[REWRITING] SHOOT TO THRILL ✷ May Parker

06. dazzle

06. dazzle
(🕸🧷🎒🤟🏼🕷)
a miami hotel room
int. night

THE WOMAN COULD FINALLY REST. She found a cigarette and a glass of whiskey to be appropriate, watching the nightlife of the city from the window. She'd given up her ability to feel a long time ago, but she enjoyed that view.

The city was beneath her feet, and she was its absent god.

"Freda," came a voice behind her. "Freedie." Strong hands began to massage her shoulders. She tilted her head back, sporting a rare smile.

"Join me?" she asked, patting the chair next to her. "Please?"

The man chuckled, continuing to work out a knot at the base of her neck. "You're tense, love. I'm finally getting to you, aye?" His accent came through just a bit—from somewhere that rarely saw the sun.

Freda knew what she was getting into with him, but, damn, what a tease. She arched her back a little, letting him finish before he planted a few kisses just below her hairline, on the snake tattoo that dominated the back of her neck. Freda took another long sip as he sat beside her.

     He unclipped his holster from his belt, putting it on the side table. "See," he told her, "I came through with the room, didn't I?"

Freda rolled her eyes. "I suppose."

"I sup-pose," he mocked, pulling her chair close and putting his arm around her. He peppered her cheek with kisses.

She laughed, clear and very real. "Malcom—Malc—stop!"

"There she is," Malcolm told her, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I missed her."

"Who?" Freda demanded.

"You. The part you're too good to show." He meant it, she knew. Malcom's calloused fingers gently parted her hair, a kindness he'd only ever offer her.

"Hmm," Freda contemplated that, the dazzling skyline reflected in her eyes. "You didn't come to have a drink. At least be out with it—I don't like being patronized."

     "Wow," Malcolm flopped back in his chair, putting his booted feet up over the arm. "You really flip just like that, woman. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

     That put a smile on Freda's face. "Oh, you've been on my bad side. It's the worse side you've got to tread lightly around."

     "Fingers crossed," he held them up for emphasis. "Especially 'cause I know you're not gonna like this."

     "What happened?"

     Malcolm hesitated, before diving right in. "Well, 'course you know that Reynolds and Satori ate dirt when S.H.I.E.L.D intercepted the Stark shipment."

     "Because they're idiots," Freda snapped, bringing the glass to her lips. "It's a miracle we managed to recover it—let alone track down where S.H.I.E.L.D stashed it."

     "...Yeah, well—that, but this is a little..." Malcolm swallowed hard; trailing off.

     "What?"

     "Reynolds' com was online for like, then whole time—even after he died." He pulled a burner phone from the pocket of his jeans. "This is the only copy—I didn't trust anyone else with it."

She took it from him, resting it on her thigh. "Am I gonna like what I hear?"

Malcolm huffed. "You never like what you hear. I just thought you'd be interested."

Freda let the recording play. There was feedback, then what sounded like gravel—being crunched underfoot. "...Relax..." came a gruff, hushed voice. It was achingly familiar, one Freda'd tried very hard to forget. And, God knows she wouldn't have been so lucky. "I know what we're dealing with—trust me, the less of these freaks around the better."

She was quiet a long time, and didn't speak until she'd downed the last of her drink. Malcolm knew better than to try and draw something out of her. He was patient—he could wait. He hadn't known what to say when he'd heard it, either.

"...I'm coming," Freda said suddenly, causing Malcolm to flinch. "I'll meet the buyer with you in Venice."

Malcolm's lip curled. "Are you sure that's a—"

"Yes." She closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose. "It's Carver, of course I'm coming."

"You really think he'll be there?"

Freda nodded. "I would if I were him. He knows us better than anyone. He'd be stupid not to."

"Hey, it's your call. I'm glad to have you aboard." Malcom reached over and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "It'll be like a trip, just for us," he grinned. "We can make a thing out of it. Y'know, do those boat rides."

"Remind me again why this—" She gestured lazily between the two of them "—is still a thing." But, she was good-natured. Not even every repressed and ugly memory of Gavin Carver could dampen her spirits.