Once upon a time, she'd always be on guard - in a fight, in a casual setting, in bed. It hadn't mattered, because her walls were so much a part of her, and they'd never gone down. But this tiny little town had fucked with her. This bar, it had begun to feel safe, and even with the town's oddities? Cat didn't feel threatened. No one whispered Russian in her ear here, and she hadn't reacted to a command embedded deeply in years. But she'd let her guard down here. And maybe the fact that she felt vulnerable - something she'd never own to - contributed to her sense of distraction. Whatever the reason, she wasn't expecting anyone to storm through the door and invade her space.
But that? That might've been alright, assuming he gave her time to register what was happening. But he wrapped his hand around her arm, and he glowered, and that? That tipped the scales. Unexpectedly touching a ex-Soviet asset that had been severely brainwashed? Not a good idea. And she was a woman, sure, and a strong one, but somewhere inside still lived the little girl that had suffered atrocities back home. But, mostly, it was the assassin that responded to his mien, his demeanor, the hand on her skin and the tone in his voice.
Without warning, she reached back, fingers closing impossibly tight on the nape of his neck, and she pulled him forward. Her weight guided his upper body, and she was much stronger than she generally let people see. Oh, she couldn't catch a car or a bus, nothing like that. But she was strong. And her mossy eyes were blank, a weapon with fingers so close to the top of his spinal column that she could do some serious damage.
She slammed his forehead against the bar counter. She scaled the bar. A whip sang its way around his throat as she yanked his head back, and she had a SIG Sauer .45 pointed at the back of his head, cocked and ready.