Daunte Johnson leaned back in the chair that was conveniently located in the VIP section of a swanky Rhode Island club. He downed a Gin and Tonic, his fifth for the evening and motioned to the scantily clad waitress for another. His eyes darted around the room and his breath was coming in radical spurts. Many thoughts raced through his troubled mind but nothing seemed to calm him, not even the alcohol.

"What's wrong with you, Boss?"

Beside him sat Tony, a petty criminal from New Jersey, also one of the hired hands of his crew. With his beady green eyes, unkempt goatee and jailhouse tattoos, the six foot six, three hundred pounder was enough to intimidate anyone. It was a role he enjoyed and played well as he sat next to the man he had been hired to answer to.

Daunte looked around and gave a tired but sincere smile. He raised his glass and took a sip as he also sucked in a breath. Reality was sinking in fast. In a short amount of time, everything had seemingly begun to fall apart. There were decisions to be made, ones that required Daunte to think fast.

"You know, Tony, I'm gonna miss all of this man."

Tony looked around and made a face.

"Miss all of what?"

Daunte raised his glass.

"This. Everything. This club. This life. Even you."

"Going somewhere?"

He was going somewhere, alright. The actual destination was yet to be determined.

"How long you been by my side, Tony?"

"A lot of years", he shrugged with his heavy northern accent.

"What's a lot of years?"

"I don't know. A lot. Ten, eleven maybe."

"You've been my right hand man…"

"Boss, you don't look so good. When's the last time you've been laid?"

Daunte ignored the question with another rueful smile.

"It's all over."

"What's all over? Enough with all the codes."

"The Feds are onto me. They're onto this whole operation."

Tony swallowed hard, finishing the rest of his nearly full beer with one single gulp. No stranger to trouble, he had been in and out of juvenile detention centers and adult jails all his life. Being on probation hadn't stopped his shady dealings but he had felt protected. Daunte Johnson and the people he ran for and worked with were invincible. He wasn't fully aware of everything that went down, he just did what he was told and collected a nice little under the table sum of cash every week. Just the mention of federal agents had him shaking in his black biker boots. Prison time hadn't been in the cards for anybody.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"This thing we got going on here? You know it's bigger than me."

"I know you got people to answer to."

"They're on me, man, and I can't go down. I can't go to prison."

Tony shook his head.

"You start snitching to pigs and prison will be the least of your worries. Look, I don't know nothing about nothing, I just follow the orders and take the cash but I know enough to know, you mess with the wrong people and they'll have no problem putting a bullet between your eyes."

"I know but I've got a way out."

"You better hope so."

"All they want is Nathan Scott."

"Come again?"

Daunte nodded.

"The Feds. They're fucking obsessed with that kid. They've been watching that whole family for a long time but never had anything concrete enough to really nail them."

"And now they do?"

"What do you want me to do, Tony?"

"I don't know. All this cop and Fed business don't give me a good feeling. Hell, we'd be better off killing the old man or at least the kid. We could even break some kneecaps."

"This is better, trust me."

"What are you smoking, man?"

"Murder would almost be too easy. I'm gonna get Danny Scott where it really hurts. I'm finally gonna take him down and when I'm finished with his ass, it'll be worse than death."

"But Boss…"

"I've already made up my mind, Tony. They know I have valuable information and come tomorrow morning, they know everything. I will officially be an FBI informant."

"They gonna put you in Witness Protection?"

"Probably."

"Good because your ass is gonna need it. Boss…"

Daunte's cell phone rang and he answered, silencing his employee and close friend with one finger. Worry lines creased his face as he spoke in hushed and muffled tones.

"Grab us another round, will you?" he tossed a couple of bills onto the table as he slid out from the booth.

"Where you going?"

"Relax. I'll be right back. Order the drinks."

"Need me to come with you?" Tony asked but Daunte was already gone.

He went outside and walked over to the darkened and empty parking lot. He chatted intently on the phone, leaning against the hood of his black, luxury sedan. He was engrossed in conversation, not even realizing that he was not completely alone. He didn't even notice the headlights of the dark SUV barreling towards him until it was too late.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled as the phone flew into the air.

The side of the vehicle grazed him, tossing his body like a rag doll. He hit the pavement with a thud, lying there for a few minutes before being able to assume a standing position. He got up slowly, bloody and unsteady on his feet. He hobbled a few feet away to the alley that ran parallel with the parking lot. Minutes later, the SUV was back but before it could strike his body again, it stopped mere inches from him. The door opened and the driver stepped out. Daunte's eyes narrowed but he still managed a smirk.

"You Scott sons of bitches are crazier than I thought."

"Daunte, it's time that we had a little talk."

"Talk? Talk? After you just tried to run me over?"

"I was just trying to get your attention. Quit your whining, I barely touched you. If I really wanted to kill your ass, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Now get in."

"Or what?"

"Are you willing to push me and find out?"

Daunte licked the blood from his lip. The plan had already been set in motion. In less than 24 hours, he had planned for the entire Scott family to be singing a different tune but there had been new events. Plans were changing. As usual, the holier than thou Tree Hill natives couldn't leave well enough alone. And Daunte still had one more ace up his sleeve. This time, he was bound and determined to get the last word. Reaching into the pocket of his tailored suit jacket, he whipped out a gun, finger on the trigger pointed straight ahead.

"The question is, are you willing to push me?"

The other man put his hands up.

"Daunte!"

"Not so brave and bad and bold now, are you?"

"Look…"

"I had something real cool in store for your sorry ass tomorrow but looks like you're about to spoil my fun and get your surprise a day earlier."

Knowing he was seconds away from a date with death, the man lunged at Daunte. They battled, locked in a fight over the shiny black weapon pointing dangerously in the air. It fell in the struggle, crashing to the ground as the fight continued. Daunte tightened his grip around his foe's neck, using his finger tips to squeeze out the very last breath. But he had overestimated his opponent. The gallant Scott fought back. A fist landed against one of Daunte's eyes. Another followed on the other side. Blood trickled, then gushed as the third punch caused a sickening crunch against the man's nose.

The anger towards Daunte, already built, peaked into an out of control inferno. The blows kept coming, crushing the man's head like an eggshell. He could no longer fight back and he crumpled to the ground in a bloody lifeless heap. He took one last breath that was masked by an awful gurgling sound, then there was silence.

Above the battered corpse, a stunned man, dressed in all black, stood covered in blood. His chest pounded as sweat poured off of him. It was not supposed to go that way. Things had gone terribly awry. Catching his breath, he looked around. It was near a public place where people had their cars parked, potential witnesses to what had turned out to be an unexpected murder scene. Using the end of his hooded shirt, he wiped the gun clean of prints before placing it back in Daunte's motionless hand. Backing up, he stepped back into the SUV and gathered his thoughts for a few moments. He wanted his hands to stop shaking. On purpose or not, he had just killed a man. Biting his lip, he slammed the door shut and put the truck in reverse, peeling away as his foot stepped on the gas. It was supposed to be a good old fashioned talking to, nothing more. Then Daunte had to get cocky and pull a gun. It was an honest case of classic self defense but who would really believe it?

Sneaking back onto the highway unseen, the driver exhaled. He blended in with the mass of traffic as he headed towards I-95 to 1 North. His heart still pounded and it still felt like a surreal dream. But it was no dream. It had really happened. He had killed a man and he was no killer. But he had come to stop Daunte and if a talking to hadn't, several blunt force traumatic blows to the skull had. Daunte Johnson had been looking forward to a date with destiny and in a roundabout way it had come.