So, after re-watching Bryce seriously damage Charah and ruin "Skinny Love" for me with one stone in ep 3 of season 2, I really wanted Bryce to be put in his place. Seriously, I can't listen to that song without thinking of that scene. What a manipulative jerk!

This is my Literary revenge on Bryce Larkin.

Also, for those of you who have waited to no avail for me to update "How to Say Goodbye", thank you for your reviews and your support. I wrote that during Christmas break. I have had, and will continue to have little time to write until schools over.

I'm working on it though in the back of my head, and have a few major plot points and potential scenes thought out. The problem is I haven't quite figured out how to map out the interactions between Chuck and Sarah after that first chapter.

Larkin Haters, I hope you enjoy

I don't own Chuck.

A hotel, Tenth Floor

He walked down to the end of the hallway quietly, constantly checking all around to make sure no one saw him. He found the room, the last door on the right. After checking one last time to make sure no one saw him, he called out.

"Room Service!"

"I assume you already have a keycard?", came the response.

He chuckled quietly, pulling out a keycard along with a silenced Smith & Wesson 9mm, all while getting into a combat ready position. He put it into the lock. As soon as he heard the beep, he opened the door swiftly, the gun raised. The guest was sitting on the couch with the Tv on loudly, a laptop open on a coffee table in front of him. The man with the gun quickly and quietly closed the door behind him. They made eye contact, and the guest closed his laptop looking a bit surprised.

"Get up!", the intruder commanded.

The guest calmly got up and walked around the coffee table, hands at his side. He moved to left of the intruder towards what appeared to be the small table for the expensive liquor. It had several nice looking bottles, one labeled brandy, one whiskey, and one scotch. The intruder was baffled. Either this guy was overconfident or he knew something he didn't. The guest went for the Scotch, pouring a glass. He turned towards the intruder.

"Drink?"

The intruders eyes narrowed.

"I have gun— a silenced gun I might add, plus the Tv is on pretty loudly. You're not in much of a position to jerk me around."

The guest took a sip of the scotch.

"You really don't see the irony of that statement do you?"

The intruder didn't understand what was going. From what he could see the guest was unarmed and they were alone. If the door suddenly opened, he could react accordingly. The guest turned to look at him.

"Look at your shoulder."

He looked over just enough to put it in his peripheral vision. There it was — a red dot dancing in tight circles, coming from the window to his left—sniper. Externally he looked calm. Internally he was swearing, pacing, and angrily whacking the air with his gun, like a teenage boy who just crashed his dad's new car. There something weird about the red dot though. He looked closer at his shoulder. The dot was in the shape of a…smiley face? His face contorted in confusion. He began to wonder if this man was mentally ill. There was a buzzing noise coming from the guest, who pulled out a phone and checked it.

"Ah would you look at that! facial recognition just came back."

He looked back up at the intruder.

"My security detail is all ex-special forces. You're good Mr. Anderson but you're not that good."

Bryce thought through his options. Maybe he could try to dive away from the sniper's field of view.

"I wouldn't try anything. The gun on the other end of that laser is a silenced L115A3, pretty cool looking sniper rifle, and the man behind it knows exactly what he's doing. If what I understand about the rounds he's using for the gun is correct, then you probably won't survive if he shoots you, and he will shoot you."

Bryce smirked, thinking that maybe this guy hadn't thought this through. This was after all a hotel, and a bullet as big as the one that an L11543 used would punch strait through the wall to his right. It might even kill someone in the next room. Would he be willing to risk that, and attract attention?

"You wouldn't risk a round that big going through the wall, this is a hotel after all."

The guest took another sip of his scotch.

"You see that large cheap painting to your right?"

Bryce looked in that direction, and looked more closely at the painting that took up a good deal of space on the wall.

"Behind that canvas, my security detail had the same material used to keep the President from getting 50. cals in his face installed. That round isn't punching through any walls."

Bryce sighed deeply. He was in one of the worst situations a spy could be in.

"Also, three of the guys on my detail are booked in the rooms across from mine."

This really wasn't getting any better.

"They're probably watching us right now."

The guest took another sip.

"You might wanna ditch the gun. It would definitely make my sniper a little less anxious. Let's do the good old fashioned drop-kick-and-slide."

Bryce, not really seeing any options, gently put the gun down and slid it across to his captor. He put down the drink down on the coffee table and picked the gun. He unscrewed the silencer, tossed it on the couch, and stripped the rest. The big pieces he put on the coffee table, the smaller parts of the gun he put in his scotch.

"That wasn't bad, pretending to be room service, especially having the keycard to back it up. The suit was a nice touch too. You'd blend in with all the guests here at the hotel. You'd be able to walk right out the front door, no questions asked. I have tell you though, after that spy movie marathon my nephew made me watch with him last week, total cliche. It would have been much more entertaining to see you come in through the window."

If this guy wanted to do something to Bryce, he was certainly able to do it, as if his dying pride wasn't enough. He was simultaneously pissed at his luck, how embarrassing this was, and worried he might not come out of it. If only he could just knock the guy out and be done with it.

"Now who sent you? Was it that stuck-up bitch Beckman who's still trying to prove herself to the Select Intelligence Committee after everything that's happened with your friend Chuck?"

Bryce's face contorted into shock. How the hell did he know about Chuck? He needed to find way to contact Sarah and fast.

"So that's a yes on Beckman then. What did she tell you? How am I, according to her, a threat to national security?"

His captor paused.

"You know what it? Screw it. I don't care. Just leave, and we'll pretend this never happened. Tell Beckman that if anything like this happens again, I know where the bodies are buried, even the names."

Bryce looked one last time at the glass with the insides of his gun.

"You're not getting that back".

Then he turned to the window, the obnoxiously smirking red dot clearly visible. He headed towards the door.

"Hey."

Bryce looked back at him. What else could this waste of his time want?

"Keycard."

He irritatingly sighed, reached into his pocket, and dropped it on the floor.

"Have a nice evening.", said the guest.

F_k You - Lily Allen

With that, Bryce left the most humiliating point of his career as a spy.

Please Review. What do you think? Do you the ending song fits?

Oh and don't worry, the O/C isn't a bad guy