I had an old story with a similar (almost) title but it was awful. I decided to delete and remake it. This is what came out. Hope you'll like it :)
Full summary: Castiel Novak is a bothersome reporter from a local newspaper, who has compromising evidence against a mob boss named Crowley, known as The King of Hell. Dean Winchester, who works for Crowley is commanded to get rid of Novak. His plan to charm and lure the victim into a trap fails, when the sneaky reporter vanishes from the bar where they meet. But the thing Castiel does not know is that Dean is a werewolf and he remembers his scent, enabling him to find the gorgeous but impudent reporter, no matter where he goes.
Chapter1
Dean is fixing his Baby, bent over with his hands covered in oil, when his cell phone starts to ring in his pocket. The young man jumps, startled, hitting his head against the hood of the Impala, swearing loudly.
"Asshole!" The green-eyed man exclaims angrily, fishing out the cell phone.
The screen is flashing the caller ID and Dean better answer it if he doesn't want to get into trouble.
"Yes, boss, what can I do for you?" His voice sounds all official and respectful.
"Get your ass over here, right now!" A thick, British accents sounds from the cell phone before disconnecting the call.
Dean sighs and wipes his hands on a rug. He had been planning to finish fixing the Impala and it seems like he will need a few more hours for it. His Baby can wait, which cannot be said about his boss, The King of Hell aka Fergus Crowley. The man is a sly and very clever bastard, terrifying, controlling the whole city of New York.
Currently they are in Lakewood, Ohio, where Crowley has been meeting a business partner for the deal of the year. A gut feeling tells Dean that something must've gone wrong, as Crowley had sounded pissed as fuck on the phone. He sighs and shuffles towards the bathroom to get cleaned up and get ready for the meeting with his boss.
Unlike the old, small house which Dean has rented, Crowley's place looks like a freaking Sultan's palace – everything's gold and shiny, with massive marble columns and a small fountain inside the suite. Where the hell did he even find this place?
Dean's jaw is still on the floor, staring wide eyed at the heavenly place occupied by his boss, when Crowley snaps fingers in front of his nose.
"Earth to Moon, do you copy?"
Dean starts, coming to his senses, and coughs awkwardly. "Sorry about that, boss."
Crowley shakes his head, mumbling something about how he's surrounded by bloody morons and walks up to the table with exotic fruits on it. "Come here," he calls to Dean. "I want to show you something."
There is a fresh issue of the local newspaper lying near the bowl of fruit. "See this?" Crowley taps his finger on it.
Dean takes the newspaper, looking at the photos on the front page. There are six images of Crowley and his business partner, meeting at an abandoned warehouse, shaking hands and laughing, getting into their fancy cars and driving off. The title of the article in bold letters says "The Deal of the Year Between Two Mafia Clans." The article is written by Castiel Novak.
So that's why Crowley was so pissed. And Dean couldn't blame him. They had been so careful, measuring each and every step, not to draw any attention. How the hell did this reporter find their whereabouts and take these photos?
"I want him dead!" Crowley shouts, startling a bird in a cage near one of the windows. "I want you to kill him. But torture him first!"
The King of Hell takes something out of his expensive suit's inner pocket and throws it on the table. More photos, but there are no Crowley or his business partner on them. It's a young man with dark, almost black hair and piercing blue eyes. Dean's mouth instantly waters – the guy is just sex on legs, exactly his type.
"So, this is Castiel Novak?" Dean's voice sounds hoarse and he clears his throat.
Crowley gives him a funny look and if he guesses something, doesn't show it. "Yes, it's him. I'll give 'til the end of this week to finish him."
"Right. Will do." Dean nods, staring at the photos where Castiel is clad in tight black jeans and a red hooded sweater.
"Good. I'm sure you will do your job perfectly, like you always do." Crowley pats him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's drink this champagne." The British man pours the icy-cold drink into glasses and hands one to Dean. "Any ideas for a toast?"
"Um…" Dean scratches his head. "Yeah, actually, I have an idea."
Crowley's curiosity picks up. "And what would that be?"
Dean grins wide and raises his glass. "To operation Little Red Riding Cas."