John dropped her right by her house, for which she was grateful. Although she wouldn't ever admit it. The second part of the ride passed in terrible silence. Deal. The last words she heard from him before she shook his hand, which he took off the steering wheel. With a slight hesitation, she went for it. The lawyer's grip was firm, but strangely delicate. As if he was afraid that he would accidentally crush bones in her fingers. His hand was warm, which was creating an almost poetic contrast with Irina's always cold skin. She looked straight into his eyes for a few seconds and for a moment she lost her concentration. She caught it only when the weave of their hands has been finally broken.

She left his car without a word, though she could feel his eyes on her, observing her until she disappeared in the depths of the stairwell. She sighed with relief, though her nerves were on the edge. The envelope received from Duncan that was held in her hand was squeezed so tightly that she felt the crumpled paper inside of it. Her hands were shaking, which caused a lot of problems when opening the lock to her apartment. The key that almost slipped from her hand lived its own life, dancing maliciously around its destination, not intending to finally calm down and fulfill its task.

- Ah, for fuck's sake! - She cursed under her breath, thus receiving a puzzled look from a man who just walked to the door of his apartment on the other side of the corridor and opened it in the blink of an eye. She didn't say anything anymore, instead she took a deep breath and finally managed to get in, slamming the door behind her. She furiously threw the envelope on the table, pulling off her blouse and quickly going up to the fridge, pulling out an almost empty bottle of whiskey. She wasn't interested in the fact that she usually woke up with a hangover after that. She needed the kind of freedom that headache brought her. However strange it sounded. However fucked up it was.

When she finally took the first sip of a strong drink, she simply slumped slowly onto the kitchen floor, resting her head on the fridge. She squeezed the glass tightly so as not to let it drop. And she didn't drop it even when she fell asleep, her head miraculously not striking against the cold floor.

John made a sound of contentment, then sniffed the last dose of cocaine that he had. His pupils widened momentarily, and his muscles relaxed. Lying behind him on the couch was a completely naked woman, that stroked his back with her fingers, folding gentle kisses along the line of his right thigh. It seemed as if she was demanding attention from him in this way, but the man didn't return the affection. He didn't feel such a need, although he wanted to need it in the depths of his soul. Above all, he wanted this woman to be... Someone else. Then he would be able to afford more. However, the concrete one who was now fond of him like a cat was worthless. Her hair, although bright, was too short. Eyes, though dark, had too much green and too little bronze. The nose was too perfect, the lips too wide. And breasts - way too big. He didn't know why he didn't like all of it. Usually, he valued such women the most. He liked to look at that type the most. But that evening everything seemed to be... Out of place. He wanted something else. He knew what, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. His PRIDE forbade him. It was fighting with GREED.

The view of the phone's brightened screen wrenched him out of meditation. He silenced it two hours ago, not wanting it to disturb him. Therefore, in the first reflex, he ignored the connection. It was only when the phone called the second time that he picked it up.

- I said that I'm not available this evening, didn't I? - He asked rhetorically with irritation in his voice, ignoring the woman behind him who was seeking his attention all the time. Her imperfection began to annoy him. She wasn't what he wanted. She was just a toy for a few minutes, which ceased to give entertainment right after the first use.

- Please forgive me, Mr. Duncan, but you have a client. He said it was urgent and asked for contact with you as soon as possible. - The secretary on the other side of the phone sounded slightly ashamed and apologetic, as if she knew perfectly well in what situation she found her employer. John growled softly, then rubbed his forehead with the wet hand he had recently held on the inside of his warm thigh.

- Send me his contact details. I'll call him tomorrow. - He answered, then hung up, hearing the farewell "I shall do so, Mr. Duncan" and put the phone down on the counter, sighing heavily. He didn't intend to rush with a call to a potential client. If he really needed the help of this particular lawyer, he would be able to wait a dozen or so hours of waiting. If not... Well, it would mean he wasn't worth of John's time anyway.

The man put his hand between the shoulder blades of the woman behind him, not looking at her at all. He felt that he was simply wasting his time. His mind was in a completely different place and didn't take into account the presence of the imperfect - at least for him - girl, who apparently sensed that she couldn't count on anything more and just fell asleep, deciding not to tire or distract the man any longer.

And for that he was grateful.

She was riding slowly through the streets of Atlanta. The city was just beginning to come alive and it was full of life, actually. In the evening, teenagers were leaving their homes for parties and adults were returning from work. Irina was holding the steering wheel in her left hand, while her right was only leaning against it, squeezing the paper from the John's envelope in its fingers.

She parked the car in a small parking lot, closing the door carefully behind her. She had to squish her eyes in which the neon light advertising the liquor store shone intensely. She put away a piece of paper in her pants pocket, along her car keys, ignoring the curious looks of two men standing nearby. More interested, fortunately, in her car than she herself. She started began to walk along the wet sidewalk leading down the street. She walked carefully, not so much for fear of slipping, but because of a strange sensation that she was being watched. It had accompanied her since the day she had unbelievable misfortune and stumbled upon John Duncan, who forced her to play his own game, the rules of which nobody knew except himself.

She turned into a side street with which she didn't have good memories. Nevertheless, this was demanded by the content contained within the envelope. The woman immediately became alert, reflexively and discreetly reaching into the inner pocket of her black-leather jacket.

- It won't be necessary, girl. - The voice came from her right, where only a few meters away was a blond-haired man with eyes so intensely green that they could be seen perfectly in spite of the darkness prevailing in the alley. - I don't shoot at my clients. Or rather, their couriers, because they usually don't come in person. You understand, high-ranking people prefer not to take such a risk.

Irina stared at him suspiciously, but she let her hand rest quietly along her side, and walked a few steps closer to the man. His face was quite handsome, if you not to count the scar from the knife that distorted his left cheek and thin lips.

- You know why I am here, as I presume. - She said, clearing her throat quietly. Her voice became even more hoarse from the last fun she had with whiskey. And because she didn't make any sound in the last eight hours.

- Of course. I know everything. - He replied enigmatically, with a slight smile, macabrely distorted by the scar. - Here's what you came for. Properly hidden, in case any... Complications appear. It never happened, but you never know. Caution doesn't hurt and usually doesn't kill either. - He added, giving the girl something that looked like an ordinary letter. With stamp and address of the sender and recipient on the respective pages. Carter was not sure if it was such a good way to hide the cocaine, but didn't say anything. She just wanted to get rid of this package as soon as possible. She took the envelope in her hand, hidden behind the leather glove for matter of safety and put it in her pocket.

- I'm guessing that's all. Money has been reportedly already provided to you by... - She paused, unsure of how to say what she wanted to say.

- ... Another John's puppet? - He finished the sentence for her and smiled surprisingly gently, as if with understanding. - Don't worry about your current situation, girl. He won't keep you for eternity, sooner or later he gets rid of his minions. You're not the first one, and surely not the last.

- I hope you don't mean permanent elimination. - She murmured with reluctance and mock nonchalance, though she was actually listening to the man now more carefully than ever. It was at this particular moment that she realized that in this sick Duncan's game, her life might be at stake. The man answered her with another smile and almost imperceptible shaking of his head.

- No, definitely not. John isn't playing the gangster. He's a lawyer, however it may seem insignificant and weird, he really is. Cocaine, women... Well, nobody is perfect. Everyone has some weaknesses. People placed higher and with more digits on the account than the rest of the society can simply afford to fulfill their desires. - He shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the brick wall, looking at the woman with interest, although it felt that it was not - fortunately - sexually marked. Despite this, Irina felt uncomfortable, so she turned slowly on her heel and nodded to the man with a goodbye.

- If that's all, I'll go now. - She murmured, going her way. She wanted to give John a letter with valuable content as soon as possible, because it also involved the possibility of a quick homecoming. And longer, though surely not peaceful sleep.

- Take care of yourself, girl. I have faith in you. - He replied, watching her, but Carter didn't turn to face him anymore. Instead, she quickly returned to her car, taking a deep breath and hurried off as soon as possible, was driving to the next address on her list, pressing the gas pedal more aggressively than ever before. Relief that accompanied her was a rare blessing. Coming to pick up the package, she was worried about the worst, while the gun hidden in the inside pocket of her jacket proved to be unnecessary. And she was very, very grateful for that.

John's apartment was in the richer part of the city - not that it was surprising in any way. Although the woman lived almost at the other end of Atlanta, she came to the right address without much difficulty, stopping the car and glancing up. It was extremely late, but the light on the last floor was shining brightly. At least one fairly good news. After a few minutes, she finally gathered her courage and left the car, dialing the number on the intercom. The answer was almost immediate and soon the woman was climbing the stairs to the last, fourth floor. She could call the elevator, but she didn't like them too much, so she chose a safer, though much more tiring option. And she couldn't deny it - the staircase was exceptionally elegant. Well, those were the charms of rich neighborhoods and rich apartment buildings, after all. The gray floor literally shone and Carter could see her reflexion like in the cleanest mirror. The windows were gigantic, it looked almost like the walls were made of nothing but glass. The ceiling was pure white, its shade so clean that even the snow would be jealous of it.

Finally, she climbed to the top floor to find John leaning nonchalantly on the doorstep. She came up to him, letting herself inhale and exhale deeply, then without a word she gave him a letter that was not a letter at all. However, he didn't take it, didn't even look at it. Instead, he was looking at her. Carefully, but softly at the same time. He extended his hand to her, but he didn't take the envelope. Instead, he brushed an unruly strand of blond hair from her face, twisting it in his fingers for a moment, thoughtfully. She felt strange, but said nothing. She stared at him with an expectant look, as if she wanted to force him to take the letter so that she could leave in peace. But John wasn't in a hurry at all. He took the letter slowly and gently and for a moment leaned out of the door, probably putting a valuable package down on the table somewhere near the door. Irina wanted to take the opportunity to turn around and leave, but she didn't make it. The lawyer stopped her with a firm gesture that ordered no sudden movements. And for some strange reason she immediately obeyed the order, like an obedient dog. She hated herself for it, but still didn't say a word. Waiting for his move, whatever it may be. The truth was that the woman had no idea what to say. That's why she chose silence, which seemed the most wise to her in the current situation.

- You alright? - He asked, finally breaking the silence, staring at her with those goddamn blue eyes of his. She hated them. She was afraid of them.

- Yeah. Can I go now? - She countered, closing her eyelids slightly. Tiredness took over her and she didn't intend to hide it. On the contrary, she was showing this, hoping to talk some sense into Duncan somehow, so he would let her go. He, of course, saw her fatigue. John wasn't blind, after all. But he apparently ignored it.

- You want to get behind the wheel in this state? You're almost unconscious. - So he saw how she felt. And he was not so much as ignoring this fact, but actually tried in a twisted way to use it in his favor. Which Carter didn't like at all.

- I was driving a car in worse conditions. - She replied simply, not taking her eyes off him. It was out of pure caution and vigilance.

- Don't you want to go inside? - He suggested, opening the door a little wider in what looked like an invitation. And although reason told a tired woman to take advantage of the offer, her persistence and a kind of anxiety strongly prohibited it.

- No, thanks. I just want to go home. And the sooner I get into the car, the sooner I get back.

- You sure?

- Yeah, I'm twenty-four years old so I can make decisions. - She replied with little bit of irritation. She felt like a child. And the vision of having John as her father definitely rejected her, so she had another reason to evacuate from this place.

- As you wish. - He murmured, then reached into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out six hundred dollars, which he counted with one quick movement of his hand. He gave the money to the surprised girl, and the sight of that emotion on her face made John smile.

- Here you go. Just don't spend it on anything stupid. - He added and chuckled softly. Irina couldn't stop the mocking smile that slowly rose on her lips.

- Said a man whom I just brought a packet of cocaine. Which costs about seventy dollars for one gram. - John raised his eyebrows slightly, then clicked his tongue. He nodded toward the stairs behind the girl. Irina waited for this gesture of consent long enough, so she immediately moved in that direction without looking back.

- Run away, little lamb. Run, run, run. - He said with amusement, then closed the door behind him. At the moment when they quietly clicked, the girl was already on the ground floor and walked towards her car.

John carefully opened a fake envelope with a letter that didn't exist inside it, taking out a fairly large bag of white, precious powder. He smiled slightly, remembering the girl's words. Yes, cocaine was very expensive and could cost seventy dollars for one gram. This particular one, however, was from an even higher shelf, so its value reached one hundred. But John did'nt have to worry about the costs. He was able to afford such expensive entertainment.

- If you only knew, little one. - He whispered to himself, throwing a glance at the screen of his phone. It was black as night, but he knew that it would soon shine brightly. He waited for it patiently, or at least he liked to believe in existence of his patience.

John sprinkled a small dose of cocaine on the table top, forming a narrow shaft with it, then reached for the banknote lying next to it and rolled it into a roll. And at that moment the phone's screen flashed, and the lawyer's hand went quickly towards it.

- She just entered the stairwell, sir. - The man's voice was dispassionate, or at least it was meant to be. John, however, heard something in that voice that should not be there.

- ... But?

- She's not alone.

The man stroked his beard with his hand and frowned. He didn't like it. Something was definitely wrong, something wasn't going according to his plan.

- Who is he? - He asked after a while, holding his breath. In the meantime, he quickly searched in his memory for the name of someone who could now be with her there, enter her apartment walking right next to her. But he didn't remembered anyone who was in Atlanta at this moment. And even more so, whom Irina would let in at such a late hour. She has never been in any serious relationship with anyone, according to her file. And most of her acquaintances were outside the United States, anyway.

- It's not "he", sir. It's a woman. Long, brown hair and very pale skin. I didn't saw anything more of importance, though. But... They look as if they were extremely close. And I don't mean family relations, it's rather... Sexual.

John froze, then swore under his breath.

- Jesus Christ...