An Eye For An Eye (Fast & Furious | Hobbs/OFC)

Prologue

Five years ago.

It was a quiet night in Moscow when Luke Hobbs, Diplomatic Security Service, came barging into Elizabeth's life.

For once, the reception area of the brothel was empty. No clients sat on the black leather lounge suites and the magazines displayed on the coffee table remained undisturbed. On the left wall, an antique clock said it was a few minutes past nine. The front glass door was closed and a thick purple curtain drawn across it helped to block out the sounds of nightlife in the red light district.

Seated behind a heavy wooden desk, Elizabeth swirled the dregs of tea in her mug before finishing it and setting it aside. Normally she would've been curled up in bed by now or dancing the night away in a club if work hadn't proved tedious and exhausting, but the regular receptionist was sick. Someone had to cover for Natalya, after all, and their patrons certainly didn't want some grizzly old man suggesting which woman they'd like to become better acquainted with.

Eyes focused on the computer monitor, she didn't notice the door open at first. Elizabeth glanced up only when she heard the sound of drunken laughter slip in from outside. Two white men in suits walked in, chatting between themselves in English, and strolled toward the desk with a confidence that was oddly unsettling.

"Gentlemen," she said, "how can I help you this evening?"

"Hi." Tall, dark-haired and forty-something, the foremost man spoke with an American accent. The other stood a foot behind him to his right, casually looking around the room. Once or twice, his eyes went to the open corridor to her left that led to the rest of the building. "We were talking to a friend of ours who was here last week and decided we'd like some company."

"Of course," she said, forcing a polite smile. "We have many ladies here. Why don't you have a look and I'll make sure a room's available?"

Elizabeth lifted the lookbook from its place on the desk and handed it to them. Both men nodded their thanks and seated themselves on a lounge several feet from the corridor's entrance. The pair seemed normal by all accounts - dressed in suits with collars not quite properly folded, shirts wrinkled at the waist as if hurriedly tucked in - yet their accents gave them away as foreigners. Frankly, the first one appeared almost too self-assured, too comfortable, to be the kind of man that hired escorts.

Perhaps it was merely well-honed instinct, or the hairs raising on the back of her neck, that set off her internal alarm bells. She couldn't pinpoint it but something about them was off. It was the kind of feeling a woman got when considering walking down an empty alleyway or cutting through a dimly lit park at night. Of course it could also just be paranoia.

Or maybe the same instinct that'd told her when to run as a kid before the cops showed up had reared its head again.

She'd always known things would fall apart sooner or later. Eventually, Elizabeth figured, the government would turn up (or the police) to put a stop to their operations. The brothel itself was merely a front for the Russian mob, and when criminals gathered in numbers they invariably drew the attention of law enforcement. Even in Moscow, blind eyes could only be turned for so long.

She hadn't expected the day to come so soon, however, but here it was.

And here they were.

As calm as ever, Elizabeth reached for the cellphone on her desk and slipped it into her pants pocket. The bluetooth earpiece still sat in her right ear, closer to an extension of her body than a fashion accessory. She fetched two swipe cards off the shelf and walked down the corridor, checking a round mirror mounted at the end of it to make sure the two men weren't following her.