The Devil We Know (Ends World #5)

9. Playing Dumb

9

Playing Dumb

Jessica

Well, I am officially fucked.

It seems our training time was short-lived, and now, here I am, on my way down into what appears to be a viper’s nest.

Yes, I’m being overly dramatic, but in my defense, the whole idea that I accidentally found myself in the facility of the enemy is rather preposterous, given the lengths we had to go to get me in here.

This means I’ll have to try playing the ditzy trick until what could possibly be my dying breath.

The odds of me not being found out before finding Matt are slim to none, given the amount of activity in this shit hole.

Of course, calling it a shit hole seems even more preposterous, given how lavish this fucking place is. The original structure is obviously old; the large black stone blocks that make up the floors, walls, and ceiling are shiny with polish. There are few windows; instead, faux windows have been added down the hallways, and heavy draperies surround the glow of light emitting from them.

It reeks of money and power and I know exactly what kind of chaos can be reaped from money and power.

I already had to do a quick turnabout when I accidentally entered what appeared to be a large functional room overflowing with people, and luckily, they were just busy enough that they didn’t notice me in the brief second that I was in the doorway. As it turns out, the blueprints of this building they had me study were complete bullshit because so far, none of these rooms existed. Which means I’m fucking lost.

I appeared to be rather put together when I burst out on this venture, but I now fear that I look a little worse for wear. I’m sure my hair is in tatters, and I’m sweating profusely. It’s going to be rather difficult for me to sell any type of nonchalance when I’m finally found out because I am feeling anything but nonchalant.

This brings to mind all of Antoinette and Carolina’s teachings on vague idiocy.

It’s basically as simple as being intentionally confusing to throw them off.

Of course, then Carolina worries that if you act too stupid, they’re going to think that you’re a plaything, and that’s not something you want, either.

Though as Antoinette further explained, being a plaything is better than being a dead thing.

Not wanting to be a plaything or a dead thing, my heart is racing in my chest. I take a moment to lean back against the wall in this darkened hallway to get my bearings.

I’m slowly realizing that this was a bad fucking idea. Just because you bludgeon one poor bastard to death doesn’t a secret agent make.

Needing to get my heart rate under control, I take a few calming breaths, and remember what all of them repeated over and over again. Worry about right now. Worry about this moment.

I remain in place until my pulse begins to slow, and then I take one more cleansing breath and push myself off the wall, heading down the hallway with some purpose. I stupidly go around a corner with zero caution and run directly into a hard, tall person.

I attempt to push away and jump backward, but strong hands grip my biceps. I struggle for a moment, but the grip on me tightens painfully, so I freeze, staring at a chest, and then a voice grits out, “Who the fuck are you?”

Words are stuck in my mouth; though I open it, nothing comes out. And then I choke and cough on my own saliva, and the man releases me but steps in closer so I’m crowded against the wall while I continue to sputter and gag.

This is fucking embarrassing.

After a few painful moments, I compose myself and stand up straight, pressing my back against the wall, finally looking up at the man who’s standing there, giving me a disgusted look.

“I’m sorry. What did you ask?” I finally manage to say.

The man glares at me, and I do my best not to laugh because, honestly, that’s my first inclination.

He steps close to me, and I attempt to move backward. I just end up pressing myself more firmly against the wall as he says levelly, “I asked who the fuck you are. How the fuck did you get in here?”

I blink at him, opening my mouth to reply and then snapping it shut as I try to decide how best to answer. Finally, I decide to play dumb.

“You know, I’m not quite sure how I got here, either.”

His frown deepens, his arms coming up and crossing over his chest as he replies dryly, “Really? You’re going to play dumb?”

I gasp, my hand coming up and pressing against my chest as I say, “Dumb? Why, I never.”

His frown deepens again, and now he’s glaring at me as his hands drop down to his sides, fisting in aggravation. “I don’t think now is an appropriate time for you to pull this shit. Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here and how you got here.”

I rest my hands on my hips and lift my chin defiantly as I say, “Well, there’s no reason to be rude.”

Shockingly, his frown manages to deepen even further and a little zing of glee zaps through me. I’m totally understanding where Antoinette comes from with this type of strategy.

He moves quickly. I hardly see his hand moving until the next thing I know it’s in front of me with a blade stuck under my nose. Now, my mouth snaps shut for other reasons. He leans in until his face is only a few inches from mine, his eyes on the blade as he whispers, “I suggest you fucking tell me.”

I’m also staring at the blade, going over every bit of advice given to me over the last few days.

Finally, I say, “I was sent for Matt.”

The man freezes, his eyes moving from the blade to mine. He cocks his head at me and says, “Really?”

I nod as I finally manage to reply, “Yes. They sent me over for Matt. That’s all I know. They told me to go into the building and find Matt.”

He raises his brows, backing away an inch or two as he asks, “Then why didn’t you say so?”

I shrug, shaking my head as I mutter, “I have anxiety. Okay?”

He steps back from me, putting the knife back into his pocket where I’m assuming there must be some kind of sheath for it. He says sternly, “I’ll take you to him. But no funny business, or I’ll fucking break your neck.”

I nod in agreement, my hands waving around dismissively, or crazily, or however he’s probably going to take it. “You got it. No funny business.”

We walk along a maze of corridors until, eventually, he stops short in front of me, and I have to pull up quickly to avoid running into the back of him. He turns around, glowers at me, and says, “Stay here. Don’t fucking move.”

I give him a short nod and say nothing, and then he walks a few feet away and stops in front of a door, pounding his fist on it a few times before standing there, waiting. After a few beats, the door opens a crack, and the man whispers something incoherent. After a short exchange, the door closes, and he comes back over to me and says, “He’s in there. Knock on the door and wait until you’re let in. Don’t try anything fucking stupid, or you’ll think I was a nice guy.”

Again, I nod but say nothing. He steps to the side, so I walk over to the door, slamming my fist on it a few times the same way he did. I look over at him. He simply glares at me, spins on his heel, and stalks away.

I swallow the lump in my throat, turning my focus back to this nondescript door, and then I wait.