Chapter Seven

I woke up the next day, feeling quite the peculiar feeling. It wasn't anything bad, but it just felt…different. I felt much different. It was a good kind of different, so I didn't complain at all. Even the soreness I felt didn't stop me from spitting out one single complaint. When I finally came to my senses, I looked down to the floor next to my side of the bed and saw a messy pile of my clothes. Then, I finally realized what happened last night.

I almost forgot about it, but my clothes on the floor made me relive all the memories from last night.

I let out a confused, shocked scream that wasn't even considered very loud. Still, Whiskey must've caught wind of it because he came out of nowhere to see why I was screaming the way I did.

"What? What's goin' on, sugar?" he asked.

I stammered, trying to explain to Whiskey what was going on. But full sentences couldn't be formed. Instead, I had to resort to only syllables, which were the only things that were coming out of my mouth. Still frustrated, I unleashed a frustrated yell that solidified what I was trying to say. Whiskey was baffled with my reaction, but after seeing my messy pile of clothes on the floor, he finally understood what I was so flustered about.

"Okay. Say that again, but in English, please," he said.

I inhaled a sharp, frosty breath before speaking. "Did we—did we do what I think we did last night? Remind me again."

"Yeah. We did what you think we did," Whiskey confirmed.

"So I slept with you last night?" I asked, just to reaffirm my suspicions that what happened last night wasn't a hallucination.

"Yeah."

I stared at Whiskey blankly, spacing out of reality for a hot minute. Even though I was consenting, I couldn't believe that I slept with Whiskey for the first time last night. It was something that I—from a couple months ago—didn't dream of doing. Now, I'm a changed person, having technically followed my ground rules. But at this point, I'm willing to forego them for Whiskey's sake. I established these rules because I was afraid of falling in love after what happened to Devin. I put them in place to consider them a firm set of boundaries for me. They served as a reminder to me that I can't go too far with someone.

But now that I'm romantically involved with Whiskey, things have changed.

Clad in my second of three winter uniforms I have for the Statesman, I followed Whiskey to the town of Kurgan. Our purpose…to scope out the aftermath of this terrorist attack and possibly get some more intel about Balor and his men. Hell, maybe we could capture a couple of his men along the way. I wouldn't complain if we did. As I walked by Whiskey's side and feeling more protected than ever, Whiskey took notice of my odd behavior. My odd behavior, to him, was that I apparently wasn't even in the slightest bit cold.

"Sugar, are you sure you ain't a lil' bit cold?" he asked.

I grinned and shook my head side-to-side. "Nope. I'm all toasty."

"Really? You're not cold at all?"

"Nope," I said, still beaming with pride. "I got my gray turtleneck, fuzzy black coat here, fuzzy earmuffs, thermal black snow pants, and fuzzy white snow boots. I'm all good, baby."

He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "That's a new one for me, sugar."

"Hey. You call me pretty mama and your good girl, I can call you baby," I said, backing up my reasoning.

Our joyful conversation soon turned to dead silence, as Whiskey and I came across the damage from the terrorist attack. It was god awful. Not just because of the odor lingering in the air, but also because of the images that were imprinted into my mind. It was like a tornado hit the town square, as broken glass was strewn about every inch of the ground. Sheet metal, totaled cars, and even demolished buildings scattered the area, only adding to the devastation. Ashes scattered the ground as Whiskey and I felt the crunch of the broken glass beneath our feet.

It broke me down immensely, but I didn't let it show. Instead, I kept a decently strong front, still letting my depression and heartbreak show. A singular tear rolled down my face as I continued to take in the devastation Balor and his men caused.

"This is awful," I finally said. "Who in their right mind would do something like this?"

"No one who loomed in the dark. That's for sure," Whiskey answered.

I glanced over at him, and he looked equally as disappointed as I did. "You think Balor got so involved in crime that it messed with his head?" I asked.

"Hard tellin', sugar. A terrorist's psychology is a complicated one. We won't know until we get closer to him and find out what the hell's goin' on," he responded.

"Good luck with that. It's gonna be a bitch to even get within six feet of that monster," I said back in a relatively quiet voice.

"How about somethin' easier? We track down an eyewitness. Someone who's been close to Balor and knew everything about him. We'd have to take their word on what the hell is going on with Balor and why he's the way he is."

"But where are we gonna find an eyewitness, Whiskey? I can't navigate Kurgan to save my life, let alone the entirety of Russia," I questioned. "Russia's a big ass country, and combing through it just to find one person who closely knew Balor is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack. Gonna be a bitch to do, and it'll take a long time doing it."

Whiskey once again smirked, but this time, it was a smirk that he gave when he knew something I didn't. "Lucky for you, sugar, we won't have to look that far."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, turning to the earpiece. "Ginger, what does Whiskey mean by the fact that we won't have to look that far?"

Ginger's calm voice came in through both me and Whiskey's earpieces. "There's an eyewitness who used to work for Balor back in the day, but he's since turned against him and joined the Romanov Agency. Whiskey should know where he is. I'll warn you two. He only speaks Russian."

I turned to Whiskey. "Where is this guy?"

"There's a bookstore not too far from here. I think he's there," he answered.

"Then, let's get there now before Balor gets further up our asses than he already is," I said.

Whiskey and I ventured over to the bookstore, which was about twenty yards away from the town square's center. It took me a bit before I was able to walk through the mahogany door, mainly because I had to drive the horrible images from the attack's aftermath out of my head. But I finally set them aside as I inhaled sharply and followed Whiskey inside. He held my hand tightly as we walked in, letting me know that he was here. He was here to protect me.

"I don't know how we're gonna understand this guy if he only speaks Russian," Whiskey remarked.

I scoffed. "That won't be a problem. I know Russian."

"I didn't know you speak Russian," he said.

"Whenever I'd have time after school and during the summer, I'd teach myself," I explained. "Now, I'm practically fluent."

"As long as we can communicate with this guy, I don't care," Whiskey shrugged.

There was only one person in that tiny bookshop. A young man who looked at least twenty-four years old. A man with a strong jawline, jet black hair, and dark black eyes. Not only did he look like a bodybuilder or bodyguard, but he also looked like one who'd work for Balor. Dark, brooding, overall mean-lookin'. That's the typical picture for Balor and his henchmen.

"What can I do for you two?" he asked, as Whiskey and I walked up to the counter.

I turned to Whiskey, my eyes practically begging him to let me do the talking. He nodded, pulling out his Statesman badge. I followed suit and pulled out mine as well.

"I'm Agent Blackjack, and this is Agent Whiskey. We're from the Statesman Agency in the United States, and we're on a mission to take down Balor Devlin," I explained, of course in fluent Russian. "A little birdie told us that you were the person-of-interest that could spill all the beans about Balor."

"For sure," he said back in Russian. "Whatever you ask me, I'll be able to give you answers. What do you need to know?"

"First of all, what's your name? For the sake of the mission," I asked, again speaking in Russian.

"Luka. Luka Sokolovsky," he answered simply but sternly.

Then, a lengthy interrogation took place, with both Luka and I speaking in fluent Russian. For the sake of storytelling, I'll reveal what I asked and what Luka's answers were. Because looking back on this moment in the future, I know damn well that Whiskey isn't going to remember what I said, so I'll keep it to the English version.

"So, Luka…how'd Balor get involved in crime in the first place?"

"Oh, he's been in that game for a long time. Ever since he was, I think, ten years old. He stole a candy bar from a shop after his mother turned away from him for a little bit to pay for the food they bought. He loved the thrilling rush from that, so he continued on with the petty crimes until he was seventeen," Luka explained.

"What do you mean by 'petty crimes'?" I asked.

"You know. Porch pirating, burglary, robbery, shoplifting…anything that you could be easily bailed out for. But Balor never got caught with all that. That's why he's been on the most wanted radar for such a long time."

"You said he engaged in those petty crimes from ten all the way to seventeen. What happened when he turned seventeen?" I questioned.

"He dropped out of high school. Decided to pursue crime for a living, much to his parents' chagrin. Father wasn't happy and became abusive, inflicting torture on Balor pretty much every day. Mother was heartbroken, but she didn't try to change him. She was afraid of the man Balor had become."

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"Well, he engaged in more serious crimes for the next couple years after that. But it all went downhill when he turned nineteen. That's when Balor's father murdered his entire family then killed himself afterwards, which left Balor the only surviving member of his inner family circle. Since then, he went so far downhill."

"What do you mean by downhill?"

"Not terribly long after that, Balor had to go to a psychologist, where he was diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder, or IED for short," Luka explained. "If you don't know already, IED is an awful mental disorder that's highlighted by frequent aggressive and violent outbursts or behavior that could be verbal as well as physical."

I gave Luka a relatively confused look. "You're right. I haven't heard of IED before."

"Again, it's an awful disorder where you basically act grossly out of proportion to the situation," Luka added. "After he found out he had intermittent explosive disorder, that's when Balor started to resort to global genocide and extremely violent terrorism."

I turned to Whiskey, switching languages so he could understand my English. "So Balor's diagnosis is partly the reason why he's such an evil person."

"Exactly," Whiskey said. "Another reason could be that his family's murder-suicide situation could've pushed him over the edge."

I turned back to Luka, speaking to him in fluent Russian. "So why is Balor doing all of these awful acts? You should know."

"He thinks he's being heroic. Ever since that tragedy happened with his family, he thinks the world fucked him over. Through these acts, he claims he's 'cleansing society' through terrorist acts, even though I don't think he is. Nobody thinks he is."

I shot a quick glance to Whiskey, who nodded silently while I turned back to Luka and continued speaking his native language of Russian. "Our intelligence suggests that you used to work for Balor for about a couple years. Why'd you choose to switch over to the good side and betray Balor?"

"It was getting too dangerous. Too unreasonable…I couldn't keep being affiliated with him. I've been married for about six months now, I have a baby on the way. I can't grow to be the man Balor has become. I have to be the family man that I always dreamed of being. I have to live my life the right way."

"You're doing great, Luka. Now, do you know any weaknesses of Balor? Anything that might be debilitating to him?"

"He can be blinded by his anger. When he's extremely angry, he can't think clearly, and his mind sort of fogs over. He can't think the clearest, and he can get distracted if he's steaming irate," Luka answered.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"I'm not terribly sure. He's quite sneaky and mobile when it comes to what he considers enemy agents riding his ass," Luka replied, "but I think they might be around here, still lingering after that terrorist attack."

"What do you mean by 'around here'?"

"There's a diner that's across the street. About twenty yards away from here. I think that's where I saw Balor and some of his men gathering," he pointed out.

Whiskey and I each took a turn to shake Luka's hand firmly, thanking him for his contributions. He barely had any idea, but Luka was our savior. He was the very person—the bridge—that brought us closer to Balor. So close, in fact, that Whiskey and I could feel ourselves breathing down Balor's neck.

We were so close that I could almost taste it.

Whiskey and I were so close to bringing down the evilest terrorist known to man, and it made me feel good knowing that we were just so close.

So close.