clattered with a good amount of shipping and customs-approval labels. I tried to crouch down to the ground to grab it, but it was no use with the ankle splint on my ankle.

"I got it, sugar. Don't worry," Whiskey said, reaching down to grab the package.

"Are you sure?" I asked, hobbling back into the room.

Whiskey beamed confidently. "Of course. Plus, it ain't even that heavy, despite it being a ball gown."

"Trust me, Whiskey. Not all ball gowns are heavy. It all depends on the material," I responded. "This dress just happens to be made of a shitload of chiffon, rhinestones, and sparkled beading."

"Is chiffon supposed to be light?"

"Yeah. But you'll have to find that out for yourself after I put this on," I said, dashing off to the bathroom so I could start getting ready.

It didn't take long for me to get ready, even though it was strenuous to do so. After curling my hair and pulling some strands back to make it a half-up hairstyle, I transitioned into putting on some makeup. Not much of it because it would mostly be covered by my black, lace masquerade mask. I carefully slipped into the dress and struggled to zip it up because my arms simply couldn't reach. Eventually, after several minutes of struggling, I gave up and marched out into the rest of the room to get some help from Whiskey.

I caught a glimpse of him as I marched out. He was clad in a black tuxedo and necktie, with shiny black shoes as well. A fancy, gold-and-black watch graced his wrist, and a solid black masquerade mask remained over his head by being tied in place. He was like a prince of darkness, even though deep down, I saw that rough-and-tumble cowboy. That's all I knew him as. A crazy, rough-riding cowboy who was capable of loving hard.

"Hey, Whiskey. I'm havin' trouble zipping up this dress. You think you can help me out?" I asked.

He kept staring at me, his eyes glossed over with astonishment. His mouth was slightly agape, as his hands remained stuffed in the pockets of his pants. He was frozen in place. It was like I broke him with how apparently beautiful I looked.

"Hello, pretty mama," he eventually said.

I blushed. "Pretty mama? That's a new one."

"I only say that when I'm lookin' at the most gorgeous human being on the planet," he complimented, "and that human being is you. And it will always be you."

I smiled, but not enough to make my teeth show. I hadn't heard someone compliment me on how beautiful I was in a long time. It had to be while Devin was still alive. The rest is a blur from there.

"And if I say that you aren't, you have my permission to use that glock of yours and shoot me in the head," he continued.

"Let me make this clear," I answered. "You're saying that if you ever say that I'm not the most gorgeous human being on this planet, then I have your permission to shoot ya in the head?"

Without skipping a beat, Whiskey responded clearly. "That's exactly correct, yeah."

My mouth hung wide open as I became gobsmacked with Whiskey's response. Well, okay then, I thought to myself. If Whiskey gave me permission to shoot him in the head for something he says, then that's his decision. I'm not going to stop him.

After slipping on strapped, black heels with gold jewels, I made it up onto my feet, testing to make sure I could walk at a half-ass normal function. Anything from my knee down to my foot, I need to make it as stiff as possible. As it turned out, I could walk normally, but a weird, itching feeling that came from the ankle splint accompanied the pacing.

"You ready to go, sugar?" Whiskey asked, briefly checking his watch.

I grabbed a small clutch purse I kept on the bedside table and adjusted the elbow-length gloves I had on me. "Yep. More ready than ever."

He offered his arm, allowing me to take it. Of course, I did, but I made sure I was gentle when I did it, despite me being the not-so-gentle type of girl. My hand grasped onto his large, solid bicep as he gently led the both of us out of the room.

* * * * * * * * * *

As Whiskey and I traveled to Balor's villa, a lot of questions were going through my head.

What if Balor discovered us?

What's the plan to getting Balor to spill his deepest darkest secrets about his plans for global genocide?

All these questions had me creating fake scenarios in my head, so that I had a plan for every possible scenario that could come up.

"Hey, sugar. This just came up. How in the hell are we gonna get Balor to spill his deepest darkest secrets about what he plans to do to this world?" he asked, somehow keeping one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift.

I smiled menacingly. "I'm glad you asked!"

I adjusted myself in the seat so that I could fix up my dress, being careful to not ruin it by either ripping or wrinkling it up. Then, I went into the in-depth look into my plan:

"We're gonna use pseudonyms and fake backstories. My name will be Isabelle Schneider, and you'll be my older brother Aaron Schneider. We're both socialites from Germany. We both reside in Berlin with our parents—Matilda and Alaric Schneider—who are philanthropists by day and agents for the German Embassy by night. We're attending this ball because our parents got tied up at work, so they sent us in their place. Any questions?"

"Yeah. If they ask what we mean by 'tied up at work', what are we supposed to say?" he asked.

"I was gonna joke that it takes a good amount of time to hide a body," I answered. "If I say that, then we might get onto Balor's good side, as well as some of his little friends."

Whiskey cocked one of his eyebrows up, silently asking me what the hell I was thinking. To be honest, I'm never thinking. I never had—or never will—had a speed bump between my brain and my mouth, and it's been that way all my life. And I don't plan on changing it just because I'm with Whiskey.

"Well, that's one way to convince him," he said, shrugging and agreeing with me.

After Whiskey and I got our plan figured out, we finally—after a long time—arrived at Balor's villa, which was much larger than some of the biggest mansions I've seen.

It was almost like a modern take on a castle in Spain. A healthy mix between mansion, home, and palace. Although I could see it at a distance, it already looked like it was going to be a huge fortress of solitude. Whiskey pulled up to the black, iron gates that were nailed between one giant stone wall and waited for them to open up.

"Good evening. What are your names?" a voice asked in a German accent.

I jumped and started to look for the source at which the voice came from. Turns out, it was from a small black box that was firmly on the stone wall. Must be a security camera, I thought. And the voice that spoke…it must be one of Balor's affiliates representing Germany.

"Trust me, Whiskey. I got this," I said, clearing my throat.

I then responded to the voice, speaking fluent German. "I'm Isabelle Schneider, and the man in the driver's seat is my older brother Aaron. We're representing the Schneider party from the German Embassy in Berlin."

There was only a few moments of silence before the voice chimed on again, but this time, it was speaking English. "Welcome, Schneiders. The Boss is so pleased to have you here."

The iron gates then slowly opened up, but before Whiskey continued down the driveway to the villa, he looked at me with a look of not only shock, but pure wonder as well.

"I didn't know you spoke fluent German," he said.

"Let's just say I took German all four years of my high school career and still remember a few words," I answered. "Also had to touch up on it to find out some new words to say tonight, as well, just in case Balor decides to speak German to throw us off."

Whiskey and I rolled up to the driveway directly in front of the villa, parking the car a little bit away from the front doorstep. I tried to open the door and get out of the truck myself, but Whiskey reached over the console and yanked the passenger door shut.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I was getting out of the car," I answered.

He shook his head back and forth. "No, no, no. Not happenin', sugar. Let me get the door for you."

Immediately, he got out of the truck and slammed the door shut, rushing over to the passenger and opening the door. He stuck out his hand, offering it for me to take. Of course, I did, gently placing my hand into his and going with him inside.

"Can't risk ruining that ball gown of yours, can we?" he remarked in a low tone voice.

"We certainly can't," I answered, fixing the skirt so that I didn't trip over it.

As soon as we entered the villa, we came across a landing where a grand staircase awaited us. I didn't know where the ballroom was, so Whiskey decided to lead us to it, solely following the loud noise. Apparently, it worked because we soon came across a set of two large mahogany doors, which opened up to the bustling ballroom ahead.

Before we entered, I helped Whiskey adjust his masquerade mask by making sure it was tightly tied onto his head. In exchange, he fluffed out the skirt of my dress, even going as far as making sure the ankle splint I had on was comfortable and stable.

"You know, you didn't have to check that," I commented. "No one will notice it with my dress."

He looked up at me and raised his left eyebrow, partially ignoring what I said. After I adjusted the gloves on my hands, I once again took Whiskey's arm, feeling his rock-solid bicep through his tux. I bit my bottom lip, allowing me to inhale sharply before entering the ballroom with Whiskey. Even though I was anxious with the new surroundings, I knew I had to keep up a strong facade. I couldn't break. If I broke, then the entire plan that Whiskey and I had could go to shit really quickly.

We made our way to the ballroom floor, so we could pass time before Balor emerged to the public view. Blending in with the crowd seemed awfully easier than I thought. All Whiskey and I had to do was not draw attention to ourselves, and that went partially according to plan. Sure, we had people whispering and looking at us, but maybe it's because they were trying to figure out who, among Balor's guests, we were. As long as we convinced the crowd that we were representing the Schneiders from the German Embassy in Berlin, me and Whiskey will be fine.

Both of us took our spots in the middle of the floor. Once the slow music started, Whiskey gently placed his hand on my back, which caused me to sharply inhale a breath. I could almost taste the billowing cologne on his neck, as he twirled me in his arms. He'd hold me close, and I could feel the warmth of him heating my body. Every time we'd lock eyes, I'd see a different side of him. He was confident and serious, but in a way that made him darker than ever before. It was like he was eerily confident in embracing his dark side subtly. It was like he was an entirely different person, and I could tell that by his polished brown eyes.

In the midst of Whiskey sweeping me off my feet on the dance floor, I caught a glimpse of the balcony up above. It was like the Devil himself had appeared there, clad in an all-black tuxedo and black-and-red masquerade mask. Even from where I was, his presence sent a fearful chill down my spine. The angel of darkness—or pure hell for that matter—looked down on the dancing and socialization below. And even though I was far away from where he was, I could tell by his dark, soulless eyes that he didn't deserve a place in the darkest hell. All because I saw nothing behind his eyes. He wasn't just evil because of his fragile past. No, the past of his fueled his evil ways.

He was just the purest incarnation of the devil—if not, much more evil than Satan himself—that could ever doom the Earth.

In his eyesight, I immediately became afraid of him. It seemed like every time he showcased his dark glare beneath the mask, I would get nightmares of his past crimes and murders. Daily executions at his hand, for that matter. If the rumors were true, he'd average about five a day. To me, his hellish personality left chaos and ruin in his wake. His terrifying, dark-shadowed wake.

"He's here," I told Whiskey, not breaking the strong gaze I had on him.

Whiskey took a glance at the balcony, seeing Balor overlooking the ball below. "I guess that's our signal, then."

"I'll go up there and work my magic," I said, then bringing my voice down to a lower voice. "Hopefully, you could pay me back by working your magic when we have downtime."

Whiskey chuckled. "Just wait 'til we're completely alone," he whispered deeply into my ear.

I smiled subtly and reluctantly escaped his secure grasp. I didn't want to leave. Whiskey made me feel safe in his arms, and leaving them stirred a familiar feeling of anxiety and stress inside me. Still, I kept my confident front, picking up the skirt of my dress and marching to the top of the balcony. I ascended the stairs with angelic grace, keeping my eye on the top of the stairs.

Once I reached the top, an ominous feeling rang through me. His eyes set my soul aflame, leaving a lasting sense of burning hesitation in me. But I knew that I had to keep up the act in order to find out more about Balor's plans for world genocide. If I didn't, then Whiskey and I would get nowhere…and once again, the world and all of its inhabitants would be completely fucked and signing their lives away.

"And who might you be?" Balor asked in a low tone voice, using just his hand to dismiss the rest of his henchmen.

I inhaled sharply and introduced myself, ultimately starting this act. "Isabelle Schneider, daughter of Matilda and Alaric Schneider. I hail from Berlin and lived there for most of my life."

"Matilda and Alaric Schneider? Don't they work for the German Embassy?" Balor asked.

"They do," I simply confirmed. "Philanthropists by day, assassins for the German Embassy by night."

"Mmm. Assassins," he repeated, soon changing the subject that I was already prepared for. "Might I ask why they aren't here tonight?"

"They got tied up at work. Apparently, hiding the dead body of a highly-respected German official is a lot more complicated than throwing some dirt over top of the corpse. So they sent me and my older brother in their place."

He placed his hand on my back, feeling the material of the ballgown. As he did this, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep me from doing anything too out of the ordinary.

"I see."

Then, I decided to form my next plan of attack. I had to get Balor to spill his guts about what he had planned for his plans of genocide on a global scale. To enact my first phase, I decided to use some gestures that I considered seductive in a way. As Balor looked away, I used my index finger to turn his face toward me, bringing his attention to me.

"So a little birdie told me that you have a plan to blow Earth off the map," I said.

His sullen face turned into one of beaming, evil pride. "I sure do. In fact, I think this plan is absolutely foolproof."

Then, he got into a long monologue about his plans for global genocide. From what I uncovered, it's a dastardly plan. A plan so dastardly that I almost threw up out of pure disgust. How could a man be so evil? How could he be here and living without a shred of humanity left in his bones?

"This world. This damned world. It's caused me too much pain. So, in a fit of revenge, I came up with a plan. A plan so complex and foolproof that no one can stop me. You wanna know why I came up with this plan? Because the world let me down. It let me the fuck down. It was supposed to not only give me what I deserve, but also give me opportunities to rebuild my life. It never did."

"Well, I guess that's what you get for living the life of a criminal," I said finally.

"I guess so," Balor said, his eyes turning from sincere and broken to malicious and homicidal, "but rules are rules. The world has to pay for the pain it's caused me. So I'm making a weapon. A chemical weapon that's going to unleash something onto this world that will cause everything and everyone on it to die."

I kept my Stoic facade, but inside, I was jumping for joy. I was getting all the information Whiskey and I needed to stop Balor.

"What's the chemical used in this weapon?"

"Chlorine gas. Enough of it in the atmosphere will deprive Earth of all the life it has on it," Balor explained, "and those antidotes that those Kingsman agents stole are filled with potassium permanganate. Without it, then the concentrated hydrochloric acid can't react to it, which means there's no chlorine gas. That means the world can't choke to death."

"Is there any way to destroy it?" I interrogated, gently running my fingers up and down Balor's neck.

Balor shrugged. "Yeah. But it's top secret, though."

"I promise I won't tell," I said, speaking clearly and seductively into Balor's ear.

He sighed and relented to my request. Perfect. Exactly what I want, I thought.

"Fine. I'll tell ya," he finally responded.

There he goes, rambling on and on about how the chemical weapon could be destroyed. He described it in such perfect detail that it was like he was describing a scene to a blind person. I guess Balor didn't see me as a suspecting person, but it was partly because I was causing Balor to fall into my trap. My convoluted, genius plan of a trap.

"Wow. That's a lot to go through if you want to destroy the weapon," I finally commented.

"That's what makes the plan perfect," Balor answered. "These Kingsman agents won't have the brains, nor the balls, to destroy this weapon because it's too damn complicated. There's no way they'll know how to destroy it. And even if they did, there's no way they could remember all the steps it takes to dismantle this weapon and keep the world from dying a horrible death."

As part of the plan, I put my hand on the railing on the balcony, letting Whiskey know that it was time for tea to be spilled. I had pretty much all the information I needed to save the world, all thanks to this trap of mine. I felt proud of it. I managed to seduce the world's most wanted criminal into spilling all the details related to his downfall. It didn't stop me from pondering over one convoluted question:

How could a man so disgustingly evil—so evil that even the darkest hell doesn't have a place for him—be so stupid and naive?

But the only conclusion I could draw up was that evil blinds you. It blinds and brainwashes you to the point that everything you ever knew is twisted into a pessimistic lens. It changes you in the worst possible ways, and I have reason to believe that this happened to Balor in his terrifying ascension to power.

"Isabelle, Mother's calling," Whiskey spoke in a low tone voice in my ear.

"Alright. Excuse me," I said to Balor, taking Whiskey's arm and following him away from the scene.

He led me out of the ballroom and into a broom closet, allowing me to finally breathe normally again. It was relatively tiny, but it was much bigger than the box Whiskey and I were trapped in when we smuggled our way into Balor's secret facility in Chelyabinsk. It almost looked like a miniature version of a walk-in closet, but it was a lot more uncomfortable compared to normal large closets.

"You sure this is a safe spot to spill deep dark secrets?" I questioned, regaining some breath that I lost from seducing Balor.

"I'm definite, sugar. This thing has a stainless steel slide-bolt lock. One of the strongest ever made," Whiskey said, taking the strong steel lock and sliding it over as he locked us inside tightly.

It gave me time to take off my masquerade mask, seeing the world with normal eyes fairly briefly. "Boy, have I got some tea for ya!"

Whiskey took off his mask, carefully undoing the tied ribbon and letting it fall. He and I locked eyes again, and it was like the heavens opened up for me. Everything was, once again, right in the world. Everything I ever wanted was right here in front of me, so that makes me the happiest girl on this planet.

"You do? Spill everything you know," he said.

He propped his arm up, leaning against it and leaning closer to me. He and I were so close that I could feel his hot breath skirting my face. It made me shutter, but only subtly, before I started my long spiel about spilling Balor's secrets.

"So, according to Satan himself, he definitely has something to destroy the world with. I can confirm that he has a weapon getting constructed as we speak. The weapon itself is a chemical weapon designed to launch itself into the air and release chlorine gas into the atmosphere, ultimately killing everyone and everything that lives on the Earth below. And those antidotes that we stole from the mountains, yeah. Those are potassium permanganate crystals, and they're, along with concentrated hydrochloric acid, important in creating chlorine gas."

"Is there any way to destroy this weapon?" Whiskey asked.

"I'm glad you asked because he told me about that," I answered, "in precise detail too."

"Go ahead," he said with a smirk painted across his face. "I'm all ears."

I inhaled and started to explain to Whiskey what Balor told me. "He said there was an intricate way to cut some wires inside the machine. There were red, green, blue, black, and gray. I can't remember the way he said to cut them successfully, but he said that if you cut them the wrong way, it speeds up the process of the weapon releasing the gas into the air."

He kissed me hard, but only for a brief time. I could tell he was more than excited about this information. After we parted, Whiskey used his hand to grasp my chin and the top of my throat, tilting my head to face ahead.

"You're a genius. You know that," he complimented.

"I'd—I'd say so. Then again, I'm not that modest with myself," I answered hesitantly.

He then used only his index finger and thumb to tilt the head to the side. The side that was farthest away from him. My neck was exposed to him, and I could easily feel his hot breath gently blowing onto it. It sent chills down my spine, but these were different from the chills Balor sent. These were good chills. Chills that embraced the desire I had for Whiskey. I wanted him more than ever, but I never could take advantage of this feeling because of the mission we're both obligated to.

"I—I hope you know that I'm—I'm a virgin," I stuttered.

He smirked crookedly and let out a low chuckle. Even though I couldn't see his face, I assumed that he was somehow turned on by me. I don't know how I did it, but I somehow managed to turn him on. It didn't, however, help prepare me for what he was about to say next.

"Good. Then, maybe you'll scream my name a little bit louder for me."

I nibbled at my bottom lip, waiting for what was about to happen next. Well, the unexpected did happen. He aggressively—but in a gentle way—planted his moist lips onto the side of my neck, kissing it as if he was making out with me. It sent electrifying pulses through my body, which also allowed me to feel when this intimate moment between Whiskey and I got a lot steamier. He then resorted to get a tad more aggressive with the kiss, progressively biting down onto my skin. Even though I couldn't see it, I rightfully assumed that it would leave bite marks in the morning.

Am I complaining? No. I actually want the bite marks. It'd be like wearing my own personal trophy.

"Fuck," I moaned.

Whiskey continued on with what he was doing, which—at the time—was biting down on my neck. As the tension between us continued to boil, I used my free hand to grasp tightly onto the skirt of the ballgown, with my other hand matching itself on the back of Whiskey's head. To prevent my eyes from rolling to the back of my hand, I closed them, allowing my mind to race and my heart to throb a lot stronger than ever.

The moment we were having was all ruined when I started to hear footsteps in the distance. Whiskey and I had to stop before anyone became suspicious, despite me wanting this moment to continue on.

"Whiskey, I'm hearin' footsteps," I muttered.

He stopped, looking up at the door and checking the lock on it. "Fuck. That means we gotta get out of here."

"I'm afraid it's Balor," I whispered, as the footsteps came closer. "If he finds out that we were in there together, he's either gonna think we're fucked up in the head, or not who we say we are."

I helped Whiskey tie on his masquerade mask, while he was careful in slipping mine back on. He didn't want to mess up the hair, which I have to give him credit for. He appreciated the job that I did on my hair.

Eventually, Whiskey and I got out of the cramped storage closet and evaded the passers-by, reentering the ballroom as if nothing had happened. Except…something did happen. Balor was not standing at his normal perch at the top of the balcony. He was nowhere to be seen. Alarms started to go off in my head, and my eyes started to wildly search for him. He could be anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. Then again, it was hard telling because he has such a huge estate.

"He's gone," I said to Whiskey.

"What?" he asked as he looked up at the balcony to find Balor's absence.

He also started to look for Balor, who could be checking out the ballroom scene. After all, it would be generous of him to greet his guests. But was he going to be generous? Well, there's a good chance that this evil, disgusting excuse of a man wouldn't. He's pure evil, why would he do such a thing?

"Just calm down," Whiskey whispered into my ear. "Let's get a drink. See if we can scope him out from there."

Whiskey and I then went to get drinks from the bar, standing and acting like we were normal members of society who were socializing to pass time. I kept my eyes peeled, looking for the angel of darkness in his red-and-black masquerade mask. Surprisingly, he was the only one wearing all black, so he couldn't be hard to miss.

"There he is," I said, subtly pointing him out to Whiskey from afar.

"Where?"

"Over on the far wall there," I answered. "He's looking for someone, I can tell."

Whiskey glanced at me. "You must be good at reading people then."

I shrugged and nodded, indicating that yes. I was indeed good at reading people and their body languages. Four years of criminal justice at university really paid off with that sort of shit.

"Don't worry, sugar. I'm here to protect ya," Whiskey reassured.

As the moon slowly ascended high into the sky, Whiskey and I found ourselves slowly swaying to the slow tunes of the live orchestra. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his consistent heartbeat over and over again. It made me feel safe and comfortable in his arms. Just like I always dreamed of.

"He's coming over to us, sugar," Whiskey said in a low-toned voice. "Be prepared."

I turned around to face Balor, who strolled up to face me with bold and eerily evil confidence. Though he looked intimidating, I was not afraid of this man, whether he had the mask on or not. I was not afraid of him.

"Rumors are swirling that you're single," Balor sneered.

I smiled and decided that I was going to play along. "Well, the rumors are wrong. I'm actually taken."

"I'd hate to come face-to-face with that guy."

"Good. You'll hate him anyway. He's an agent for the Rebellion," I lied partially.

"Where's he from?" Balor pestered.

"He's from None Of," I said in a thick German accent.

Balor cocked his eyebrow, becoming confused with my answer. "None Of?"

I smiled a wicked grin. "None of your damn business!"

Whiskey tried so hard not to laugh, but he managed to do everything in his power to keep his cool. Balor, on the other hand, was not very pleased. His face started turning beet red, and his fists clenched up tightly. He was thinking about punching me, but I wasn't afraid of a little punch. I've faced trainees for the Secret Service bigger than him. Balor would be no problem for me to take down. After all, I did it once before. Why not a second time?

"Well, then, that boyfriend of yours better run from a fucking bitch like you. You're just as bad as those Kingsman agents trying to stop me from destroying the world," he sternly said in a low voice. "I bet that when you two are alone, he's going to dump you in a heartbeat when he realizes that you aren't what he expected in the bedroom."

I gasped. Out of impulse, I quickly slapped Balor on the side of his jaw, causing him to recoil slightly.

"Time to go, sugar," Whiskey said, taking me firmly by the wrist and dragging me out of the ballroom.

After turning around, I followed Whiskey as we dashed out of the ballroom and to the outside, the back half of my dress's skirt dancing in the breeze I created from sprinting. Despite me having an ankle splint on, I was running a lot faster than I thought I would. Then again, I only did it to keep up with Whiskey, who started up the truck quickly after I got in. Luckily, my dress didn't get ripped throughout the pursuit. As Whiskey started to pull away, Balor came out to the front steps of his mansion standing there helplessly.

I took this opportunity to rip off my masquerade mask and turn around in my seat to face Balor. Whiskey drove the truck off in a flash, while I decided to leave Balor a message that would probably stick, since Whiskey and I had successfully snuck into his masquerade ball and tricked him.

"So long, motherfucker," I shouted at Balor, giving him two middle fingers and laughing uncontrollably.

Whiskey then rammed through the front gates and got us onto the main road, speeding away just in case we were being chased. Good thing we weren't.

"You had to do that?" he asked.

"Well, yeah. I never felt more alive doin' that," I answered. "We tricked Balor. We got 'im on his toes. And we have pretty much all the information we need to take him down."

Whiskey chuckled. "We sure do, sugar. We sure do."

He wrapped his arm around me, bringing me closer to him as we continued to drive off into the night back to the Romanov Agency. Now, Whiskey and I had the necessary steps we needed to take down Balor—in the future—in a climactic final battle. And I crave and dread to see the day that that happens.