the beasts’ belly rumbles, going unacknowledged. no complaint drips cold from his lips, only a quiet, unobtrusive sigh of mild discontent. they’ve got to wait here for now, until the police shove off to another block.
brows furrowed at his punctuation / hiding a deep chasm of swirling emotions over the thought of such an empire being brought to it’s knees. it had afforded her MUCH in the way of luxury and prestige, she had become one of the elite in this industry and, although this was not the only sect that dealt in such matters, it was the one with the greatest agency. would they rebuild ? would he look to create a new process in his image ? caden was unsure of where that would leave her, and the uncertainty did not sit well within her. thinking that he was about to leave, shrouded in night as he often was, woman reached out and captured him by the wrist / brazen touch having the other hand delicately trace the frame of his jaw.
barely a W H I S P E R of a touch, nothing more than midnight breeze. ❛ think about what you’re about to do. ❜ a careful word of caution, fingers attempting to brush aside the fringe of hair against his forehead. ❛ think about what that leaves people like us. ❜ finally, the first HINT of apprehension within a typically cool woman.
❛ blow this wide open and i’ll have no choice but to assist. ❜ caden knew that she could not have her alliance remain secret for long.
john is a man of calculated, impersonal focus. bones lined with steel – like a comic book character – only in a metaphorical sense. his blood runs colder than ice in his veins. a brief glimpse of the other side was all he’d gotten. a taste of how sweet life could be had he not been wicked. it’s an exhibition of a core belief he holds: everything has a price. so now the very employ that’s willfully aided him in damning his soul now seeks to send him to retribution. not that he’s undeserving of such a fate – rules are rules & this was a life filled with decisions he’d made for himself, mostly.
but damn anyone that looks to take this life away from him now.
the cool skin of her hand stills his coming stride. it warms as the hold persists, drawing him back from threshold of rage & deep, vast agony that he keeps in his heart. words melt into his ears, & the fingers affectionately running along his scruffy jawline recalling memories of the dearly departed.
“ they won’t stop. “
not until he’s dead, at least. with such a hefty price on his head, too, everyone’s got a personal stake in it. “ but it isn’t a cause for concern. “ he assures. “ not for you. “
because he’ll stick by her until the time is right, but once he’s ready to go loud with his intentions, he’ll be sure she’s far removed from him before commencing with them.
shrieking women & the steady beat of a drum help keep his presence relatively unnoticed. john wades through the rambunctious throng, slipping in between gaps & gently guiding people out of his path with a hand, the other trained on the handgun tactically holstered beneath his leather jacket. guitar strings are plucked, an arpeggio meant for a sound test, he assumes.
once he’s got a beat on his target, john makes the decision to hold his trigger finger. he’ll bide his time until the band’s set begins. whining guitars, a talented voice & the strum & chug of the bass. it’ll be enough to somewhat mask the sound & pressure his silenced handgun will produce, localize the panic, long enough for him to get out.
wick’s mark approaches the bar, & so he does, too. but takes his seat right next to her – a professional courtesy. he orders them both a drink, & upon noticing the bartender’s acknowledgement of john, she turns to face him.
shocked. terrified.
“ john? “
the woman practically chokes on her fear. “ what brings you this way? “ she’s romanian, wearing a shirt of the band up on stage. in response, the assassin silently stares. takes a drink. “ … i see. “ her words come sullen, quiet. their drinks arrive & are placed in front of them, prompting them both to reach out for one.
one hand holds the glass, brings it to his lips. the other’s already drawn his glock beneath the veil of his jacket. “ is there nothing i – “ the shot rings out & ends her sentence, muffled but loud enough for the bartender to react.the life drains from the woman’s eyes, & wick eases her head down onto the counter. those sitting on the bar stools around them give him a look, & are clearly concerned, but can’t decide what’s happened.
john’s eyes meet the bartender’s. eyes flick to somewhere behind the counter. “ don’t. “ he says, knowing what that means. then the man lunges for something.
plan ruined.
john leaps over the table, sending glasses & bottles crashing to the floor as his feet plant against the bartender’s chest. he stumbles back, slamming against the wall of liquor & revealing the shotgun he’s grasped in his left hand. john grabs the shotgun, forces it to angle up as the man fires in panic, right into the ceiling above them. the music grinds to a halt, & panic ensues. fans are rushing the stage to escape the rampage of panicked fools, not wanting to be trampled. others make for the exit. john looks back to watch it all unfold, rolls his eyes & shakes his head out of sheer frustration. he reaches to the wall he’s got the man pinned against, grabs one of the intact bottles & smashes it against his skull.
