Raven was stunned by his twisted logic.
She wanted to retort, but realized that what the scoundrel said was damnably, annoyingly, true.
"Besides,"
Lynte spread his hands, his smile both mischievous and playful.
"I can't just change my face and run off like you. Would you… really abandon a precious portable charger like me to S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
"You…!"
Raven felt a surge of anger in her chest, almost choking.
She could kill all the thugs Magneto sent, but she couldn't go head-to-head with S.H.I.E.L.D.
Especially after killing someone in the heart of New York City.
That phone call just now...
It was a perfect smoke screen, a scapegoat that could shift all the trouble away!
This man… For the first time, Raven realized that his mind was a hundred times more terrifying than his body.
"Pack your things. Three minutes. We're leaving."
Lynte stood up, like a general giving orders.
"And from now on, the rules of the game have changed. We are partners, not master and pet. You handle the fighting, I handle the money. If you dare to lay a hand on me again…"
He paused, a malicious smile spreading across his face.
"I'll hold a press conference and sell the secret of your power to the whole world. I think a lot of people would be willing to pay a hefty price to buy me, this 'master key,' a cup of coffee."
"For example… the White Queen of the Hellfire Club? Jean Grey of the X-Mansion? Or, that Natasha you hate the most?"
Raven's face was bluer than her skin.
In her golden eyes, killing intent solidified, almost freezing the air.
She really wanted to twist the man's head off like a bottle cap.
But in the end, she didn't say a word.
She turned and roughly shoved their meager belongings into a bag.
An unprecedented feeling of losing control, like cold vines, tightly wrapped around her heart.
It was over.
She couldn't control it anymore.
The new safe house was in Brooklyn, a dilapidated apartment building that made you want to call the police just by looking at it.
The air was filled with a damp, moldy smell, mixed with cheap weed and the sour stench of overnight pizza.
But it was messy enough, dirty enough, a perfect place to hide a rat.
"I'm going out to get something to eat."
After settling in, Lynte dropped this line and started to leave.
Raven merely gave him a cold glance, saying nothing, which counted as tacit approval.
She needed some time alone to think about how to deal with this man who was almost riding roughshod over her.
As soon as Lynte left the apartment, he expertly slipped into a dimly lit, greasy internet cafe.
The things he wanted couldn't be bought at Walmart.
Opening an encrypted browser and entering the dark web, he found the information broker called "Ghost."
Without a word, three hundred dollars in cryptocurrency was directly transferred.
Buyer - Adam: "Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff. Her itinerary for the next 24 hours. Give me an opportunity to 'accidentally' meet her."
The message was sent, like a stone sinking into the sea.
Lynte wasn't in a hurry, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the sticky table, like a fisherman waiting for his prey to bite.
Half an hour later.
The screen lit up.
Ghost: "Three hundred dollars? Are you f***ing kidding me? The itinerary of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ace agent! For three hundred bucks, you can't even buy the brand of shampoo she uses! Get lost, you pauper!"
Lynte smiled.
He liked this kind of professionalism.
Buyer - Adam: "Don't get excited. I don't need a detailed plan, that's not worth three hundred. I just need a time, a place. An 'accident' where she'll appear. That shouldn't be hard for you."
This time, the other side was silent for even longer.
Just as Lynte thought the other party was going to block him, a message popped up.
Ghost: "Kid, you've got guts. Since you're so on the ball, I'll give you a tip. Tonight, at Brooklyn Pier 9, a bunch of Russians are going to set off some 'fireworks.' She might go to watch the show. That's all I can give you. Ask one more word, and I'll hack your address and have S.H.I.E.L.D. personally deliver some 'warmth' to you."
A glint flashed in Lynte's eyes as he smoothly cleared all traces, formatted the virtual drive, stood up, and left.
Back in the dilapidated room.
Raven sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, but her aura was like a lurking beast.
"You're back?"
She didn't open her eyes.
"Yeah, bought some pizza."
Lynte put the food down and stretched lazily, feigning exhaustion.
"Today was too exciting, I need to go to bed early."
Raven finally opened her eyes.
Her golden eyes scanned Lynte up and down, from his hair to his toes, as if he were going through security.
She didn't even miss the frequency of his breathing or the rhythm of his heartbeat.
"That's good."
She spoke slowly, her voice carrying a chilling, sticky quality.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow… we'll have a good 'training' session."
As she spoke, her tongue lightly licked her lips, her gaze greedy, as if she were looking at a rare, golden-egg-laying hen that belonged solely to her.
Lynte sneered inwardly, but a perfectly submissive smile appeared on his face.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
He walked into the small bedroom and threw himself onto the bed.
Closing his eyes.
In his mind, the entire plan had been rehearsed countless times.
How to slip out without Raven noticing?
How to precisely appear in front of Natasha amidst the chaos at the pier?
But.
These weren't the main points.
The key was, what kind of entrance would make the top female agent instantly elevate him from a mere passerby to a top-priority investigation target?
Hero saving the beauty?
Too cliché, and his body wasn't capable of saving anyone.
I want to be the dealer.
Tonight's 'fireworks show' is my, Lynte's, initiation into S.H.I.E.L.D., my own interview!
Natasha Romanoff… please, don't disappoint me.
In this dilapidated apartment building, the air was thick with the suffocating mix of marijuana, smoke, alcohol, and even some sour smells.
Lynte lay on the bed, pretending to be dead.
But his ears were perked, like a radar, filtering out the moans of the addict next door's dreams, only catching Raven's breathing.
Long and steady.
Like a beast in a deep sleep.
He pouted inwardly.
The exhaustion after the battle, coupled with the illusion that she had completely tamed him, her personal portable charger, made her sleep deeply.
Pet?
Go to hell with that.
Do you really think you're holding the reins?
Sister, I personally handed those reins to you.
He rolled over and got out of bed.
His movements were cat-like, completely silent.
These past three days, besides being drained dry.
He had rehearsed every step, every movement of tonight, which floorboard would creak, how stiff the window latch was, a hundred times in his mind.
He crept out of the dilapidated building that even cockroaches disdained.
A blast of cold air hit him, making him shiver. Awesome!