Chapter 16: Peculiar Outing


When dusk ultimately rolls around you bid your folks a prolonged goodbye and dipped out as inconspicuously as possible. Before you headed to your apartment, you made sure to drop sweetface back off at John's house. Unfortunately, your mind is restless the entire time.

You'd ended up asking your friends "Are we still going?" numerous times, mainly in an attempt to cancel if you're being truthful.

You hadn't had to sneak and go to a party since you were a teenager. And you're more scared to do it now than you were back then. Which is bizarre to think about. This wouldn't be the first time you ended up doing something with your friends you had no business doing. Linking with them no matter the time or place practically ensued pure foolishness. It kind of makes you want to laugh but it's not enough to mask the discomfort you feel. John has you shook and he's not even present. Recalling the seriousness in his eyes within the garage a few days ago, you can't lie and say that he didn't mean business.

It's wrong. You know it's wrong. What you're doing is sneaky and underhanded. As much as you wanted to oppose the restrictions, they weren't completely unfounded. Honestly, you still feel some guilt for disobeying him. And you're still trying to convince yourself that he doesn't stand a chance of ever finding out seeing as you're not going to be at the party that long.

You decided that it was better not to dress down for the occasion. A pair of flared jeans and a pretty white off-the-shoulder blouse would do the trick. It's already cold as hell outside and you don't want too much of your skin out in the open. After adding a light touch of foundation to your face, you took your sweet time flat ironing your hair. In the mirror, you can't see a tinge of worry despite the storm raging in your head. The inner voice that resides in your mind is screaming, constantly reminding you that this is a terrible mistake and that you had no business agreeing to leave in the first place. Not to mention that you've been on a streak of making poor decisions lately and you're not sure how you feel about it.

Once you're ready, you and girls pile in Jasmine's car and head out. Alexis, in clear Alexis-like fashion, has started trying to elevate your dreary mood in the only way she knows how. Being obnoxious. "Look sister girl...you're going to the party so you better get with the program." She explains.

She said it as if it was just that simple. In a final bid, you tried to garner a sympathetic look to Jasmine, who merely gave you resolute expression through the rear mirror. It's one of the first times she didn't side with you. You figured it was because they hadn't seen you in over a week and wanted to spend time with you. Even if it was a borderline hostage situation.

"If I say we have to leave then we have to leave." You explained.

From the passenger seat Alexis turns to look at your fidgeting, uncomfortable form in the backseat. "Damn. I can't believe a white man has you shook like this. I'm concerned."

"Shut up. And he ain't a normal 'white man'. It's complicated." You whispered.

"Well what is he then? Liam Nielson? Patrick Dempsey?"

Jasmine gave her a funny look. "I'm shocked you know who they are."

Alexis shorts, listing off on her fingers. "Listen, I know about Taken and the men in Grey's Anatomy. That's it."

It'd be a lie to say you didn't feel pressured by your friends to go in the first place. But you can't completely place the blame on them, the decision was yours and you'd gone and made it. Under much different circumstances, them inviting you to go out wouldn't be that big of a deal.

By doing this, you feel as though you've violated his trust or maybe it's just you being dramatic. If anything, your integrity can be called into question as well. When he instructs you to do something that automatically comes with the expectation of you listening. For a moment, you entertained the thought of texting him to inform him of where you were going and how long you intended to be there but you can't bring yourself to do it. Though, at the same time, you feel like you shouldn't have to inform him of anything. Frankly, you're still feeling some kind of way about him not wanting to take you anywhere. He said you both would talk about it when he returned but you didn't understand why the discussion couldn't happen on the spot. The topic would be a non-negotiable one - a concept you can't really fathom.

Above all else, you're holding out hope that you can at least reach some type of compromise with your anti-social lover.

Hell, just being in this situation makes you so damn uncomfortable. It didn't matter how long John was gone for. What mattered is that you did what he told you to in his absence. Plus you're worried about getting caught. You'd been in regular contact with John since he'd left and he'd never once asked about where you were at the moment. You don't know how long he'll be gone for and you didn't bother to ask.

Though, at the time, does he really have a right to restrict you from going places? Since the restriction is 'reasonable', you decided it was best to go along with it. It's become one of those relationships where he dictates and you follow. On the other hand, you love how protective he can get over you. He allows you complete freedom as long as it doesn't place you in some kind of danger.

Considering that you'd been taken against your will to an abandoned warehouse and laid on a dirty mattress set to be sold to the highest bidder, a rational person would keep their ass in the house until further notice. To be fair, you're prone to having irrational moments and lapses in judgement every now and then. So you're not perfect. Sometimes you're just not sensible if you can help it, it's no one's fault. As of now, it's just another thing for you to work on.


It's lively in the hotel's speakeasy, a place where hitmen and women can congregate and distress. It's typically not a place John chooses to frequent often. Within the dimly-lit lounge, the ambiance is calm. On a small stage platform, a band quartet plays soft jazz music to the audience of seated, quietly conversing patrons.

John smoothly maneuvers through the wide expanse of occupied chairs and tables. He was well aware of the many curious, awestruck eyes on his person the second he walked into the room. He ignored them. Irksomely, many of his peers regard him as some kind of celebrity in the underground crime circuit. The mere thought vexed him. The unwanted admiration remains a source of inconvenience for him.

"Hello Winston."

The older man glanced up at the cordial greeting and gave a humorous smile. A pair of reading glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as he looked up from his notes. "Jonathan - so nice to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

John spoke with monotonous indifference. "Exclusive contract."

"With whom?"

"Dimitri Dmitriev."

The older man's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Oh? I wasn't aware that you were familiar with their organization. How did that come about?"

"I'm not. He came to my house and insisted I eliminate a former associate. He offered a generous amount."

"I see. Then them hiring your services must come as an unexpected surprise. Though your reputation precedes you."

John continued. "They think he left the country but he never even left New York."

"An easy find I presume?" Winston takes a sip of his Martini. "In the time since Viggo Tarasov's death, the Dmitriev family organization has been moving quietly up the ranks. Abram Tarasov and the remaining Tarasov mob have been embroiled in an ongoing territorial war with them."

"As you can imagine - the bodies have been piling up for quite some time now. One of their trafficking distribution operations was recently decimated. A great deal of profit was lost. They've been scrambling to recover ever since."

"Even more strange, their men's bodies were not left at the scene. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you Jonathan?" Winston tersely questions.

The man visage is steely and unblinking, watching calmly with an almost grave expression. John was wholly disinterested in discussing anything other than carrying out the mission and receiving his compensation.

The men stare evenly at one another before Winston releases an inaudible sigh and leans back in his chair. "Apologies about the impropriety. The circumstances are indeed strange to say the least and there is reason to suspect one of our own you see."

Winston continues. "Surely you can understand that seeing as you've certainly become less busy than usual. I certainly hope it isn't for a lack of trying." The man's eyes stare shrewdly at his colleague from over the rim of the martini glass.

John's aloof mien remains securely in place, offering no response to his acquaintance's observation.


The woman couldn't focus on her chattering associates seated at the table with her but rather, her frigid blue eyes watched the exchange from across the room. Perkins took a sip of her drink before turning her attention back to the stage once more.

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.


By the time you and your friends arrive, the part has already started on a hitch. Admittedly, the party wasn't as packed as you expected it to be, which meant had only invited people he considered to be very close. The drinks are already flowing and party guests are dancing and excitedly chattering. A tinge of weed is wafting in the air. The VIP area clearly booked up and occupied. As far as you can see, Tre did a good job of putting everything together.

Once Alexis spots Pj there talking with Tre, she literally wastes no time and makes a b-line towards him. It's the first time you've seen the guy in person and he's shorter than he looked on the pictures Alexis showed in the group chat. One thing was for sure though, she was crazy about him, questionable height or not. Jasmine remains close to you however, probably until something happens to catch her fancy. It doesn't bother you, you really shouldn't be left to your own devices so soon - it would do nothing but amplify your fear and anxiety.

As nineties r&b is blasting from the speakers, you can hear little snippets of conversation over the music. You weren't listening to anything in particular, your awareness was just being drawn to different things and people out of sheer boredom. There's not much to do but stare at people.

Through the crowd, you're able to spot Will standing next to Tre and his outfit clues you in straight away. Suddenly it becomes apparent that it's his birthday party. The girls did say that Tre was hosting a party for his homeboy - you just didn't know it would be this homeboy in particular. You cringed internally. Now you really want to leave. You weren't expecting to see him here. Nothing could be worse than showing up to the party of a guy you curved not long ago. In staring too long, you accidentally make eye contact with the man. When you quickly pull your eyes away, it's too late. You're seen. Great. Now you have to focus on avoiding him throughout the night.

You've been here all of five minutes and you feel so out of place. Partying has started to seem more tedious especially after the whole kidnapping incident. You can't really get into it like you wanted. Or maybe it just seemed like that since you weren't supposed to be there. You snuck out for this, you might as well try and enjoy yourself to some degree at least. Otherwise what would you be getting out of doing it?

When a body slides right next to you on the couch, you close your eyes in controlled irritation. "You look good." He wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. The charm does absolutely nothing for you.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Thank you. And Happy Birthday."

"Thanks."

Fullying knowing the situation with John, you seriously doubted that your friends were still trying to set you up with Will despite the previous assumption. Regardless, you desperately made it your mission not to be mean-spirited to people who flat out annoy you but it gets harder with each occurrence. It's bad enough that your social meter was already running low and he was making it worse.

"You ran off last time."

To be frank, you'd had your fair share of unwanted advances from men, ignoring them had even become somewhat of a skill for you. "Yeah, it was time for me to go."

You're purposely keeping the conversation at a minimum. It takes a real effort not to constantly glance at your phone screen. You'd already given in and looked a few times but not enough for you to consider it an actual problem.

"Damn you couldn't let me know. At least I could've walked you to your car."

You kept your eyes fully averted from his, pretending to focus on other things going on around the club. "Thanks but that wouldn't have been necessary."

"Why you so tense?" He questions, though the grin on his face doesn't exactly show concern not that you can tell. "I'll tell you what...take a couple of shots, you'll feel better. I don't want nobody at my party feelin low."

He must've noticed how you have your shoulders squared. "I'm fine. Not really trying to drink tonight."

You're not the least bit surprised when he persists. "Come on. Let me buy you a drink."

Okay, time for a most direct approach. "Will, you're nice but I'm kinda already seeing someone."

"You can't have a friend?" He interrogates with the slyness of a fox.

You're well aware of how men like to play these little games. Hardly surprising to see that he's still persistent about shooting his shot. Will seemed like a cool guy but he really isn't good at taking the subtle hints that you're not interested. That presents a problem.

"By 'friend' I'm sure you mean a person that secretly turns into a fuck buddy so no. I can't have one."

"It's cool...it's cool. I'll wait then."

That made you scoff. Wait for what exactly? Last you checked, you and your lover were locked in tight and you're not leaving him for anything. He'll be waiting for an eternity. And even then you still wouldn't be interested.

"Don't trouble yourself on my behalf." You remarked.

He laughs obscenely loud. "See that's why I like you. You're genuine and honest. Don't care what comes out of your mouth either."

"One of my most enduring traits." You counter.

You will forever be baffled at men's thought process when they do things like this. Why is it so hard for men to understand when a woman isn't interested? It's giving you flashbacks to the night when that creep with the thick Russian accent followed then attacked you in the women's bathroom. You're a second away from telling Tre to come get his friend. He's working your nerves in a way that you don't need at the moment.

He laughs again and one of his arms comes up over the back of the seat behind you. Your frown when you realize how close he is to you. You can practically feel his body heat. You jerked your head away in discomfort.

From across the room, you notice Jasmine watching intently with a hint of confusion. It's clear she doesn't understand what's going on and is watching for answers. You subsequently give her a look that reads, "Help me" and she tries her hardest not to snicker. She takes a few moments to mask her amusement before she slowly makes her way over with a knowing smirk. In each of her hands she holds two glasses filled with amber liquid. She seats herself right between you and the man, acting as if she was about to initiate a conversation with you, handling you one of the drinks. The method's effectiveness puts a halt on Will's intentions. The whole thing might've been awkward had you not been beside yourself with the need to get away from him.

Luckily, Tre chooses that time to call Will over as a birthday cake is being carried out the back by three people. The candles already lit. That gets his attention and to your relief he ambles away.

Once he's gone Jasmine turns to you. "What the hell was that?"

"He likes me. I don't like him. That's about it. He's cool though I guess."

"Chile…" She shakes her head. "The birthday cake is finally out. I'll be ready to leave when you are. But first...one for the road." Her glass is held up.

You hold yours up to hers and the glasses clink together before you both down it in seconds.

Taking the drink was kind of a spur of the moment thing. But now that it's actually been placed in your hands… Now, without the feeling of someone hovering over you, you decide to take a few shots to quell your fluctuating nerves. You're finally being granted a moment to enjoy yourself. You make an attempt to stay away from the clear liquid. It's guaranteed to get you fucked up quicker than brown liquid. Will was right about one thing though, drinks might put you in a more festive mood. Or at least, get rid of the nervousness clinging to you.

It just might be enough to divert your attention from the fact that you're supposed to be at John's house lounging on his couch binging trashy reality shows about housewives.

By the time you downed three shots of vodka, you were definitely feeling something. Something that makes you fan yourself when you start to feel hot out of nowhere. The shots have started to give you a buzz but you can't really get into the mood like you want. That annoying little voice in the back of your subconscious is telling you not to drink anything else. The alcohol is slowly melting away the wariness that still seems to cling to you even though some of them makes you want to gag. Before you knew it, you were throwing back multiple shots without a single care.

At the bar in the back of the club, you can see people ordering drinks and being served by the animated bartender. You have to admit that you kind of miss bartending. As it was one of the first jobs you had that actually stuck. Sure, it used to get crazy sometimes, especially on the weekends but the good always outweighed the bad. Bartending on one shitty night had ultimately led you to meet John. You momentarily clenched your eyes at the thought of him. This is such a random time to get sentimental, drinking tends to do that to you for some reason. Bring out your innermost emotions that you kept locked behind the bars of your subconscious.

With alcohol nearly making your head swim, it's then that you really allow your mind to run. Your mind has started trying to convince you to do irrational shit. Like calling John and telling you how much you loved him. You never drunk dialed anyone in your life and you wouldn't start now. Had your heart not been held hostage by the contract killer, you wouldn't feel so conflicted about something you had no real intention of adhering to anyway. You bit down on the tip of your tongue, it's a shame how John has you acting. It was his own fault for wanting to keep you locked up in that big ass house and fucking you you to keep you content with it. The nerve of him and his big stupid dick. As a grown ass adult, you should be able to come and go as you please without worrying about the consequences.


John began a measured but pointed stride down the hall toward his hotel suite, Winston's words echoing obstreperously in his conscience.

"Even more strange, their men's bodies were not left at the scene. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you Jonathan?"

Of course he knew of it, he was the one who'd called for the bodies to be removed. Winston remained in close contact with Charlie, the Head of the Cleaning Crew tasked with retrieving dead bodies and cleaning up any collateral damage left behind in the wake of a deadly confrontation. It went without saying that Winston would already have knowledge of who initiated a massacre and called for it to be taken care of. In the many years he knew Winston, it was not in his nature to question John's actions. What likely mattered to the man was the intent behind the actions. At any rate, it wasn't anything he would concern himself with at this time.

Once in his designated suite, John set about equipping himself with many assorted guns and pistols.

His mind went back to the supposed target for the assignment he had yet to carry out.

For a single target, one pistol or sniper rifle should be more than enough to get the job done but John has a feeling he needed to equip his entire arsenal of weapons. One can never be too prepared. After spending a few days scooping out and identifying with his routines and whereabouts, it turns out the target in question had never even fled New York. That made the circumstance that more questionable. So much for an international assignment.

In all, his internal presumption was proven correct. The Dmitriev organization would likely be seeking retaliation for their dismantled operation. Which meant his subsequent 'hiring' for a job in all likelihood, was a ruse to make their more sinister intentions. Given his blood-drenched past, it was rather apparent that his unconscionable employer had not done a thorough inquiry into the man he'd hired. It's a reckless decision that can prove fatal. Primarily if they think they can pull off such an act. He almost admired their misplaced tenacity. Almost. Too bad it was wasted. Their revenge would yield them nothing but death and destruction.

He'd already considered the repercussions of taking out their trafficking venture and decided that it was absolutely necessary. They'd freely taken it upon themselves to abduct what belonged to him with intentions to do physical, mental, and emotional harm. And as a result, it simply couldn't be overlooked. They all had to die. If he had to crave a bloody course through the entire criminal enterprise then so be it.

In the mirror, he adjusted his suit with a neutral expression.

He'd been in this business for a long time, there's some things that one begins to...anticipate. A potential betrayal is one of those. Regardless of what their so-called revenge would produce, his own retribution was much more efficient and lethal.

Unknown to anyone but himself, there were two glaring reasons why he'd taken the assignment; the first being because his domestic partner was persuasive enough, the second being that his own mistrust of the man was already present from the moment he'd shown up on his doorstep. The chance to eliminate a threat before it had time to properly manifest.

He was able to successfully retire from the business once - something practically thought to be impossible before. A second occurrence might not be feasible, for he had no intention to persist in his line of work. Nevertheless, he still refuses to believe that getting out is not completely unattainable. He'd long since grown tired of the carnage and violence that came with his job. In the near future, he plans to withdraw from the business just as he did nearly six years before. It was merely a matter of when.

A vibration from his breast pocket draws his attention elsewhere. With an unreadable expression, John pulls the phone from his suit jacket, a single tab illuminating the screen. It's enough for him to visually register the GPS notification. He studies the phone for a fraction before his eyes narrow at the coordinates the screen shows him.


Despite how the night started, you're feeling good courtesy of the liquid relief from the bar. With every drink you told yourself that it would be your last one. It was a bunch of lies stacked on top of each other but you couldn't help it.

At first Jasmine had joined you at the bar and the two of you started throwing drinks back like nobody's business. After a while she rejoined the group with Alexis, leaving you unattended. This proved to be one of the most reckless things she could do. That basically prompted you to start your one woman drinking campaign.

You absentmindedly motioned to the bartender who was standing nearby. "Hey...can I get another round." You hiccupped.

You stopped completely in your tracks and pure unadulterated fear surged in your chest. The sight of John standing over you makes you suck in a sharp inhale of breath, hardly aware that your heart has skipped a few beats. He had actually taken your breath away and not in the way you preferred. This was greater than bare shock. This was...bewilderment. From you.

He calmly sets the drink aside without taking his eyes off your shocked riddled face.

The pleasant buzz that had you feeling good for the better half of the night has totally dissolved. Full mental clarity pushes back the temporary euphoria. Everything around you went silent. The music is gone, the light chatter around you is dimed. It's like your world has stopped.

He's been away for days and now he just so happens to show up when someplace you're not supposed to be.

John doesn't say a word - his dispassionate brown eyes are levelled unto you in the most chilling fashion. The look informs you of just how much of a troublesome predicament you're in. A man never puts so much fear in you before. It's precisely the reason why you haven't taken your eyes from him. In fact, you feared the consequence of doing so.

Almost instantly, you know there's nothing you can say to lessen the amount of trouble you're in at the moment. Not even God himself can get you out of this.

You couldn't even offer an explanation seeing as your heart remains lodged in your throat. You just stand there staring stupidly at the man, unable to find the words needed to possibly save your ass. From the corner of your eye, you can just feel your friends watching the acne unfold from the VIP section. They're probably just as surprised as you to see John here. As bold as the three of them are - not a single one dared to approach.

The minute you're able to bypass the apprehension, some shit like this would happen. The stroke of bad luck you've been experiencing lately had to play a role in this somehow. You just can't catch a break. Given that you were supposed to leave a long time ago, you suppose this is what you get for not adhering to your own poorly executed plan.

"Let's go." He commands, the tone of his deep voice is surprisingly level.

You guess this is the equivalent of getting snatched up. Too scared to further disobey him, your body starts moving solely from uncoordinated mechanical instinct. You fall into step behind him easily as he leads you from the club towards his mustang outside.


The car ride back to John's house is a quiet one. You're in the passenger seat half sober and tensed up like an abused child. You're grateful that you didn't enter a state of drunkenness where you had no self-awareness to know what's going on around you. Even with your self-awareness intact, you literally can't think of a worse predicament to be in. Your phone has been blowing up with text notifications from your friends but you're scared of what would happen if you were to look chance a single look at the phone.

In your few nervous glances his way, John's gaze is direct and focused as he drives the rumbling beast through New York's streets. The lack of conversation still frightens you immensely. He's said nothing about your actions. Not a scolding. Not a stern talking to. Not a look that portrays how he feels. Nothing. His overall demeanor has you scared out of your mind.

You know how the night started, but who knows how the rest of tonight is gonna go down.

All you know for sure is that you fucked up. Royally.

In situations like these it's best to stay silent. Especially when there's not much you can do or say. No humor of any kind can be added to lighten the situation much less any explanation. John doesn't and will never play those types of games.

The regret is starting to roll in hard and you already can't function properly with a guilt conscience. It's what inspired you to drink tonight in the first place. You really thought you were in the clear. In fact, you would bet your life savings that he was still overseas somewhere in another country. Considering that, each of his 'jobs' vary in time duration - some assignments could take a day, a week, or in extreme circumstances up to a full month. Nonetheless, in each instance, it's never up to you.

As much as bile wanted to make its devastating way up your throat, you held it down. It's unbelievable how your body is reacting right now - like he's going to take you home and beat you or something.

The mustang pulls smoothly up to the house, what's strange is that John doesn't bother parking it into the being told, you exit the car as dexterously as you can. Dread building as John follows suit. As you walk into the house, you hear his paced footsteps behind you all the way and it's giving you the worst anxiety. It's then you really, really wished you'd stayed home.

Sweetface is ecstatic to see the both of you coming in the door, if him running over to greet you and his steely owner was of any indication. The pouch was completely oblivious to the tension surrounding the air.

Taking a deep shaky breath, you've come to the conclusion that you had to say something, even if it ended up making things worse. After all of this, you can't just continue to move in silence. He'd think you weren't apologetic - and by God that was the furthest from the truth.

It's when you both come to stand in the foyer leading to the long hallway that you make a decision to face him. You have a feeling that he's waiting for something anyway. Despite your stomach rolling apprehensively, you mustered up all your courage to do this one thing. Your heart was thundering wildly in your chest. If you had enough gall to go against him then you certainly have enough to face him in the wake of your actions.

Whispering in a careful tone of voice, you poise the first question. "Are you mad at me?"

A single sculpted brow comes up. "Should I be?" He murmured softly. The timbre of his voice makes you want to shiver.

You shake your head. "I don't think so."

"Did you forget? Did you not hear my instructions correctly?"

His body language has you on edge. He's tense, unmoving. Subtle indications of anger. Still, you try your imprudent hand. The liquor still has you feeling audacious. You're deep in this now, not go hard. If you do something then you're gonna have to stand on it. "I heard them."

"Then why didn't you listen?"

The sternness of his voice does not elude you for a second. His words are resolute. He seriously expected you to heed his words without complaint. Your fists clench at your sides. "I told you I wanted to go out. That I was tired of being stuck in the house all the time."

"Are you truly?" There's no hint of anger anywhere on his person and it confuses you. Though the glint in his eyes tells a different story.

Although you were slightly stunned by the question, you answered with a quick. "Yes."

"Very well."

Very well? What did that mean exactly?

Was he choosing acknowledging your feelings or was he setting events in motion to give you what you wanted?

Albeit still, it felt like a weight had suddenly lifted itself off your shoulders for a moment. You hadn't expected this reaction from him in the slightest. What you had envisioned was much worse. This was much more pleasant. "Oh...so you're not going to punish me?"

When John placidly turns back to face you, he glides smoothly up to you as if he was floating on air. And for the first time you see emotion in him that he's effectively kept hidden up until this point when he leans his face down close to yours. His brown eyes have darkened into indecipherable conduits of heat, as if he can no longer contain how he feels. The display of emotion is shocking to see - you've never seen him so incensed. "I don't recall saying that."

Your stomach drops yet again and you unintentionally take a few steps back. "...what?"

"Disobedience will never go punished." He adds. "I forbade you from leaving in my absence and you left. Surely, this does not come as a surprise."

The utterance made your whole body stiffen. Disobedience will never go unpunished? The words felt awfully like a threat. You hoped that maybe he wasn't being serious but judging by the finality in his tone, that wasn't the case. If you had any reservations about getting away with sneaking out then you were sorely mistaken. It appears that your actions would not be forgotten. This man was clearly planning to discipline you...but in what manner?

You shuddered just thinking about what lied in store for you.

John's narrowed eyes display a hint of unmistakable coldness to them. "Stay here." His tone...it's a warning. "If you leave...I will know." The man then moves to leave you stricken in the foyer.

Your gaze shoots to his retreating back. "Wait...where are you going?" You call out.

He doesn't turn to look at you this time, doesn't even pause in his stride. "To finish the mission."

Your eyes immediately widened. He's still working?!


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