on my vigilante shit again.

“Not now, darlin’.”

Billy didn’t even glance up from his computer. You’d spent nearly an hour in the shower, shaved and exfoliated, lathered your body in lotion until you were silky smooth, spritzed on the perfume that always drove him wild, spent extra time on your hair and makeup, showed up to his office to surprise him, and…nothing.

He didn’t even look up when you’d seductively unbuttoned the long black wool coat and let it slip off your shoulders to pool on the floor around your heels, leaving you in a red lacy lingerie set that left very little to the imagination.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It had been like this for weeks now. A shipment had been stolen from the docks, and it had incited chaos. The Gnucci’s were pointing fingers at the Russians, the Russians were threatening to retaliate for the disrespect, and Billy had been drawn right into the middle of it because his guys were supposed to be the protection. You’d barely seen him at all lately.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out ‘til this dies down-”

“You’ve been saying that for over a month, William. I can’t stay cooped up in that goddamn penthouse, alone, anymore.”

Billy let out a frustrated exhale through his nose, leaning back in his chair to look at you, not even reacting to what you were wearing or how you looked, which had your stubborn confidence deflating.

“Would you quit bein’ a fuckin’ brat? I’m sorry you’re mad I can’t be up your ass right now, but I’m in the middle of some serious shit. Preventin’ an all out gang war is a bit more important than you gettin’ fucked. Christ, you act like you ain’t got toys to tide you over.”

His words incinerated you, and you reached down to rip your coat off the floor angrily.

“At least the only time those toys disappoint me is when the fucking batteries die. And if they can keep me satisfied, then what the hell do I need you for?”

Billy’s eyes darkened at your venomous words, but he could hear the clear hurt in your voice beneath the vexation, and it bothered him. It wasn’t like he enjoyed being away from you lately. He was frustrated that this situation had even happened, but he was more worried that if he didn’t handle it, someone might try to hurt you just to get back at him. 

Letting out a sigh, he rubbed his palm down his face as you hastily pulled your coat back on. 

“Look, just…hang on a minute, darlin’.”

He knew he was being unfair to you. The two of you had a very healthy sex life, or did, up until a month ago. He knew this attitude was purely sexual frustration, and you weren’t gonna calm down until you got what you wanted. 

And Billy could never deny you.

He glanced over at his office door, his eyes lingering on it for a moment seemingly in thought before they flickered back to you. 

“I know what you need, baby.”

The sudden saccharine softness of his voice perplexed you, a stark contrast to how he’d spoken to you just moments before, and the wicked smirk that stretched across his mouth clued you in that he was up to something, but you had no idea what. Before you could even ask, his eyes flickered over to the door again and he called out.

“Hey, Frankie.”

A few seconds later, the door opened, and a familiar figure stepped in, causing you to quickly wrap your coat around yourself tightly to protect your modesty as you shot Billy an incredulous look. He seemed to not have a care in the world that you were standing there in lingerie when Frank walked into the room.

“Yeah?”

Billy loosened the tie around his neck as he looked at Frank, gesturing to you with a nod of his head. 

“Take care of my girl, would ya? She’s feelin’ a bit neglected.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you gawked at Billy. Your brain refused to process the words that passed through your ears. Did he just offer you to Frank?

“What the fuck, Billy?”

“What? My hands are tied up right now, baby. Frank’s ain’t.”

All at once your cheeks flushed with heat, though you weren’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. Billy was serious. He was actually fucking serious. Frank, who had said maybe seven words to you the entire six months that you’d known him, seemed completely unphased by Billy’s command. You weren’t naive about who Billy was and what he did, and there was no naivety towards Frank either. 

You didn’t know much about Frank, other than that Billy had known him for a long time, was the person Billy trusted most in the world, and did virtually whatever Billy asked of him, no matter what it was. 

But would he do this?

He stood there with that broody expression you swore was permanent, the look in his dark brown eyes as unreadable as ever. He was like a statue. A big, broad, grumpy statute that communicated through grunts ninety percent of the time. He was the polar opposite of Billy in every way. While Billy was all designer labels, flirty charm, and a perfectly polished appearance, Frank was more rugged, a bit abrasive, and seemed to only own one pair of boots.

You were so completely dumbfounded, it took you a moment to stutter out an apology.

“I…God, Frank, I’m so sorry. I don’t…I have no idea why he-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. How you want it?”

You weren’t sure what it was that sent the tingle down your spine; his blunt question, or the rough baritone of his voice. Had he always sounded like that? You couldn’t remember. He never said much to you, and maybe you’d never paid him much attention because he was so goddamn intimidating. He was also so quiet that sometimes you forgot he was even in the room, which seemed impossible, because how the hell do you miss a man that looks like he could snap you in half and build a house with his bare hands.

“W-What?”

“You gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

All you could do was blink in bewilderment. Sweetheart. Oh, that shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did coming from his soft looking lips. Was he actually agreeing to this? Were you actually considering it? Was this a test? You looked over at Billy in utter astonishment, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but his attention had already drifted. He was typing something on his phone when he chimed in to fill your silence.

“She likes bein’ told what to do, Frankie. You’re gonna have to take the reins.” 

“That right?”

Frank wasn’t looking at Billy. He was looking at you. And that stormy look in his eyes seemed to have eclipsed into something that made heat bloom in your lower belly. His eyes were roving over the long black wool coat like he could see right through it, lingering on the exposed skin of your legs before meeting your wide eyed gaze. He kept his eyes locked on you as he calmly sat down in one of the plush chairs, spreading his thick thighs wide.

“Show me what you got on under there, yeah?”

Part of you was still struggling to understand what was happening. That little voice in the back of your head was trying to tell you this was a bad idea, coming up with a million reasons to just walk out that door and question Billy in private later to figure out what the fuck he was thinking. But another part of you, a stronger part, wanted to be selfish and give into the aching hunger that was begging to be sated. 

A toy could only do so much. A toy couldn’t bend you over and leave hand prints on your ass. A toy couldn’t pull your hair and whisper breathy praises. A toy couldn’t play with your nipples while it ate you out. You needed more. 

“Don’t be shy now, baby. Be a good girl and do what you’re told.”

Billy’s further taunts aggravated you. He was the one who had been neglecting you, and now he had the audacity to tease you. He didn’t seem to care if you fucked Frank, so why should you? The way Frank was looking at you, even all covered up by your coat, he may have been following Billy’s orders, but he wanted it. He wanted you.

So fuck it.

This time when you let the coat slip off your shoulders, you got the reaction you wanted. A sharp intake of breath, a dilation of pupils, evidence of desire beginning to strain against a zipper. Frank shamelessly let his eyes travel up and down your body, his ravenous gaze meeting yours once again as he patted his thigh in a silent command you were all too eager to obey. He didn’t reach out and grab you once you were standing between his spread legs, he just stared up at you and patted his thigh again.

“Sit.”

Your fingertips lightly trembled as you reached your hands out to grab onto his broad shoulders, lowering yourself down to straddle his lap. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest, and the firm muscle beneath his shirt. You’d never been this close to him before. He smelled like mint and black coffee, and something…earthy. Something masculine. It made you dizzy. 

“Are you gonna touch me?”

The edge of Frank’s mouth quirked up in a smirk as he tilted his head to the side a little, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“You want me to touch you?”

You gave a nod of your head, but that didn’t satisfy Frank.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

Tightening your grip on his shoulders, you leaned in to brush your nose against his. You wondered if he could feel your heart pounding against his chest, and a needy noise you’d never heard yourself make escaped.

“Please just touch me, Frank. I don’t have the patience to beg-”

“Relax sweetheart, I ain’t gonna make you beg. Just makin’ sure you’re okay with this, that’s all.”

Frank lifted his hand to cradle your jaw. His hand was rough with calluses, and there was a lingering scent of gunpowder on his skin. He traced your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and when your lips instinctively parted, he slipped two of his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your warm wet tongue. Letting out a soft noise, you licked at his fingers and started to suck, while his other hand found your hip and pulled you closer on his lap.

“That’s it, good girl.”

When he pulled you closer, it made you grind against the large bulge in his jeans, and the friction of rough denim against your thin damp lacy thong made your eyes flutter. The sound of his gravely voice granting you praise had you nearly on the brink of coming already. God, you probably could come like this, sucking on Frank’s fingers and dry humping him. Something told you that he probably wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, there was a string of your saliva connected between his digits and your lips, stretching until it silently snapped. Slipping his hand down between your thighs, he hooked his finger into your thong and pulled it to the side, and the moment his slick fingers made contact with your wet pussy, it was like a jolt to your system and a sharp moan of relief escaped.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Frank leaned in to leave open mouthed wet kisses along your neck, not wasting any time in finding your aching clit and giving it the attention it craved. One of your hands found the back of his neck while your other gripped his shoulder, your nails sinking into his flesh beneath the fabric of his shirt. You could hear how wet you were, could hear the obscene sound of Frank’s fingers playing with your pussy, and it made you shudder.

“This what you wanted?”

The sound of your blood rushing in your ears and your own pleasure drowned out Billy’s voice in the background, talking to someone on the phone. You’d almost forgotten he was there. All you could focus on was Frank. The expert motion of his fingers, the sound of his alluring voice, the dedication to your pleasure. Unlike Billy, Frank didn’t hesitate to give you exactly what you wanted. No teasing, no games. It was impossible to not give into your selfish greed. 

“Frank…more…”

“Yeah? Tell me what you want, pretty girl. Whatever you want, you can have it.”

Your hands slipped between your bodies, blindly fumbling for his belt buckle. Frank let out a quiet grunt and pulled back to look at you, a lazy smirk stretched over his lips.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart?”

Clawing at the leather of his belt, you nodded breathlessly as you popped the button on his jeans, tugging at the zipper. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he lifted his hips to shove his jeans and briefs down just enough for his hard cock to spring free, giving your ass a firm smack.

“Well go on, then.”

As soon as you started to sink down onto him, your jaw went slack and your eyes nearly rolled. Frank was big, much bigger than Billy. His thick girth stretching out your tight cunt elicited a delicious symphony of pleasure and pain, and once he bottomed out, a strangled moan tore from your throat.

“Oh God-”

Behind you, Billy stopped pacing in front of the large floor to ceiling windows.

“Sorry, one sec. Frankie, keep her quiet, would ya?”

Billy’s voice sounded miles away in your head despite his presence behind you. When Frank clamped his palm over your mouth, a moan was muffled by his rough skin. You couldn’t explain why that turned you on even more, or why the thought of Billy watching you get fucked by his best friend while still doing business had you buzzing with exhilaration.

It should have made you feel guilty and ashamed, or at least that’s what you had expected to feel. Fucking Frank was one thing, but fucking him in front of Billy…it shouldn’t have been as exciting as it was. Maybe a twisted part of you got satisfaction from it. Even though Billy was the one that had suggested it, in your mind it was his punishment for neglecting you. Then again…maybe Billy didn’t see it that way. Maybe he wanted to watch. You couldn’t see him straddling Frank’s lap like this, but you could feel his eyes on you. You knew he was watching.

Like a lightning strike, a sudden spark of realization shocked your system, illuminating something you hadn’t been able to put together at first. Billy’s casual offer. Frank’s uninhibited acceptance. The weight of your boyfriend’s heated stare.

They’d done this before.

You weren’t sure if Billy just liked watching his best friend fuck his girlfriends, if they participated in regular threesomes, or what the deal was, but the nonchalant attitude they both had towards this situation made it very clear this was not some out of the blue occurrence. And that…well…that generated several different emotions and questions. You weren’t sure why, but that epiphany had you feeling more impetuous, more bold and eager to fully surrender to your intrinsic desires. 

If Billy wanted a show, you’d give him a fucking show.

Tugging Frank’s hand away from your mouth, you leaned in for a messy top lip kiss, and his tongue instinctively sought yours out, inviting himself past your parted lips. The passion you normally resolved for your boyfriend was fully unleashed on Frank, and he willingly drowned in it. He gripped your hips with both hands now, guiding your rhythm as you rocked your hips against his, riding him harder and faster as you gained confidence. The feeling of his rough hands exploring your soft skin, kneading and squeezing, grabbing your ass and giving it encouraging spanks, it all had you moaning into his mouth. 

“Fuck…Frank…”

“Yeah, baby? What is it?”

He murmured against your neck, trailing warm messy open mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping at your skin and flicking his tongue over your bitten flesh to soothe the sting.

Letting your head dip back to offer more of yourself to him, your eyes fluttered while continuing to roll your hips, alternating between bouncing on his cock and riding him at a more languid pace, fully indulging in having him inside you.  

“It’s so fucking big…”

Frank nuzzled his large nose against the underside of your jaw, one of his hands gripping your waist while his other splayed over your lower back, gliding up and down your skin in a soothing caress.

“Takin’ it so well, yeah? You’re bein’ such a good girl, ain’t you?”

The wrecked whimper you let out in response had him letting out a quiet grunt, his tongue gliding over your lips which eagerly parted to seek out his kiss.

“Say it for me, sweetheart. Tell me you’re a good girl.”

Purely just to be a brat and get back at Billy for how he’d treated you for the past month, you wrapped both of your arms around Frank’s neck and fully pressed yourself against him, kissing him eagerly before moaning in pleasure.

“I’m your good girl.”

Billy was a jealous and possessive man by nature, which was a total juxtaposition to the fact that he shared his women with Frank. You weren’t sure what it was about Frank specifically that caused Billy to want to share, and maybe your little stunt wouldn’t make him jealous at all, but you knew Billy and you knew that praising Frank’s big dick and saying you were his girl had to appeal to Billy’s ego. Maybe he’d get pissed and make you pay for it later in bed. Maybe he’d feel challenged and join you and Frank.

Either way, you were getting what you wanted.

“Atta girl. Such a pretty…perfect…good girl. Ridin’ me so good, baby…you got the best pussy, you know that? Keep ridin’ me like that, you’re gonna make me come.”

The praise he whispered into your ear in his gravely voice, the filthy things that sounded so sweet from his soft lips, it was all driving you wild, and he grunted when he felt your cunt clenching around his cock.

He slipped his hand between your thighs, his thumb finding your swollen clit again, and before the wrecked moan could escape your lips, he clamped his other hand over your mouth again. Letting your head fall back, you gripped onto Frank’s shirt, clawing at it while he bucked his hips upwards, making you bounce on his cock as he fervently rubbed at your clit.

“C’mon sweetheart…I know you’re right there, yeah? Come for me, pretty girl.”

It suddenly felt like you’d been staring directly into the sun, your eyes fluttering as monochromatic confetti exploded behind your eyelids. The tension that had been tightly coiled within you was expelled instantly as you writhed on Frank’s lap, making a mess on his lap with a flood of euphoria. It felt like you were floating, your body buzzing with bliss, and Frank let out a breathy chuckle when you slumped against him.

“You still with us, darlin’?”

You hadn’t even heard Billy approach, but when he started to stroke your hair, the scent of his expensive cologne pulled you back to the present. It also made you suddenly aware of just how selfish you’d been. Pulling back to sit up, with Frank’s assistance, you looked at him in almost an apologetic daze.

“You didn’t-”

“Shh shh shh.”

Billy wrapped his hand around your throat as he pressed against you from behind, and you could feel his hard on nudging against your lower back. His thumb gently caressed your jaw as he bent down to kiss your temple. You kept your eyes on Frank, watching his broad shoulders rise and fall from how hard he was breathing, hearing the exertion in his heavy pants that escaped his parted lips, feeling his hands still holding your waist tightly, keeping you anchored to his lap.

“I think you should tell Frank thank you for bein’ so generous, don’t you, darlin’?”

Billy was already lifting you off of Frank’s lap, earning a quiet grunt from Frank when he slipped out of you, and a broken whine from you at the sudden emptiness you felt. Before you could protest, Billy lowered you down onto your shaky knees in front of Frank, your hands darting out to grip his thick thighs through his jeans to steady yourself. Frank’s cock was glistening with your juices, and he gathered your cream that had dripped down with the same two fingers he’d put in your mouth, bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. The noise you let out made Billy chuckle, and you heard the familiar jingle of a belt buckle and a zipper being undone.

“I think she likes sharin’, Frankie.”

Placing his hand between your shoulder blades, Billy made you bend over until Frank’s cock was right in your face, and you could feel the blunt head of his own cock notching at your drenched gaping entrance. Frank reached down and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, his eyes still locked on you, a grin stretching across his mouth.

“Think I do too.”

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“Owens-”

“You deceptive bitch. You’re fucking one of them aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

She let out a grunt when he yanked her forward just to slam her back against the wall more forcefully this time. Matt took a step forward, his lips parting as if to speak and his hand stretched out with the intent to grab Owens and pull him off, but he paused as a new layer of confusion settled over him.

She wasn’t fighting back.

Owens held her by the shoulders with an iron grip. Her hands were against his chest, but they weren’t gripping his tactical suit. Her palms were flat against the material. She wasn’t shoving him away. Matt knew she could’ve gotten out of that hold easily. He remembered how quick she’d been on the rooftop when she’d taken him down, and how she’d outsmarted him in the warehouse when she’d tased him and knocked him out. If she wanted to, she could’ve outmaneuvered Owens before he even got close enough to touch her. 

He could hear the faint buzzing of the electricity encircling her wrists. One swift movement would bring Owens to his knees in agony, but she didn’t even try to attack him back. She didn’t try to do anything. She just…took it. 

“Not anymore-”

“But you were. That’s why Fury’s been letting you run the show.”

Matt felt almost paralyzed with mounting perplexity. Since she’d first shown up at his apartment, he’d been trying to assemble the jigsaw of her identity, and even though it seemed like the last pieces he’d been looking for were finally in his hands, the need to make them fit was overshadowed by the maelstrom evoked from the nightmare they’d uncovered.

“What do you mean it’s where you grew up?”

It was like the words had to claw their way out of Matt’s dry throat to escape. The heaviness of the horror was still pressing down on his chest. All those terrified little heartbeats were still thrumming in his ears, and the calamity of it all had pierced right through the core of him, puncturing his soul. It was difficult to focus with the way it felt as though his faith was slowly seeping from the phantom wound. Matt wasn’t ignorant to the kind of violence humans could inflict on each other, but finding frightened young girls in cages, young girls that he’d found out weren’t just being trafficked around New York, but throughout the entire world for God only knew what purpose, that left him feeling sick and unsettled.

“She’s a Widow.”

The edge of Owens’ mouth curled up in a snarl of disgust, shoving her against the wall once more before letting go and immediately stepping back, like he couldn’t stand to touch her or be near her. She didn’t move. Her veins were pulsing with her erratic heartbeat, but it wasn’t from anger or adrenaline. Her blood was weighted with anxiety, and the sharp scent of cortisol completely overpowered that spiced vanilla and jasmine that always lingered on her skin.

Matt’s brows furrowed beneath his cowl at the venom in Owens’ tone. There was something here he wasn’t picking up on. Black Widows were spies, but so were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. They were also trained assassins, but Fury had made it clear to him that S.H.I.E.L.D. would do whatever they had to in order to prevent threats, even if it meant preemptively taking them out. From Matt’s perspective, there didn’t really seem to be a difference. Natasha Romanoff had switched sides, why couldn’t she?

There was something big he was missing.

“Is that how you knew the girls were here?”

Santos’ voice was barely above a whisper, like he didn’t want to ask that question, or didn’t want an answer to it. The silence that followed however was an answer itself. Owens clenched his jaw so hard that the way his teeth ground together in his mouth made Matt tense in discomfort.

“And how she knew how often they were moved around, and where they were being taken. You and Fury knew this whole fucking time.”

“We didn’t know for sure-”

“Oh bullshit! You knew. You were a fucking recruiter yourself, that’s why he put you in charge, isn’t it?”

Recruiter.

Every single nerve ending in Matt’s body felt like it had been jolted by a live wire.

“What? Recruit-what’s he talking about?”

She wouldn’t look at him, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as dread filled the marrow of his bones like lead.

“Widows aren’t just good at manipulating and seducing men.”

Owens’ words seemed to snap those last jagged pieces into place. Matt had been under the assumption that these women, these girls, were just being snatched off the streets. He hadn’t considered the fact that they were being lured. A little girl would be more likely to trust a stranger if she were a seemingly harmless woman over a man, and she was a good actress. 

Manipulate. Seduce. Recruit.

“You did this.”

Matt’s voice was hollow with whispered disbelief and shock. He heard the stone of guilt she tried to swallow down, and her voice trembled as she took a step towards him.

“It’s not what you think-”

“You did this.”

The bewildered revulsion he’d felt since they stepped through the door was suddenly replaced, his epiphany striking like flint, sparking anger that flamed at the tips of the verbal arrows he began to fire.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie-”

“Don’t start with the loophole bullshit. You didn’t tell me you were one of them-”

“That’s not who I am anymore-”

“I don’t even know who the fuck you are now! And it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change what you were, what you did.”

Matt’s chest was heaving from his labored breathing. He didn’t remember when he’d advanced on her, when he’d taken Owens’ place crowding her up against the wall. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking in protest, and they shook with barely restrained rage.”

“How many.”

Her eyes flickered over his shoulder towards Owens and Santos, and she lowered her voice to a volume she knew only Matt could hear.

“Matt-”

“How many? How many girls have you tricked into cages, knowing what was going to happen to them?”

He could smell the saltwater swelling along her lashline despite her weakened control over that neutral expression she always tried to wear. It was ripping apart at the seams, but Matt couldn’t find even a pinprick of sympathy to feel for her. All he felt was loathing, towards her and himself. He never should’ve allowed himself to trust her. He’d been right from the beginning to be suspicious of her, to keep her at arms length. But she’d done exactly what she’d been trained to do. She’d manipulated and seduced him, and he’d fallen for it. She’d lured him like all the others.

And now he hated her for it.

“You know, Fury told me this was personal for you, and now I get why.”

“Probably made her the same deal he made Romanoff. Help out S.H.I.E.L.D., wipe the slate clean.”

Owens’ voice was dripping with disdain and mockery.

“That’s not what this is about-”

Matt let out a bitter scoff at her quick denial and cocked his head to the side, the edge of his lip faintly lifted in abhorrence. 

“What, did you think if you tried to help now, it would balance out what you’ve done? Did you really believe that playing the hero would ease your conscience, save your soul? Because I don’t think you have either fucking one of those.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and her shoulders seemed to crumble under the weight of his merciless assessment. The tears that had crested from the corners of her eyes were dangerously close to crashing over the edge of her waterline, but that rare display of emotion only incensed him further. It didn’t feel genuine. Not now that he knew what she really was.

“I never should’ve trusted you. All you’ve done is lie from the moment I met you. And maybe a few good deeds make you feel like you can wash the blood off your hands from all the people you’ve killed, but nothing will ever make up for what you did to those girls. You could save a million people, it still wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. It doesn’t matter how many different people you try to be, you’ll always be a fucking monster.”

He waited for her to snap back at him like she always did, to bear her teeth and tear apart his cruelty, retaliate with her own, but the only movement from her lips was their faint wavering. No defense slipped off her tongue. No appeal for justification. No reminders of his own atrocities he’d committed. Nothing but defeated silence. 

Matt didn’t stay long enough to question her unusual reticence or the lack of fight in her. He didn’t care. He was done.

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“Owens-”

“You deceptive bitch. You’re fucking one of them aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

She let out a grunt when he yanked her forward just to slam her back against the wall more forcefully this time. Matt took a step forward, his lips parting as if to speak and his hand stretched out with the intent to grab Owens and pull him off, but he paused as a new layer of confusion settled over him.

She wasn’t fighting back.

Owens held her by the shoulders with an iron grip. Her hands were against his chest, but they weren’t gripping his tactical suit. Her palms were flat against the material. She wasn’t shoving him away. Matt knew she could’ve gotten out of that hold easily. He remembered how quick she’d been on the rooftop when she’d taken him down, and how she’d outsmarted him in the warehouse when she’d tased him and knocked him out. If she wanted to, she could’ve outmaneuvered Owens before he even got close enough to touch her. 

He could hear the faint buzzing of the electricity encircling her wrists. One swift movement would bring Owens to his knees in agony, but she didn’t even try to attack him back. She didn’t try to do anything. She just…took it. 

“Not anymore-”

“But you were. That’s why Fury’s been letting you run the show.”

Matt felt almost paralyzed with mounting perplexity. Since she’d first shown up at his apartment, he’d been trying to assemble the jigsaw of her identity, and even though it seemed like the last pieces he’d been looking for were finally in his hands, the need to make them fit was overshadowed by the maelstrom evoked from the nightmare they’d uncovered.

“What do you mean it’s where you grew up?”

It was like the words had to claw their way out of Matt’s dry throat to escape. The heaviness of the horror was still pressing down on his chest. All those terrified little heartbeats were still thrumming in his ears, and the calamity of it all had pierced right through the core of him, puncturing his soul. It was difficult to focus with the way it felt as though his faith was slowly seeping from the phantom wound. Matt wasn’t ignorant to the kind of violence humans could inflict on each other, but finding frightened young girls in cages, young girls that he’d found out weren’t just being trafficked around New York, but throughout the entire world for God only knew what purpose, that left him feeling sick and unsettled.

“She’s a Widow.”

The edge of Owens’ mouth curled up in a snarl of disgust, shoving her against the wall once more before letting go and immediately stepping back, like he couldn’t stand to touch her or be near her. She didn’t move. Her veins were pulsing with her erratic heartbeat, but it wasn’t from anger or adrenaline. Her blood was weighted with anxiety, and the sharp scent of cortisol completely overpowered that spiced vanilla and jasmine that always lingered on her skin.

Matt’s brows furrowed beneath his cowl at the venom in Owens’ tone. There was something here he wasn’t picking up on. Black Widows were spies, but so were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. They were also trained assassins, but Fury had made it clear to him that S.H.I.E.L.D. would do whatever they had to in order to prevent threats, even if it meant preemptively taking them out. From Matt’s perspective, there didn’t really seem to be a difference. Natasha Romanoff had switched sides, why couldn’t she?

There was something big he was missing.

“Is that how you knew the girls were here?”

Santos’ voice was barely above a whisper, like he didn’t want to ask that question, or didn’t want an answer to it. The silence that followed however was an answer itself. Owens clenched his jaw so hard that the way his teeth ground together in his mouth made Matt tense in discomfort.

“And how she knew how often they were moved around, and where they were being taken. You and Fury knew this whole fucking time.”

“We didn’t know for sure-”

“Oh bullshit! You knew. You were a fucking recruiter yourself, that’s why he put you in charge, isn’t it?”

Recruiter.

Every single nerve ending in Matt’s body felt like it had been jolted by a live wire.

“What? Recruit-what’s he talking about?”

She wouldn’t look at him, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as dread filled the marrow of his bones like lead.

“Widows aren’t just good at manipulating and seducing men.”

Owens’ words seemed to snap those last jagged pieces into place. Matt had been under the assumption that these women, these girls, were just being snatched off the streets. He hadn’t considered the fact that they were being lured. A little girl would be more likely to trust a stranger if she were a seemingly harmless woman over a man, and she was a good actress. 

Manipulate. Seduce. Recruit.

“You did this.”

Matt’s voice was hollow with whispered disbelief and shock. He heard the stone of guilt she tried to swallow down, and her voice trembled as she took a step towards him.

“It’s not what you think-”

“You did this.”

The bewildered revulsion he’d felt since they stepped through the door was suddenly replaced, his epiphany striking like flint, sparking anger that flamed at the tips of the verbal arrows he began to fire.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie-”

“Don’t start with the loophole bullshit. You didn’t tell me you were one of them-”

“That’s not who I am anymore-”

“I don’t even know who the fuck you are now! And it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change what you were, what you did.”

Matt’s chest was heaving from his labored breathing. He didn’t remember when he’d advanced on her, when he’d taken Owens’ place crowding her up against the wall. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking in protest, and they shook with barely restrained rage.”

“How many.”

Her eyes flickered over his shoulder towards Owens and Santos, and she lowered her voice to a volume she knew only Matt could hear.

“Matt-”

“How many? How many girls have you tricked into cages, knowing what was going to happen to them?”

He could smell the saltwater swelling along her lashline despite her weakened control over that neutral expression she always tried to wear. It was ripping apart at the seams, but Matt couldn’t find even a pinprick of sympathy to feel for her. All he felt was loathing, towards her and himself. He never should’ve allowed himself to trust her. He’d been right from the beginning to be suspicious of her, to keep her at arms length. But she’d done exactly what she’d been trained to do. She’d manipulated and seduced him, and he’d fallen for it. She’d lured him like all the others.

And now he hated her for it.

“You know, Fury told me this was personal for you, and now I get why.”

“Probably made her the same deal he made Romanoff. Help out S.H.I.E.L.D., wipe the slate clean.”

Owens’ voice was dripping with disdain and mockery.

“That’s not what this is about-”

Matt let out a bitter scoff at her quick denial and cocked his head to the side, the edge of his lip faintly lifted in abhorrence. 

“What, did you think if you tried to help now, it would balance out what you’ve done? Did you really believe that playing the hero would ease your conscience, save your soul? Because I don’t think you have either fucking one of those.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and her shoulders seemed to crumble under the weight of his merciless assessment. The tears that had crested from the corners of her eyes were dangerously close to crashing over the edge of her waterline, but that rare display of emotion only incensed him further. It didn’t feel genuine. Not now that he knew what she really was.

“I never should’ve trusted you. All you’ve done is lie from the moment I met you. And maybe a few good deeds make you feel like you can wash the blood off your hands from all the people you’ve killed, but nothing will ever make up for what you did to those girls. You could save a million people, it still wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. It doesn’t matter how many different people you try to be, you’ll always be a fucking monster.”

He waited for her to snap back at him like she always did, to bear her teeth and tear apart his cruelty, retaliate with her own, but the only movement from her lips was their faint wavering. No defense slipped off her tongue. No appeal for justification. No reminders of his own atrocities he’d committed. Nothing but defeated silence. 

Matt didn’t stay long enough to question her unusual reticence or the lack of fight in her. He didn’t care. He was done.

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the devil and the widow soundtrack

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tonight was like any other night, heather coming home late, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a new gash across her knuckles.

she sets her bag by the door and finds you on the couch, curled up sleepily with a book.

“hey baby.” she sits next to you, dipping down to kiss your lips.

“hi.” you smile, bookmarking your page and setting it to the side.

you notice her hand, wordlessly bringing it to your lips with furrowed brows.

“just a scratch.” she turns her hand in yours, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“are you home for the night? or do you have to go back out?” you pout, starting to trail kisses over her thumb, up her hand and to her wrist.

“i am staying right here.” she smiles, opening her arms for you to sink into.

“did they deserve it?” you ask quietly, your lips pressing to the wound once more.

“they always do.” she pulls her hand from yours, cupping your face instead.

you run your fingers through her curls, “there are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

she hums, “starving.”

but she makes no move to get up, only leans back in to kiss you.

you grin against her lips, fingers trailing lightly over her jaw, then drawing back up her neck.

“bed?” you ask quietly when you pull back.

“bed.” she agrees, pecking your lips once more.

the short walk to the bedroom takes longer than it should, with the both of you pausing to kiss every couple of steps.

as she strips off her clothes, you notice more dried blood on her skin. she knows you see it, choosing to distract you with kisses leading down your chest.

you let her push you back on the bed, pushing up your shirt to press her lips there too.

she may have blood on her hands — literally and figuratively — but she vowed to never let it touch you.

and in a few strategic moves, she had you forgetting all about the blood, your worries, and the unanswered, unspoken questions.

besides, what was there to worry about? she always came home to you in one piece.

Dex still had a contact at the Bureau with high level database access that was willing to hand over complete files on anyone for the right fee. If he’d noticed that every name Dex had given him eventually wound up dead, he never said anything. Dex paid him generously for the information, and for his discretion. 

He’d been sitting at the counter in the diner for the past twenty minutes, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Most of the files he got were thick, pages upon pages of intel. While local police could get away with falsifying records or making certain reports disappear, the Bureau had a record of everyone’s sins. Some of them were restricted and buried beneath mountains of red tape and black bars of classification, but a little patient digging went a long way. Your file however was only a handful of pages, and he’d re-read it seven times already.

There was nothing at all in the pages that aligned with the brief but vitriolic description Chris had given of a thieving, unfaithful gold digger. 

You were a third grade teacher working at an elementary school in Queens, living in a small one bedroom apartment. Astoria was definitely a nicer neighborhood than where Dex lived in Hell’s Kitchen, but it was nowhere near the luxurious price tag of the Upper East Side where Chris was. Your background looked pretty normal. There was no criminal record at all. You’d gotten your Bachelor’s from NYU. You’d worked two part time jobs the entire time you were in school. You’d graduated with honors. Your bank records indicated a decent teaching salary and smart budgeting, but apart from your bills and groceries, all of which you paid for on your own, the biggest purchase he could find in the past month that seemed like a splurge was a $77 tab at a bar in the West Village. So, you’d had maybe two drinks.

None of this aligned with the woman Chris described. It was such a jarring difference that he’d triple checked the information Chris had given him, and that he’d spelled your name correctly and hadn’t mixed up the numbers of your birthday when he gave them to his contact at the Bureau. It all matched, but it didn’t make any sense. The woman depicted in the file was not an exploitative opportunist. 

There was a picture of you paperclipped to one of the pages. It was a candid shot provided by Chris that looked like it had been taken in a luxurious living room with floor to ceiling windows that showcased a high rise view of the city in the background. You were standing in front of a big Christmas tree, your face turned towards the camera, caught in bashful laughter, with one hand outstretched in mid action of placing an ornament on a branch while your other hand cradled a different one. The longer Dex stared at it, the more the jagged fragments of the jigsaw he’d been presented refused to fit. You didn’t look the part either.

It shouldn’t matter. Dex wasn’t getting paid to unravel whatever tale Chris had spun for him, he was getting paid to kill you. Everything else was incidental. But something about this whole thing was beginning to not sit right with him. Maybe he was biased because he and Chris had gotten off on the wrong foot, and he just couldn’t fucking stand the guy, but the more he read about you, the more he had this gut feeling that something was off. 

You were nothing like his usual targets.

The only thing that stood out in your file was that four months ago, you’d seemingly made an abrupt move. You’d been living in Chelsea and teaching at the same elementary school for three years, and then all of a sudden had transferred to the Queens district in the middle of the school year. That struck him as incredibly odd. It hadn’t appeared to be a promotion, you were still teaching a third grade class, and your salary had stayed the same. Even if it had been some kind of offer from the other district, it made more sense that you would wait until the school year was over to make the switch. 

Maybe the school was desperate to fill a spot.

He had no way of knowing if you’d replaced another teacher for some urgent reason, not with what he had in front of him. He’d have to look into that on his own. But even then, he assumed the district would’ve had a substitute or someone who could’ve taken over until you started the following school year. The only other alternative explanation he could think of was that you had requested the quick transfer.

And he wanted to know why.

𖣠

Sitting at one of the picnic benches at the public park across from the school, Dex’s eyes were focused on the emerald green double doors at the top of the front steps from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He had a book in his hands that he’d gotten from a local bookstore he’d seen quite a few times in your transaction history. His fingers languidly flipped the pages of The Talented Mr. Ripley in timed intervals that would appear as a believable reading length. Trying to keep a low profile as a grown man sitting alone at a park across the street from an elementary school was a delicate task.

He’d only been sitting there for fifteen minutes. School let out at two-thirty, and showing up earlier than the parents of the kids would’ve drawn unnecessary attention to himself. So far, Dex had managed to blend into the background as an even flow of traffic built up along the street in the bus and pick up lanes. People gathered in groups along the sidewalks and school grounds, waiting to pick up their kids, engaging in polite small talk or hushed gossip. 

A few seconds after his watch struck two-thirty, the double doors opened, and children started to pour out down the front steps. He’d stared at your picture long enough today to memorize it, and he searched for your face in the wave of teachers leading their students down to the sidewalk, still flipping through the pages of the book in those timed intervals. There was a surge of activity as children were ushered onto buses, helped into cars or handed off to parents that all seemed to want a moment to exchange updates or concerns with the teachers. 

It was difficult trying to track someone down in such a large bustling crowd, like finding a specific flurry in a swirling snowglobe. Dex couldn’t turn his head or lift it too much, not without disrupting the illusion that he was trying to exhibit. He had to be patient. Even if he somehow missed you here, it wasn’t like he didn’t know where you lived. 

Dex nearly shattered his own act when he saw a young boy that looked startlingly similar to Sami, and it instantly broke his concentration. He knew it couldn’t be Sami, the boy was too young. Sami would be eighteen by now, either in his senior year of high school or already graduated. Dex didn’t even know if he and Seema were still in New York, or if they’d left after Ray died.

Ray.

It had been a long time since Dex had thought about him. Reflecting on the past was a complicated tangle he didn’t like to get stuck in. He didn’t see the point in it. There was no use in questioning if altering the arrangement of cards on a table would’ve changed how they played out. He couldn’t go back and change anything. But there was still a discomfort that settled in the depths of what made Dex human when he remembered Ray, or Julie, and the role he played in their deaths. It felt like a dull blade of something akin to remorse pressed against his throat, not sharp enough to draw a drop of pure guilt, but enough pressure that he was aware of its presence. 

He didn’t allow himself to dwell on it too long though. Before the darkness in the corners of his mind had a chance to swell towards the center and hide the way out of the complex tapestry of introspection, he snipped the strings and severed the tethers to anything that threatened to pull him backwards in time.

As the young boy disappeared with his mother into the mass of people still buzzing on the school grounds, Dex snapped back into focus and remembered why he was here, and as soon as he turned his head, you were directly in his line of sight. The intermission of his illusion continued as he took you in for the first time. You were as radiant as the golden glow of daylight caressing your face. He flipped back to the front of the book where he’d stashed the picture of you from the file, paperclipped to the first page. The candid shot didn’t do your smile justice. It was even brighter in person, and he could almost feel its warmth from here.

He watched you engage in conversations with parents, never once looking impatient or annoyed, bending down to hug your students or ruffle tendrils of unruly hair affectionately. It was evident immediately that you were passionate about teaching and genuinely cared for your students. That struck a chord within him he hadn’t realized was still strung. 

You stayed to see off every kid, even waited an extra twenty minutes for the little girl with the bumblebee backpack whose apologetic mother had been running late. Pretty soon the chaos of pick up started to ebb, and the park was clearing out. His window for how long he could stay without drawing attention was rapidly closing. When you disappeared back inside the school, Dex closed the book and rose from the bench. 

At the end of the block across the street, there was a cafe at the corner. He took a spot in a booth near the front window, where he could still see the front of the school. You didn’t have a car, so there was no reason for you to leave from the back lot where employee parking was. Dex had mapped out which subway stations were closest to the school, and which lines ran near your apartment. He had a pretty good idea of which one you took home. You would have to walk past this cafe to get to it. Pulling out the book, Dex turned to the front page again, tracing his fingertip along your smile in the picture. 

Chris was lying. Dex didn’t know why, but he knew he was. He’d already had a gut feeling that something was amiss, but the moment he laid eyes on you, that suspicion shifted into confirmation beyond a reasonable doubt, as solid as the book in his hands. Looking at you, he’d felt a familiar warmth and magnetic pull that he hadn’t been able to place in the moment, but now he knew what it was.

You reminded him of Julie.

There was an ulterior motive at play here for why Chris wanted you dead, and Dex was determined to find out. So, he waited.

𖣠

Almost forty-five minutes had passed. His mind wandered, curious as to what you were doing. Grading homework? Did third graders really even have homework? He tried to think back to being in third grade, but that felt like several lifetimes ago. Besides, school probably looked incredibly different since the last time he’d been in a classroom. Were you prepping for the next school day? You seemed like the kind of teacher that did fun activities with your students. He wanted to know what they were. He wanted to know what your classroom looked like.

He’d find out over the weekend when it was dark and quiet.

Finally he caught your figure striding down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street from the corner of the cafe. He tracked you with intense focus, his eyes diligently stalking your path, waiting until you were crossing the street before getting up and leaving cash on the table. The bell above the door rang with a shrill ding as he pushed it open to step out, staying on his side of the street, following you at a leisurely pace with the book clutched in his hand.

He’d been right in deducing which subway station you’d take, keeping a safe distance while venturing down the steps after you, waiting a few feet away from on the platform. The sunglasses were now tucked into his pocket, but he pulled the brim of his baseball cap down to his browline, leaning against one of the pillars casually, his eyes occasionally flickering to you in his peripheral vision. You were looking at something on your phone, your attention completely focused on the screen in your hands.

Despite his disdain for social media and modern technology in general, he had to admit it worked in his favor. Most people were so engrossed in the little devices in their hands, they were completely oblivious to their surroundings, unaware that they were being watched. Then again, some people wanted to be watched, although they didn’t seem to be conscious of the fact that casual attention could also attract something darker. Pair that with the fact that most people also wore headphones, and shared entirely too much personal information online, for someone like Dex, it made the game too easy. But he still found other ways to enjoy the hunt.

Resisting the urge to board the same subway car as you, he stepped onto the one to the left of it instead and stood at the far end so he could watch you through the narrow window of the gangway door. His brows lifted slightly seeing that you’d stowed your phone, and seemed to be subtly glancing around the half full car. Your eyes didn’t linger enough to catch anyone’s attention, but enough to be aware of your environment and those in it. You’d also taken a seat right next to the platform doors, ensuring a quick exit if needed at any stop. Amusement tugged subtly at the edge of his mouth.

Smart girl.

Dex followed at a little further back of a distance when you got off the subway, now that he knew you were more observant than most people he tracked. He didn’t want to risk any chance of you spotting him. About two blocks away from your apartment building, you stopped into a cozy looking ramen spot. From across the street, he watched through the front window as one of the staff greeted you with a familiarity that only came with being a regular. He took note of the name of the place, mentally cataloging it as somewhere you frequented.

You stayed standing by the counter, chatting with the elderly man at the front, not staying, he mused. About seven minutes later, the man handed you a neatly tied takeout bag with a friendly grin and a slight bow, which you returned with that dazzling smile and a soft wave. He found himself wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that smile.

Staying across the street, he watched you walk up the front steps of your apartment complex, punching in a code on the metal side panel next to the door before heading inside. He knew you were on the fifth floor, apartment F. He’d pulled up the layout of the complex, and he knew your apartment faced the street. His eyes trailed up to the fifth row of windows, and a few moments later, he saw movement in the third one. Turning his head to look behind him at the apartments he was currently standing in front of, he dipped his head back to look up. There was a rooftop door in the building somewhere, and it wouldn’t be hard to get inside and access it.

Turning his attention back to your building, he looked up at your window one more time, already formulating a plan to come back later tonight.

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