Chapter 23: Unfinished Business
A/N: This is an interesting chapter because about half of it is from John's perspective so get ready for an interesting look into his thought process. Also, remember when I said shit was going to pop off? This is that chapter where it all takes off. There's also a lot of violence so consider this your warning. I can see that everyone asks me questions in the reviews, I can't really respond on , that's what my tumblr is for. Please direct any questions you want answered there. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the chapter!
The television played a sitcom with a rather consistent laugh track. He paid in no mind, in fact, he was actively looking past it. Presently, John's mind was preoccupied, thinking back on the causal encounter with Aurelio days prior. The man's words had lingered in his mind ever since…
"You know...I had a feeling you hadn't bought that car for yourself." Aureilo commented, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. "Can I safely assume it was for your lady?"
John dipped his head in a barely there nod.
"I figured. Now I see why you don't come out of the house as much anymore."
Long moments of silence passed between them.
"So...can I ask why you did it?"
Unsurprisingly, the question didn't elicit that much of a reaction or response. Not that he expected much of either. He'd known John for years, not much can throw the man off guard or make him anxious, especially a serious line of questioning.
John met the man's gaze evenly, the atmosphere suddenly grew charged and weighted.
"They take her?"
"Yeah."
"So you just kill them all?" The latter disputed.
"It was personal."
"How personal?"
Aurelio's visibly deflated upon hearing that. He takes another long pull of the cigarette before shrugging. "Can't say you're not justified. I probably would've done the same. These guys don't give a damn who they snatch nowadays."
"I'm worried though." Aurelio's back straightened, body rifle with tension. "They'll likely have her name in the system by now. They might decide to come back for her sooner or later."
John's brows drew down, silently searching the man for an explanation.
"Apparently, the organization collects data on all it's victims before and after the kidnapping to supply for the interested buyers." "There's been a couple of times where some people managed to escape and get back to their families. Only to get relocated and taken back because they were already paid for by a client."
John's eyes narrow at that moment.
"I'm not saying that's the case in your circumstance but you should still be careful. Hell, I shouldn't even have to tell you that but these guys are pretty damn persistent when they want to be. I heard they already set up a new base somewhere in lower Manhattan."
Ash falls from the depleted cigarette onto the concrete pavement.
He wasn't the slightest bit concerned about them finding out that he'd decimated the last operation. In fact, John's only concerned about her being taken again. It was very possible that they would return for her at some point.
"So...what are you gonna do, in the event that they come back?"
John locked eyes with his longtime friends and subtle communication ran between them.
Would they follow in the footsteps of their predecessors and force his hand?
He wouldn't dare disturb the pleasantly warm body lounging comfortably against his body. The position has become favored over time and he's gotten used to being a human pillow for his tenacious lover. As it had become a frequent mode of comfort for her and he would never begrudge her of it. Never would he rebuff her as it was his initial observation that she merely craves being near him. He quietly breathed in her scent.
That brings another matter to his attention - the canine companion currently lounging over her legs. The dog, whom she'd affectionately taken to naming Sweetface, had taken to her as if she were his mother. To the point where it was as if he was not the dog's owner at all. Whenever she was in the room, John found himself being completely ignored in favor of her. He found that he was almost offended at the prospect. Almost. His lover had spent a great amount of time with the pouch and had obviously gained a deep love and trust for her much like his human master. Not just because she was partial to sneaking him food occasionally and buying him numerous toys.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
In the times where she would fall asleep on him, he would simply study her relaxed features extensively. She resembles a sleeping angel. He'd known then that she was everything he wanted and more. Everything he needed. Literally every aspect about her was exquisite.
With all the qualities that she was comprised of, he admired her generosity and kindness the most. Not many like her existed in the world and he would keep her protected until he drew his last breath. He was willing to upend his entire existence if it meant he could live in peace with her by his side. Never once had she hesitated to help or put others before herself. Not only that but she would feel guilt for 'depending' heavily on him and constantly tried to make up for it in ways that were unnecessary. From his perspective, she had nothing to feel guilty about. He was simply supplying her with everything he felt she deserved. She shouldn't have to fret about a single thing and neither should she stress.
She felt so deeply on a spectrum, often doing things based on benevolent virtue, her heart far too pure and untouched by darkness. She also had no problem speaking her mind should she see the need for it. She frequently told him that she loved him by way of action or mouth. When she said she loved him, it was genuine. Unconditional. And while he had yet to verbally share the same sentiment, he made sure his actions spoke for him - as was his nature. For him - love was an intensely complex feeling. A complex feeling he suspects also gives him some purpose to stay alive.
He could only remember feeling this way once - it was around the time he'd met Helen.
Choosing to invite him to holiday dinner with her family with the purpose of integrating him in is a striking example of this. (her character) When all was said and done, he did not regret his decision. He could sense the hesitation, the anxiety within her well before she led him into the house but she was dead set on going through with the ordeal. The intention and overall meaning behind it is not lost on him. She wanted him to know what it was like to be a part of a family. And though he had some semblance of what it was like, John was grateful for the gesture all the same.
It was his sheer determination and desire that had paved the way for him to leave the business altogether to pursue a civilian life. John could have that again. He was sure of it. It was not so far beyond his reach that he couldn't obtain it once more. He'd do whatever was needed.
With each inhale and exhale, he propels your body forward and backward in a calming, steady sequence. The motion of which will probably lull you to sleep again. It didn't help that you'd been stifling a persistent yawn either. You had to blink a few times to will the sleep away completely. When you decide to turn your head up to look at him, you're mildly surprised that he doesn't even notice. As a matter of fact, he was deep in the midst of staring off into space, something you'd never seen him do before. He was completely lost in his thoughts. It's only slightly uncharacteristic of him.
You reach up to cup his cheek softly. "John...are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
You carefully shifted into an upright position, turning your body towards him. Once you move, Sweetface hops off the couch entirely and sluggishly pads out of the living room. Probably seeking out his dog bed upstairs to continue his disturbed nap.
"I wanted to talk to you about something."
He gently grasps your hand, gingerly holding it to let you know you have his full attention.
For a brief second, you hesitate, unsure of how you wanted to start. As you gazed up at him, slightly concerned that he would see the restlessness in your eyes when he looked into them.
"I've been thinking about this for a while. I already made up my mind but I wanted to run it by you first."
John's face doesn't change as he continues listening intently.
"Since I can't go back to school until January, I need something to do in the meantime. So I decided that I'd like to get a job." You rationalized.
His open expression seemingly closes up with your utterance.
The look caused you to deflate and you tried to plead your case a bit more before he expressed any more kind of disapproval.
"With no school all I do is sit around. I need something to preoccupy my time. With a job, I can do that, be productive and make money at the same time."
It sounded more like you were begging for his permission rather than firmly declaring your intentions. You hadn't had a steady job since you served drinks and waited tables in a bar. That job was one you didn't miss.
You were, for lack of a better word, stressed. And it showed in your words.
John's expression softened. "What is it that you want to do?"
"I don't know. I just...I need something to do." You faintly replied, lips tightening.
I just can't depend on you all the time.
That's what you wanted to say but you can't bring yourself to let the words pass through your lips. Especially when the man treats you like a literal goddess. It's similar to the same situation with your parents. As much as you loved and apprised their help every now and then, you didn't want to depend solely on them. With John, you're grateful for everything he's done for you so far but you can't remain fully dependent on him for everything.
Now that you think about it, John does strike you as the kind of man to prefer to be the breadwinner while his significant other is relegated to being a homemaker rather than work. With everything he's shown you so far, you have no reason not to believe it. At the core, he's a provider, a protector. It's deeply integrated in his nature.
As it stands, your life is relatively calm for the most part and for that very reason, it induces extreme anxiety in you. Generally because your life has never been this calm.
You can't stand feeling like you're not on your shit as much as you should you're still considered as a 'new adult', you're told that it's okay not to have everything in your life together but you always thought you'd be the exception. At first, you figured you just needed something to focus on.
Somehow you'd fallen into a tedious cycle of sleeping, eating, and just laying about for long periods of time. Even through all of that rest, you're completely sapped of energy all the time. And through it all, you don't understand any of it. Although, you think you've been hit with a really bad case of seasonal depression. While it usually hits you a little earlier, you think it's amplified by how inactive you've been and how put off you are from your normal routine. After a while, it starts to affect a person's mindset.
Nevertheless, you can't pretend that everything's all fine and dandy when you feel like you do. It just wasn't possible. The lack of productivity is killing you on the inside. You'd had enough of eating and sleeping the days away. You can't take the guilt and boredom of sitting around his house not being productive all day. And on top of that, you've also begun to dissociate a lot more than you like. Your friends have jobs and are currently preparing for the upcoming finals so you can't even lean on them to ease the internal struggle. Worst of all, you can help but feel like you should be there with them. Stressing about working and studying for school. Every single day, you were regretting the agreement you made to take the rest of the semester off.
You honestly wish you could go back in time and change your mind, then maybe you wouldn't be on a straight course to boring yourself to death. And you were having frighteningly good luck in that aspect.
You can only wonder if John's taken notice of this.
Frankly, you're not sure if the man is open to the prospect given the events of Halloween night when you got kidnapped and when he caught you at a party when you weren't supposed to leave the house. Regardless, he could not stop you from living your life as you wanted. It would be unfair of him to deny you since you already paid your penance for that transgression. Therefore it can't be used against you.
Your brows knitted together.
"I have something for you."
He gracefully rises from the sofa and leaves the room for a moment, leaving you moderately confused. It's only when he returns that you catch a glimpse of something in his right hand. The confusion heightens when he hands you a thin black card.
Your eyes widen as you stare down at the laminated plastic. "What's this?" You question, examining the card thoroughly.
"The limit per month is five-thousand. I will consistently add more." He informed you in an even tone.
Five-thousand?!
Even though you believe you're responsible with money to a certain degree, giving you access to this kind of money is dangerous. The most money you've had in your account was probably two-thousand at a single time. Exactly how much money did John have at his disposal to just give you a monthly allowance. If you were truly a betting woman, you'd say a lot.
But you have to remember - it's not your money, it's his.
"Why are you giving this to me?" You ask, extremely confused at the man's actions.
The two of you have never really had a conversation about money for starters. Neither have you ever asked him for money. You can't help but speculate on why he'd given you the card in the first place. The logical explanation would be him communicating his want or need to take care of you. In other words, it's a way to convey affection to a loved one. Love and money aren't supposed to be closely associated with one another. Just because he gives you money doesn't mean…
No. You closed your eyes tightly at the unpleasant thought. You wouldn't let that voice in the back of your head take you down that road.
You recall how weird it felt the first time he gave you money - it was completely unexpected. You hadn't even rejected his financial assistance or mentioned how you felt about the matter so he just kept providing it unimpeded.
Questioning his love for you is a dangerous thing and you don't possess the temperament nor the energy to engage at this point. At the end of the day, a man's motivations only have to make sense to himself. John supplying you with money is not indicative of how much he cares for you. That's why love and money have to remain separated from each other.
Besides, money won't distract you from the other facets of your life.
It could be that you've been overly critical of yourself lately. So why do you feel undeserving after all this time? Doesn't change the fact that you're in the middle of a life crisis.
Your relationship with money is already complicated enough without John acting as a walking ATM.
Is the guilt you feel for accepting the card even warranted at this stage?
It's mostly that inner voice that's critical of every little decision you make.
"Use it for whatever you wish." He answered, eyes gleaming with an unrecognizable emotion.
Peering into those chestnut brown orbs you'd become so fond of, it became obvious that he wasn't about to take no for an answer so you swallowed down the refusal.
"John. I'm grateful for this. Really, I am but I'm still planning to find a job." You explain.
John was quiet for a moment, considering your rationale.
"I respect your decision. Do as you wish." The man said softly.
Bearing the unexpected response in mind, you blinked a few had to take a few moments to silently mull over his words, completely shocked that he'd even spoken them. Truthfully, you hadn't expected him to express any sort of approval. You wondered what warranted it.
He then rises from the couch, startling you.
"Wait, where are you going?" You question.
"There's business I must attend to. I will return later." He explains, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips.
Business? He'd been handling business a lot.
The man then turns and walks away. Even with the sweet kiss lingering on your lips, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
Much like November, December made its debut in a rather conspicuous fashion. The temperature has essentially dropped to the low thirties and gets even lower after dark. Snow will probably be on its way soon even in the first week of the month.
You'd effectively made the switch to warmer winter clothing without much prompting. Despite the fact that you'd lived in New York for almost half your life, you'd come to the realization that you would never get used to the freezing cold. The wind is arguably the worst. Though it's not as frigid as it could be, it bites uncomfortably into your skin through your clothes no matter how bundled you think you are, chilling you to the bone. Regardless, you still consider it that 'stay in the house where it's warm' kind of weather. It's one of the main reasons why you resigned yourself to doing just that for the past week and a half.
Not once in your life have you been a smart shopper, you were more of an impulsive buyer. You clutch the plastic handle of the basket harder. You've walked around the store so many times it's starting to annoy you. And you being indecisive is the main reason why.
On your typical store run, you usually go crazy. Throwing things in the basket that you only 'think' you may need later down the road. Buying shit you don't need is practically your specialty. Even after looking at items ranging from cookware, to books, to electronics - the impulse to buy just doesn't strike you. Maybe some time spent prowling Amazon might provide you with the needed motivation.
John gave you the card to use of your own volition but you just have a hard time persuading yourself that you want, let alone need anything. This whole, 'can't spend money because of guilt' thing isn't going to fly - it's an exasperating feeling you can't shake. Five thousand dollars in your hands and you can't bring yourself to spend a cent of it, that's how you know you've essentially fallen from grace. You've lived a charmed existence of frivolous purchasing so far and it's not like you're spending your hard earned money. Now the urge just doesn't hit like it used to.
So if you don't have the desire to purchase anything, why were you even pushing around with a basket to begin with? The reason evades you.
In the midst of passing the feminine hygiene products, you peruse the colorful boxes of pads. You'd been experiencing some stomach cramps here and there and it's usually a painful sign that your period is on it's way. So you've got to be prepared for that.
After much deliberation, you eventually settle on a bag of Hershey's Kisses that had been teasing from the candy aisle since you walked in. You swiveled the basket towards the direction of the register, though in retrospect, you should've gone to self checkout. When you reach the register with the mostly empty basket, you silently hand the candy and box of pads to the cashier, avoiding direct eye contact. The girl behind the counter looks no older than you, with short hair and a distinctive but pretty nose piercing that makes you wish you had one.
Her eyes swept over the items and a look of recognition sparks in her face.
A flush spreads across your face because of it.
"One of those days?"
You meet her gaze for the first time and the look on her face tells you that she can understand and empathize with your situation. It's like when a woman gives another woman 'the look' and it's as if they've lived the same life or at least shared the very same experiences. You don't really feel so alone anymore.
"Yeah." You quietly mutter.
She rings up your items sympathetically and gives you a total.
The card looks so weird in your wallet it's almost jarring. You gain no satisfaction in swiping the card in the machine.
The woman tells you that she hopes you have a nice rest of the day. You can always appreciate a stranger being kind and understanding even though they'll likely never run into you again. Especially with how shitty you've been feeling.
The slightest bit of kindness can make a huge difference to a person. You never know what kind of a day a person's had. At the very least it makes you feel that you're not the only person going through a tough time. She has no idea just how the small exchange has affected you and probably never will.
The drive to your apartment is mostly spent with you zoning out and having the heat cranked up to ridiculous levels. You don't know why your apartment building always looks so unfamiliar when you've been away for a while. You find a close enough parking spot and sit there for a while, preparing yourself to brave the cold once more. The winds blow that much harder when you step out of your car. The freezing rain makes the cold weather that much more unbearable. The icy precipitation produces goosebumps over your skin though your thick pullover. You shove your hands in your coat pockets, dipping the lower part of your face behind the collar zipped up past your neck. You squint through the freezing rain.
From your perpetual movement catches your attention. In the alleyway beside the apartment building. You recognize his face immediately - it's him. The homeless man from the park. He's huddled under a plastic tarp that's currently substituting as a tent. He was probably shunned away from the park.
A faded wool hat covers his head and ears. The man's face was red and flushed, lips slightly chapped from the cold. He appears shocked at your sudden arrival.
That's the sad reality for most of the homeless people living on the streets in New York. It's truly heartbreaking to see human beings living in this kind of state. It's colder than the arctic outside. No one should be forced to withstand weather this inhospitable.
Your breath comes out in a misty vapor. "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you in shelter?"
Inwardly, you're kicking yourself for the query. Truthfully, you don't really see the appeal in questioning him about that because it's a dumb question. He's here because he has nowhere else to go obviously. Some of the shelters are a nightmare to live in - some might even say it's a better choice to live on the streets. So you can't really fault him for choosing to avoid those places.
Naturally, he doesn't have an answer to give you.
Life already hadn't been kind to him, why wouldn't you be in turn? Living out on the streets had to be a lonely, miserable experience. You could never see yourself being cruel to anyone. One thing about life is that the shoe can always be on the other foot just as quick as a person can snap their fingers. That's how quick life can shift.
You immediately start digging in your purse in search of your wallet.
"Miss, you don't have to do that."
"I do actually." You counter.
People that knew you called often you a bleeding heart when you did stuff like this but you're fine with it. It's always better to help someone if you're in a position to do so. There's homeless people all over the city, if you were within your means to prevent one from freezing or starving to death then what you'll do. Because that's what decent human beings do. You couldn't in good conscience pretend you didn't see the man having full knowledge of the situation he was in. There's not enough pure altruism in the world for your liking.
"I wish I had more but all I have is two twenties. It should be enough to get you some food at least."
When you hand the man the money, you notice that his hands are cold to the touch. It sends a shiver through you. He hesitantly accepts the bills.
"If you can, I want you to find a better space to live. Someplace warmer presumably. It's too cold for you to stay out here."
"In fact, I have a thicker blanket in my car that I can give…"
"No. That's not necessary."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Thank you." He says, flashing a small smile.
It's apparent that he could really benefit from having another blanket but he probably didn't want to be a burden. Though, you can fathom how he's fairing in the cold like this, you decided to indulge his wishes for now.
"What's your name?"
The smile drops for a moment. He seemed guarded but willing.
"Earl."
"Earl." You repeat, nodding in acknowledgement. At the very least, you know his name now.
"Alright then. Stay safe okay."
Without any further prompting, you begin the stride back towards the front of the building. You can feel the weight of his gaze at your back when you walk away.
The heat from the lobby has you sighing in relief. It's a welcome feeling from the icy hellscape that's raging outside. You release a sigh of contentment.
From behind the front desk, your landlord perks up at the sight of you - the newspaper in his hands lowering slightly. You purposely avoid eye contact with him while you check your mailbox. It's a challenge to pull out all the built-up mail that's a direct result of you not checking it consistently.
All while you do this, you're holding your breath, waiting to see if the man still watching you is going to try and make a move. It would seem that the man had learned his lesson from last time and knows better than to approach you this go around. The uncomfortable encounter with John seemed to have the desired effect. Had John not been present when he was, there's no telling how the incident would've played out.
You're absolutely positive that he's preying on you. You'd prefer that he never spoke to you again. You find yourself wondering if any of the female tenants are having the same issues with him.
Why are landlords always the really creepy individuals? As to why that is, you come up empty every time.
After absentmindedly placing the key in the lock and pushing the door open.
The apartment is decently clean as you'd left it. It's like you didn't even live there anymore.
There's a few promotional flyers from local businesses and some mail consisting mostly of events held on campus, nothing too important. You made sure to have all the serious mail like bills and things to your parents house. You usually rush to retrieve before your mother takes it upon herself to open letters and call and shamelessly tell she did it.
With each school related flyer you see, that longing in your chest comes back. It's all the motivation you need to open the laptop and pull up the nearest search engine. All it does is give you the newfound confidence to search for a suitable job.
Gaining access into the warehouse is easy enough, they have more security in place than usual but it's still no issue for him. Quite frankly, this is where his ability to merge into the shadows and go undetected comes in. It was much too easy for him to slip in without being noticed.
With the Glock 26 in his hand, John begins the assault in organized fashion. Once the men become aware of John's presence, chaos swiftly ensues. The sound of gunfire explodes inside the warehouse at once. Gunshots echoed throughout the building, making apparent to any and all that a decisive gun battle was taking place. He rattled off shots from the magazine without a hint of hesitation, mowing down the frantic targets without difficulty.
His eyes are darting in every direction, evenly distributing his focus on various targets. None could get past his peripheral. The bullets entered and exited their flesh within the blink of an eye and snuffed the life from their bodies before they even hit the floor. Dispatching them coldly and swiftly. He wasn't inclined to linger and make sure they were dead as he made sure to give each of the men a bullet to the head.
John moves through the place mechanically, with an almost fluid coordination. Soon enough bodies started to litter the stockhouse base in alarming quantities. When the gun clicks empty, he instinctively inserts a new magazine before setting it into the chamber effortlessly. Ammo was the least of his concern, he'd come fully supplied to reload and unload into the next body. He pulls the trigger with relative ease, firing out shots tactfully. The trigger pressed into the calloused pad of his pointer finger. Not even surprised at how he felt nothing each time he pulled it. Over the years, the trigger has become second nature to him, the resonating recoil of the firearm extremely gratifying.
He bypasses the rooms that contain recently captured people or stock, as they would be called. Most of which are drugged and restrained to prevent escape. He ignored them, he wasn't there for them.
The panicked foot soldiers are not given precious seconds to regroup or think of a plausible strategy. While some ran for cover, most of them ran to confront him in close combat, not really realizing that it's the worst mistake they can make. A fatal mistake. Keeping their distance can at least allow them to live a bit longer, albeit not by much but still longer than some of their comrades.
Fear made them reckless and incompetent even with a gun in their hands. Ensuring that they posed a threat to no one but themselves. As expected, there are clever vantage points to use to their advantage but none seem to possess the mental capacity to utilize a single one of them to gain the upper hand on him. A great deal of them hide behind pillars, choosing to fire regardless if they actually saw the supposed target or not. Shooting wildly is wholly dangerous, not to mention idiotic.
Clearly, they were not prepared or trained enough to properly defend the territory. From what he can ascertain, some of the men are not, in fact, professionally trained combatants, but likely men who were hired simply because they were good at snatching people from the streets or their homes.
He placidly switches to the assault rifle strapped to his back. The weapon of choice is precise, potent. He takes out a man firing from over the upstairs railing, sending his slumped body tumbling to the ground below with a sickening crunch.
He stuck another man in the throat before shooting him in the face. The resulting blood splatter landed on his face before he reloaded the clip with practiced skill.
The smell of death grows thicker the further he ventures deeper. None would be spared any mercy. He moved down a narrow hallway, pistol at the center axis relock position.
The trained tactician reaches a office like room where a man sits in front of a an extensive computer monitor. Another previously unseen man jumps from behind a file cabinet with the intent to attack John. John quickly and calmly picks up the nearby glass pot, throwing the hot coffee directly in the approaching assailant's face, briefly watching the man shriek in pain before smashing the pot onto his head. Glass shards embedding themselves in the man's skull and killing him instantly. He falls to the floor lifeless.
John turns his attention back the frightened man who threw his hands in the air as a show of surrender.
"Please…"
John doesn't acknowledge the man's pleas, doesn't have the patience for them. He wordlessly approaches the man.
"Pull up the files." He instructs.
"W-what?"
Without warning, John hits the man in the nose with the butt of the gun, shattering the cartilage and sending blood squirting out. The man releases pained groans, holding his leaking nose.
The laptop displays the various information on collected stock.
That's where he saw it - the unmistakable face of of his lover. The screen displayed clear cut images of his Milaya out and about while she engaged in menial, everyday tasks. Completely obvious tot he fact that she was being followed and photographed by strangers who intended to kidnap her for the second time. Well, he would see to it that they never got the chance.
John's jaw clenches, furrowed brows coming down hard over his enraged eyes.
It didn't know which angered him more, the fact that Aurelio's assumption had been proven correct or that it appeared from the data shown that she'd already been bid upon by a private client. It would appear to him that had the full intention of returning to reclaim their lost 'stock'. It's a brazen case of audacity. It could be nothing but impertinence for them to have the gall to try and sign away the rights to her life over to another for considerable amount of money.
She belonged to him, she belonged with him. No one else. No other man would have her if he couldn't.
Horrifically vacant eyes settled unnervingly onto the man. "Delete it." He orders, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Okay. Okay."
They could probably still retrieved her file if they dug deep into the system enough. He didn't just want it deleted - he wanted it stripped from the database entirely.
"Purge the system." John impassively urged, composed but radiating a lethal energy.
"I can't do that...it'll wipe the whole database clean…"
The man screamed when hot metal ripped through his thigh as a response.
If that weren't sufficient enough convincing, the hitman sedately pressed the gun forcefully into the man's mouth, nearly choking him. He didn't have to repeat himself. The deadly threat was shining in his eyes, face rife with unconcealed rage. Posture visibly stiff.
The man's forehead creases with distress. "Okay...okay...please…" He croaks around the blunt metal.
Once the metal is removed form his mouth, the man hurriedly begins typing away at the keyboard. The typing last for nearly two minutes before the man is looking up at John for approval and the system is manually purging each and every file on record.
"There...it's deleted. It's gone. It's done. Will you let me g-"
A single bullet puts an abrupt end to the plea before it's even finished.
At first, you thought the knocking might be a figment of your imagination, until the sound echoed in your ears more firmly, pulling you from sleep. Lifting your head from the pillow, you looked around the living room. A glance at the curtains revealed that it was now dark outside, obviously late in the evening. The laptop sat on the coffee table open as a direct result of your attempt at job searching. Only the screen had gone dark from inactivity a while ago. Truthfully, you didn't remember falling asleep.
Soon enough, there's another rapt on the door a curt sigh, you groggily rose from the surface of the couch, stretching your stiff muscles in the process. Being interrupted from such a good nap that you really needed is irritating but you suppose it can't be helped. Tiredness still pulls at your limbs, making you sluggish.
You peered wearily into the peephole. Nothing but darkness can be seen on the other side. Whoever it was on the other side was either standing too close or purposely observed the door hole. Whatever the case, you don't usually open the door at night if you aren't expecting visitors. You think it could be maintenance workers going around changing the filtering in the apartment but what reason would maintenance have to perform tasks checks at this time of night?
Following some pondering, you decide to open the door for the unknown visitor, leaving the security chain on the door as a precaution.
The first thing you notice is there's not one but two imposing men. Whilst extensively searching the depths of your memory, you can't say a single cord of familiarity strikes you. They may as well be faceless men since you're fully convinced that you've never seen either of the men before.
"Can I help you?"
Neither male made a single effort to answer your question. They merely stared down at you from under their nose, with no discernable emotion. It was very unsettling. They didn't look like maintenance workers and a brief look at their clothing proved that assumption. An overwhelming sense of dread took over in that moment - you could practically feel the malice wafting off them just from the look in their eyes alone. These men were up to no good.
Before you realize what's actually happening, cold metal is pressed into your chest, right in the middle of your ribs. Before you get a chance to react, a strong force blows you away from the door, sending you crashing to the hard floor. From your point of view, it's like it happened in slow motion. You felt the shock before the pain. The burning, which started out as minor, quickly elevated to excruciating levels.
The attackers then kicked in the door entirely, ripping the security chain from the track altogether and forcing their way inside.
You wheezed in pain, unable to find your voice to truly vocalize the agony. Sheer terror clouded your understanding, you could barely think logically.
Warm blood began to trickle from the wound in alarming amounts, that not even pressing both hands against it would help. You were already losing too much blood too quickly. The initial shock has turned into horror as you realize that you've just been shot. The burning sensation intensified each time your chest expanded to take in air. It was getting harder to breathe, possibly a result of one of your lungs filling with blood.
Your attackers watched dispassionately as you writhed on the floor. You can't breathe, can't draw in a single breath. You try to fight against the lightheadedness to no avail.
One of the men walks over, staring down at you like a human would do to an ant. He places the barrel to your head. His finger presses down on the trigger...
"No…" You struggled weakly.
The shot is excruciatingly loud in your head.
You jump awake in bed, blinking rapidly. Heart racing. Your hand instinctively goes to your chest. There's no wound there, no blood, the only thing you feel is the beating of your heart. It actually takes a minute for the disorientation to wear off. Nevertheless, the resounding shot echoes repeatedly in your mind. At this juncture, you're powerless at the onset of fear.
It's been a long time since you'd had a nightmare like that and you gather that it was more than likely stress-induced. But there was something about that one - it just felt...off. Even with you being awake, the fear had not left you. The dream felt real. The pain felt so real. The panic was most certainly real. The combination of all three left you deeply unsettled.
What the hell was that?
After a dream like that, you can't possibly go back to sleep. As a matter of fact, you outright refuse to. You sunk back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The curtains are pulled closed, lapsing the bedroom in considerable darkness.
You lay in that position for a while, unwilling to move. Once nearly twenty minutes passes, you turn over on your stomach, unable to stand staring into the darkness of the room any longer. All the while, you continuously will the urge to fall back asleep away.
After soon time passes, the rumble of John's mustang can be heard distinctly pulling into the garage. Him coming in pretty late was somewhat usual. Still, you listened attentively with baited breath. Softened footsteps could soon be heard coming up the long winding stairs until they ultimately faded out upon reaching the carpet of the bedroom.
The quiet footsteps pace over to the bathroom and a small portion of light floods into the bedroom. The door shuts and you hear the shower start up moments later. You wonder where he's been for most of the day. He'd developed this pattern of disappearing and reappearing throughout the day without explanation. Considering that the man doesn't question you on your whereabouts it's only fair that you don't question him in return.
The shower turns off after an estimated twenty minutes. You can make out a few faint noises before the light from the bathroom flicks off and the door slowly opens. You force your body to relax as if you were still asleep. You hear the man's measured stride approaching the bed.
Aside from the soft rustle of the sheets, your lover joins you in bed. He slides right over next to you and his arms pull you into the enclosure of his arms. The heat from the shower is practically wafting off of his skin. His actions crushed every seed of doubt in your mind that you weren't safe and protected in that moment. You can't deny that you feel safer just by being near him. At least now you can try to let sleep find you again.
The idea to allow yourself to fall back into slumber was a perfect one. The only issue with that plan is your lover and his wandering hands. Technically, you're turned away from him but his hands were essentially ghosting over different parts of your body, lingering in spots where you were most sensitive. For comfortability sake, you went to bed in panties and an oversized t-shirt. That logical, innocent decision had inadvertently made access easier for him. He caressed each inch of skin he could find under his fingertips.
While it's not out of character for him to grope you, in fact, you've become quite fond of a butt rub here and there. What prompted this sudden need to explore your body and why was he choosing to do this while you were supposed to be asleep? You're at a loss of what his intentions could be, that is until one of his hands slides over your ass to your private area.
Lust tinged surprise took over you in an instant and your eyes snapped open.
If the contract killer's intentions weren't clear before then they were certainly made evident now.
Adept fingers kneaded over the crotch of your panties, which were starting to get damp. In due time, John's long fingers are snaking underneath the thin material of your panties, stealthy rubbing between your folds. If you were actually asleep and not faking, then you probably wouldn't feel it with how gentle John was being.
Arousal is swift to accelerate throughout every fiber of your being. It had been so long since you felt the pleasurable sensation that you were secretly pining for some sexual contact since the last amorous encounter. You just weren't in the right mind frame to engage in anything sexual even though you'd fully healed after a week afterwards. John hadn't indicated that he was bothered by the break in routine, opting to remain understanding and patient while you tried to bounce back from your little depression bubble. But now it seemed the two of you couldn't fight the sexual impulse any longer, the lack of sexual activity had taken it's can't act like your body has been crying out for his attention.
All definitely hasn't been right in your world and you're waiting for the feeling to go away but you know it won't dissipate on its own. You'd been someplace else mentally for a while; it would be nice to finally be grounded back in the present.
The next thing you feel is the comforter being lifted off your form. Your frame is exposed to the open air and you remain completely still, too shocked to move.
It becomes evident that your underwear has become an obstacle so he tugs them down to your legs to rid you of the fabric completely before discarding it somewhere away from the bed. With that you pretty much know what's coming next. You know what he's about to do to you and you don't have any control over your raging hormones.
Pure unadulterated lust swirled low in your gut.
Warmth surges full force between the apex of your thighs. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, growing more wet by the second. The disturbing dream is entirely forgotten.
When he takes the fondling a step further and sticks a single digit inside your moistened hole, you gasp lightly. The miniscule sound causes a pause in his ministrations. By now, you're sure he's figured out that you're merely feigning sleep. The gasp had basically given him confirmation that you were awake and somewhat partial to his touches.
Remarkably, John's actions ceased entirely, hands motionless against the surface of your skin. Despite you freezing, you believed you had an idea of what the man's current efforts signified. He was waiting - waiting to see what your response would be.
With no pretense for wasting time, the hired gun rolls you unto your back while at the same time, meticulously guiding your legs up and open. He then immediately goes back to playing with the oozing slit. The t-shirt you're wearing is pushed up above the generous swell of your breasts.
The assassin's tongue traced over the soft globe, licking and sucking on the nipples until they gradually harden. He was knuckle deep in your pussy playing in your slick walls, while you mewled softly, nails digging into the sheets. What came out of your mouth couldn't really be classified as a moan, it resembled a breathy whisper more than anything. One finger soon turns into two and he begins using them both to slowly fuck you while he mouthes at your left tit. You can hear nothing but wet suction and your labored breathing. You're struck by the back and forth of his long appendages. You could barely see anything but you felt everything and doing filthy things in the dark made it considerably more erotic.
He hasn't uttered a single word thus far. And you don't know if you should be bothered by that or not.
John fingered you with twisted strokes, milking your sweet spot for all it's worth. Your low panting grew louder within the darkness of the room - you're achingly close to tipping off the edge. Before you can reach that nirvana, both fingers are pulled from your tight opening, coated in your wet essence.
"John…"
Appendages that are heavily coated in your juices are placed at your lips. This shocks you more than anything else he's done tonight. Just the thought of it has heat burning your cheeks. There hasn't been a single instance in your life that you thought about what you might taste like. Never. Not in your wildest, filthiest dreams. And the thought of doing so now...is not so unsurprisingly jarring as you believed it would be. In an unanticipated move, your mouth slowly opens to permit the fingers entrance and they right slide in. The fingers dance over your tongue, spreading the fluid onto your tastebuds. The piquancy was surprisingly sweet with a faint hint if something else you couldn't place.
When it pulls them from your mouth, the essence that once covered them has been sucked clean. It takes you by surprise as you're suddenly maneuvered on your hands and knees. Soft calloused hands skim over the curve of your hips, splaying his hands over your heated skin.
He rubs the back of your thighs, hands coming up to rest over the rounded curve of your ass. You're not the slightest bit surprised as he could never hold out on the fascination for long.
He carefully guided his stiff organ in between your folds, the tip dragging up and down your wet lips. John slowly slid inside of your heated core with ease, not stopping until he'd sheathed the entirety of his entire manhood into you. In moments, you're filled with hard dick.
You were determined to meet the ruthless pace he'd deliberately put into place. You pushed back against him in an attempt to meet him thrust for thrust. That only made him double down harder. The bodily reaction didn't go unnoticed, the reticent hitman intensified his stroke.
An impassioned sob broke free, your head dipping forward in defeat. The whimpers from your mouth resonating even louder.
Your thighs are literally burning with exertion, arms growing weaker by the second. You can barely hold yourself up anymore. In what little energy you could muster, you started a weak attempt to inch away from the assault, slowly crawling up towards the headboard to ease the force of your lover's onslaught. A hand quickly put an end to that venture, sliding under your jaw and securing a good grip on your throat.
You could barely place it but something about his current disposition seemed atypical. He was considerably more demanding than his usual behavior. It seemed oddly reminiscent of the punishment sex you'd received for disobeying him. Much like that sexual encounter, this was desperate, primal. Through it all, he still hadn't uttered a single word. You don't know if you should be concerned or not.
Was this about earlier? Because you told him you wanted to work? Whatever the reason may be, he seemed intent on taking out his frustration on you. He was literally working you. The man is doing a fine job of battering the bottom of your stomach - it's literally making you weak.
John's stamina is out of this world and you don't think you can withstand the pounding for too long. The gut punching is taking everything out of you. He forces all kinds of breathless noises out of you. Tendrils of drool slide down your chin.
He must've figured that he liked this position more since he keeps your waist suspended in the air while he pounds mercilessly into you. The lewd sounds of skin smacking together intermingled with your delirious mewls. It comes as no surprise that you're straining to hold yourself up against the bucking hips, desperately trying to ride out the potent stabs of dick. When a thumb presses into the taut ring of muscle of your asshole, you involuntarily tense and clinch your insides.
You didn't realize that you were arching your back up like a cat would in an attempt to brace for the thrusts. It almost worked until a hot hand slid upward along your back before firmly pressing your shoulder back down to the mattress while his other hand was at your lower back maintaining the arch - effectively re-establishing the position he wanted.
You felt sticky warmth dripping over both orifices, some of it dribbling down your thighs.
Apparently, the slick was enough for him to mount you. You inhaled sharply. Due to the positioning, the stretching borderlines a deep ache along with barely noticeable pleasure. The slight discomfort was quickly waning while your body adjusted to the still unfamiliar intrusion. Keeping in mind that this is only your second experience with anal sex. You don't have time to dwell on the unpleasantness it for long.
He dives deep into your soaked core and it takes you a minute to realize you're weeping tears.
Those hot, grasping hands carefully situate you into another position. In this position, he's more gentle and deliberate with his actions, lest you be out of commission again.
You gasped when he bottomed out and just pressed into that one spot that caused your legs to shake uncontrollably. The pleasure steadily built, stacking on and elevating in potency. He was punishing your cervix. Your brain is spinning, thoughts too jumbled to make sense of anything and you're too out of it to realize you're wailing deliriously.
Your core contracted, insides spasming.
The hand at your lower back disappears and feel it circling the tiny engorged bud of your clit while he jostled you with the sheer force of his moving hips. You're suffocating under his oppressive desire.
With his fingers working diligently at your slippery clit, you're sure to combust any second now. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as you gripped the sheets for dear life. The agonizing pleasure pulsing throughout your vibrating body. It takes nothing for you to welcome the heady feeling of searing passion. Without warning, your body seizes up, the ball of unchecked pleasure unraveling in your belly. It feels like you're on fire, your entire body convulsing. The shockwaves zip through you like electricity. Light explodes behind your eyes. You came apart in the most glorious way.
And the best part? He fucked you right through it.
Once the sensation starts to fade, you realize just how dazed you are. Dazed and confused but ultimately satisfied. He didn't bother retreating from your body. You might be a woman satisfied but he was nowhere near that point yet...
Tumblr: teejaywyatt.1
