I just want you to know that this chapter had hella rewrites because English. Among other things.

Onward~

The next evening, King made her way to L'Amour a few minutes before it was set to open for business, hyper-focused and ready to run whatever "errands" Big put her in charge of. However, the second she was inside the restaurant she noticed a startling lack of activity. There was no music playing, no hostess up front, and not a single server in sight. The only signs of life came from a couple of Syndicate members who were sitting at a fairly large table near the middle of the bar area, drinking, smoking, and playing poker: The Big Bad's proverbial ride or die and ex-Navy vet John Crawley; Mickey Rogers, a boxer who had killed a man in an amateur bout; and, of course… Jack Turner.

Completely uninterested in what the trio was doing, King wordlessly walked past the counter (she gave a curt nod to Bruce, who was pouring some shots) and over to the staircase that led to the upstairs lounge.

"Hey, New Guy," Jack said suddenly, stopping King before she could ascend. "Big's not here."
"Meeting with Geese," Crawley spoke up. "Decided to close the restaurant for the night."
"...Oh."

King made a face. She turned around, a little mystified that the entire place was closed because of Big's absence (but now in the know in regards to all those completely random times she was told not to come in during her time as a waitress). It wasn't like it mattered, though, because she now had the night off, which, while not ideal, would maybe allow her to decompress a little bit. She started back toward the exit but stopped when Mickey flagged her down.

"Why don't you come over?" He called. "We can use an extra guy."
"Yeah," Crawley chimed in. "Hang out with us!"
"Let us get to know you a bit better," Jack added.

King pressed her lips together as she considered her next course of action. Sure, she could go and humour her coworkers, as she had learned to play poker young (and was reasonably good at it), but she didn't care to spend more time with any of Big's men than she absolutely had to. She glanced at Bruce, who gave her an encouraging nod before turning her attention back to the table.

"Okay," Crawley said when King stayed silent, "You don't have to play, but at least do a shot with us."
"It'll be quick," Mickey told her.

There was a brief pause before Jack asked, "You're not one of them types that don't drink, are you?"

King shook her head; no.

"Then come on!" Mickey urged, his expression open and friendly.

With a quiet sigh King placed the book she had brought with her (The Complete Stories of Franz Kafka) on the counter before walking over to the trio. She supposed doing a shot wouldn't harm anything, and it would help solidify her place within Big's crew. She picked up one of several small glasses from the center of the table and fixed her eyes on the floor, not really paying attention to Crawley as he went on some spiel about camaraderie and the importance of staying tight.

"Cheers!"

The men yelled in unison, which was King's cue; she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before downing the liquor — which, to her dismay, was whiskey. The alcohol burned her throat as it went down, and even made her feel a little sick. She had to hide it, though; she had to prove that she could hang with the boys. She took a deep breath and placed the glass down with the intention of walking away, but let out a startled sound when Jack's hand shot up, gripped her cummerbund, and pulled her down into the seat next to him.

"Where you going, New Guy? Sit."

King glared daggers at Jack, but his only response was a derisive smirk.

"Tell us about your book," he said, his interest clearly feigned. "What kinds of things you readin' over there when you're not out doin' Big's work for him?"

King scowled fiercely, almost unreasonably angry that Jack had the nerve to put his hands on her (again), but also possibly a little affected by the whiskey, as she felt really warm all of a sudden.

"I asked you a question, Frenchie."
"King's a li'l shy," Mickey cut in as King furrowed her brow. "It's okay, though. He doesn't need to talk if he doesn't wanna. Sometimes less is more, you dig?"
"But I'd like to know more about the person that's been taking my guys out," Jack answered.
"Aww, don't be a dick, Jack," Crawley admonished the large man. "He's just doing his job. And very well, at that. You've got some skill, King. Muay Thai, right?"

Still reeling a little from the whiskey, King nodded. She hated all of these men… but it was nice to know that her capabilities hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Muay Thai? You mean like, kickboxing? That's what that is?" Mickey inquired.
"You just now figured that out?" Crawley's tone dripped with disbelief.
"Hey, it's not like I sit around watching the guy fight."
"Maybe you should," Jack spoke up. "It might be… enlightening."

There was a brief pause as each man reached for another shot. King was going to try to leave again but Crawley held a small glass toward her.

"Have another," he said casually. "We all know you've earned it."
"I have to drive," King stated plainly.

(A total lie, because she had walked there.)

"What? Can't hold your liquor?" Jack sneered.

King frowned. She looked toward the ceiling and then cleared her throat so she could speak in her lower register for a little longer than usual.

"Based on my size and the fact that I've had very little to eat, two shots would raise my BAC —"
"What's that?" Jack asked.
" — blood alcohol content, dipshit," Crawley hissed.
" — to the point where it would take a couple of hours to sober up, and that's if those shots are only forty-percent ABV. Also, I prefer wine."

There was silence among the group before Mickey held his small glass up.

"King with the smarts," he yelled before downing his liquor.
"Lord knows we need more brains around here," Crawley commented dryly. He took the shot for himself, leaned back in his seat, and peered at King thoughtfully.

"Big is real fond of you," he started. "You haven't been here very long, but you've definitely made a mark. Keep it up."

King didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't. Instead, she watched as Crawley produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter; he pulled a stick of lung cancer halfway out of the pack before wordlessly holding it in King's direction. She held up a hand and shook her head.

"How about some weed?" Mickey suggested.

Another head shake.

"Blow?"

And another.

"Tch. This pretty boy is far too good for that shit," Jack declared. "But I know for a fact that he has more… specific vices."

All eyes turned to Jack, curious. He squinted at King, seemingly amused, while she crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what the hell he was even talking about.

"What you like is candy."

Mickey and Crawley exchanged a look while King quirked a brow. Yes, 3 Musketeers bars were great (particularly the mini ones…), and Skittles were very addictive, but what did Jack think he knew about her eating habits? And, more importantly, why did it even matter?

"You're not into the overly sweetened stuff though. You like things with more substance."

King didn't know why, but she started to feel very uncomfortable — like something was wrong. She gazed at Jack, as expressionless as possible, as she did her best to push the feeling to the back of her mind. Unfortunately it seemed as though he picked up on her unease, as he looked directly into her eyes... and flashed a wicked smile.

"In fact, I bet… your favourite is caramel," he asserted.

For some reason, the word "caramel" made King sit up a little straighter. There was something in the way Jack said it… and the look on his face when he did. He was still staring into her eyes, but, despite being a little rattled, she stared back, determined not to show it.

"Yeah, yeah, so you're positive that King likes sweets over hard drugs. Can we get back to our game?" Crawley asked impatiently.

Jack's eyes flicked toward the man across from him for just a second before settling on King once more.

"You don't like those hard, Werthers bullshits, though," he continued, his voice taking on a more deliberate, and maybe even baleful tone. "You like that soft stuff. The stuff that just melts in your mouth. I bet you could eat it all day, huh, New Guy?"

The gleam in Jack's beady eyes… the way they pierced hers as he spoke…

King's breath caught as she was hit — hard — by the realization that Jack wasn't talking about candy.

He was talking about Jessica.

Her heart began pounding as she suppressed the urge to vomit. If he knew about Jessica, then he absolutely knew about her.

...It also meant that he must have followed her the other night… which made her furious. In that moment she wanted — very badly — to cave his nose in, but she knew that if she lost her shit it was game over. She had to keep it together — had to.

"You're drunk," she told him flatly.
"But am I wrong, New Guy?"

King pressed her lips together while Jack smiled at her like a sloppy, overweight Cheshire Cat. It was so unsettling that she had no choice but to look away from him, her nausea becoming stronger and stronger with each passing second.

"You alright, King?" Mickey inquired. "You look kinda pale."
"Yeah, you don't look so good. Was it the shot?" Crawley guessed.
"Ou-ouais," King answered as she hastily stood up. She could see that son of a bitch watching her out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to kick that smug smile right off of his face, but now that he did, indeed, have major dirt on her… now what? He was probably about to let the guys in on her secret at any second. And if they found out…

"I should go," she told the group.
"Aww, but we've barely scratched the surface, New Guy." Jack mock pouted. "I feel like there's still so much more to learn about you."
"Stop giving him such a hard time," Crawley chided. "He'll open up more eventually."
"Oh, I bet he will…"

King pressed her lips together very hard; she wasn't about to give this asshole the satisfaction of a response. She had other things to focus on, anyway — like how she was going to go about convincing Jessica to stay with her parents in Colorado for a few days while she tried to fix this…

She gave a two fingered salute to the men at the table before turning and quickly making her way out of the bar, toward the rear exit she had entered through. Once she was halfway down the corridor she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself; the whiskey might have been stronger than the standard forty percent, as she felt very… strange. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath as she tried to organize her racing thoughts.

Jack knew she was a woman. Whether or not he was aware that she was the same woman he fought a few months back was unknown, and probably irrelevant because, either way, Jack knew she was a woman.

Not only did he know about her, but he knew about Jessica, too, which was fucking horrifying. Knowing that she had been tailed after work — all the way through the building — instilled in King a deep feeling of revulsion. Thinking that he was there… that he had probably been outside the damn apartment made her feel even sicker than she already was (especially since the walls were infuriatingly thin).

King placed a hand over her mouth and stifled a gag — just in time to register the heavy footsteps behind her. She whirled around but couldn't react fast enough to avoid Jack before he grabbed her by her arms, slammed her into the wall, and lifted her slightly, so her feet were no longer on the floor. He held her in place and grinned.

"Looks like you and me got some catchin' up to do, hon."

Welp. That happened.

Writing Jack's dialogue in terms of that candy metaphor was very difficult, not gonna lie. I was actually told that it was too subtle, particularly for someone like him, but there are reasons for that. I had three guinea pigs that I ran it by (you know who you are) to gauge different reactions, and after chatting at length with all three I felt like that was the way to go. Anyway.

* King's book, The Complete Stories of Franz Kafka, is just that: a compilation of Kafka's works that clocks in at nearly 500 pages. (It goes without saying that, by now, she's finished The Divine Comedy.) One of Kafka's most famous stories is The Metamorphosis, which is about a guy who wakes up transformed into a huge insect
* The alcohol being consumed is BULLEIT Straight Bourbon Whiskey, which has an ABV (alcohol by volume) of 45%
* A single shot that is 40% ABV on a somewhat empty stomach has the potential to knock one's BAC up to 0.05%, which is characterized by some mild impairment. These shots are a little stronger, and King is able to hold her liquor (particularly later in life) but she's still very young here, so it packs a little bit more of a punch
* 3 Musketeers, Skittles, and caramel are all vegetarian or vegan friendly candies

Okay. That's done. Let me know your thoughts and feels! Cheers!