His words earned a pout from the petite blonde, but nevertheless, she raised her hands up in surrender, “Message received, loud and clear.” 

Being a sniper for hire, Amity had first met Roman Rourke a few months back, when he'd contracted her to efficiently, and discreetly carry out a hit on a target who had been eluding him for quite some time. Evidently, it appeared she had given a satisfactory performance, considering he had hired her multiple times since then. 

He was a dangerous man. 

And that excited her.  

Once she was situated upon the sofa, Amity let her head fall back against the cushions and frowned. Her memory was a little fuzzy, so she couldn’t remember the exact amount of alcohol she’d managed to drink over the course of the entire evening. But she was pretty sure she’d begun to lose count after about the fourth drink. 

Amity couldn’t help it. 

She screamed. 

One minute she’s having a nice, relaxing shower after a long day at work, then the next, she finds herself wrapped up in a tight embrace. No noise, no warning. 

Nothing. 

So of course she screamed. Who wouldn’t?! 

She's fully prepared to fight tooth and nail to get out of this predicament (the fact that she’s completely naked not-withstanding), but the familiar tone of the stranger’s voice stops her in her tracks. 

It couldn’t be. 

But then his words actually sink in, and that tiny hope that had been sparking within her? It bursts into a huge open flame. He was back! 

“You asshole!” she exclaims, tears immediately welling up in her eyes in response, “You jerk! I thought you were dead!” 

The blonde is a tiny whirlwind of rage as she pushes through the locker room doors with enough force to send them both slamming roughly against the walls. Whipping around once she’s sure that Vance has followed after her, she throws her arms up in exasperation, “What the fuck is wrong with you...?!” There’s the smallest of pauses and then,  “               Rhetorical question, don’t answer that.”

Amity Eavenson