Krauser emerged from the shadows, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

Tonight, you had dressed to kill—literally and figuratively. The dress you wore clung to you like a second skin, its hem teasing scandalously high up your thigh. It wasn’t practical, not for this kind of mission, but practicality had never been your style. If you were going to fight, you’d do it looking damn good.

His eyes flicked down to the dress, a knowing gleam settling in them as he took his time looking. “Damn shame, sweetheart,” he drawled, shifting his grip on the combat knife in his hand. “Wearing my favorite color and everything, just to try and kill me.”

Leon tensed beside you, gun steady in his grip. “Enough with the games, Krauser. You’re not getting out of this one.”

But Krauser wasn’t paying attention to Leon. No, his gaze was locked on you, heavy with amusement. “That right?” he mused, tilting his head. “Seems to me like she enjoys my games just fine.”

Leon glanced at you, confused. “What the hell is he talking about?”

You shot Krauser a glare, warning him to keep his damn mouth shut, but that only made his grin widen.

“Oh, c’mon,” he taunted. “You really haven’t told him?” His voice dropped to something lower, something just between you and him. “All those nights, sweetheart. All those little rendezvous.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You really had him thinking you were just the perfect little soldier, huh?”

Leon’s grip on his gun tightened. “What is he talking about?”

You kept your expression neutral, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “He’s lying,” you said, voice smooth, unbothered.

Krauser tsked, circling you both now, like a predator toying with its prey. “Am I? Because I seem to remember you whispering my name a little too sweetly for that.”

Leon’s jaw clenched. His eyes darted between you and Krauser, looking for an answer, for denial.