Disclaimer: If I owned the Gunmen, would I be sitting here right now? Nope, I'd be chillin with Langly. I don't own Yves or Susanne either, in case you couldn't gather that.


Chapter 8 - Let the Games Begin.

Langly shocked, finished what he was doing then went upstairs. The site that met his eyes made him fume. Renee, clad in a towel only from just getting out of her shower, was stopped in front of her door by Chris. He was talking in a low voice when he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Before she could do anything, he pulled away then went into his guest room, but not before winking at Langly. 'That punk is in no way Frohike's son,' Langly thought to himself.

By the time he finished pacing on the middle of the stairs, calming himself, Renee was inside her room and dressed. Langly sat down on her bed, arms folded. "Still think Chris is a good kid?"

"What?" asked Renee as she shuffled through some papers on her desk, probably from her publisher. She was writing a straight up fiction novel, with the protagonists as four males. She neglected to tell the Gunmen that they were the basis for this novel.

"His little display of affection at the door."

Renee looked as though she were uncomfortable thinking about it. She sat down beside him, nestling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure he only meant it as a friendly thing."

"Sam was right. You really are blind when it comes to people being in love with you."

"What are you talking about?"

Langly turned and held her face in his hands. "Chris in love with you," Renee started to protest but he put a finger to her lips to stop her. "Just listen. He is, and I know it. He told me that he was going to try and win you from me. That you were fair game, or something along those lines."

"Richard," she started.

"I'm not done yet." Renee nodded and motioned for him to continue. "I am in love with you. I don't know how you didn't see that before. I'm fairly sure that I have been since I first met you. I just don't want to loose you, Rei."

Renee flushed crimson and thought for a minute. "I love you, Richard."


Little did the two know they had an audience. Chris listened for a few moments more, then returned to his room. He picked up his cellphone and quickly dialed a number. "It's me. I don't know if this is going to work." He listened to the voice on the other end. "They're to close in my opinion, but I'll keep trying." He walked over to his duffle bag, unzipping it. The open flap revealed his gun, stack of cash, and a few other miscellaneous gadgets. "Nothing to worry about. Frohike's son has not, and will not, receive Sam's letter. He's blissfully ignorant."

The man on the other end of the line shrugged off his trenchcoat. If "Chris" could complete his assignment, he'd get what he wanted and Langly would be taken care of. Who next? It would be easiest to go with Jimmy Bond, he decided. The dumb oaf could be easily deceived. But how to go about it? Killing Yves would be best. Something told him that it would prove difficult to do that though. Yves was a strong woman. No matter, it would come to him eventually. They would all pay. He hung up the phone and poured himself a glass of wine. It had been a long day.


Feedback please?

Longer chapter next time, I promise! (I'm on spring break so it'll be next week sometime.)