SHE ENJOYED THE sight of a tied up Augustus Windsor looking up at her to make eye contact (a change from her looking up at him) more than she would ever admit, it was almost enough for her to forget her anger for a brief moment. Ada pinched his chin tilting it closer towards her face and turning it as she inspected his face for injuries. Besides possible bruises that she could disappear by using mouthwash and a cotton ball, his face was going to be fine. Ada moved away from his face and bit her bottom lip debating between freeing him now or waiting till the end when they were going to leave. “Shouldn’t you be buying your savior dinner as a sign of gratitude?” she offered him a tight-lipped smile, still speaking to him in Italian since it appeared to her the Russians didn’t speak Italian.
Her knowledge of Russian was limited but she understood enough to translate the empty threat the leader had shouted at her. Ada summoned an ice shard to start cutting through the rope that bound Augustus’ hands before she directed her attention back towards the men her ice had pinned against the wall. “The only place you’re going is jail, Kostya,” she told him conversationally in his native language. She watched as Kostya’s muscle in his jaw ticked before he snorted. “You didn’t think that power outrage went out by accident did you?” she lazily asked the Russian boss calling him out on his bluff. Another function of the virus that she had loaded into their computer system to cause the blackout was infiltrating their system and copying everything in it to a cloud server. “Also, he’s not my boyfriend and I wasn’t flirting with him.”
“Did you bring your car?” she asked switching back to Italian now noticing how something in his eyes flashed when she spoke in Italian to him.
“SO WE’RE IN agreement here? it’s a date?” he teased, knowing full and well she would just scoff at his remark and brush it off. ( But he could still hope, though, right? ) The sensation of coldness, however, snapped him away from his flirty tendencies as he realized his imminent escape was growing closer and closer. Fucking finally. A careless mistake on his part, he’ll admit, was the cause of his current situation --- apparently hitting on a mob boss’ wife in his shady nightclub that was filled with his goons crawling around was looked down upon in this day and age. Who would have thought, right?
But as the rope loosened and loosened its vice on his hands, his signature grin that donned his features hastily faded upon the indication of how much Adeline had to fight --- tooth and nail --- to get to him, to save him. He was well-aware that the brunette could gladly take care of herself, but witnessing the sight of blood dripping down her arm ... well, let’s just say his protective instincts kicked in. And so, when the male was finally free of his restraints, he calmly rose out his chair --- eyes shrouded in solemnity and bloodlust now --- to stand next to her, rubbing at his wrists to ease away any aches that accompanied the torture of being held hostage.
He kicked a nearby pistol --- probably fallen from the grips of one of the guys Adeline had so kindly pinned up against the wall --- up from the floor to catch in his hand, releasing the magazine to count how many bullets he had left, and just his luck: a full clip. “I may not be your boyfriend,” he retorted in English, because the Russian currently threatening them should have some semblance of knowledge about the English language. “But you were so flirting with me.”
But just when you thought that the typical Augustus returned --- the Augustus who had nothing on his mind but sex, money, and alcohol --- the ghostly smirk that dared creep onto his lips vanished into thin air as his expression hardened with a raising of the pistol and a pulling of the trigger. Supernatural powers or not, he was a damn good shot, which meant he never missed. So his eyes stayed glued on Adeline’s figure in front of him as the sounds of Kostya’s grunts upon impact echoed in his ears, followed by the ‘ thud ‘ of his body hitting the floor.
“Word of advice,” he started in Italian, his voice much lower and huskier than usual. “Here in the real world, we don’t talk to the enemy. So don’t.”
