empress

broad shoulders heaving. a thick arm coiling back: a leather-clad elbow lancing back with a heavy jerk. the rasping, gritty grunt when he lets it go—

but it's all static, whitenoise, to the breath he takes before he swings. steady and measured. a slow, nasally inhale; a pause; then:

a heavy exhale on rumbling growl. a snarl curling up the thick of his throat.

he has time to calm himself before each swing. if you weren't so numb, so paralysed with disbelief and fear you might have missed it. the sound slipping beneath your blood-curdling scream. your cries for help.

the sound of your soles slapping against wet pavement as you fled.

but inside your head, there's a stalemate. a ceasefire. an anticipatory silence tucked inside the trembling palm of a bated breath as you wait for the other side to make their move, to shatter the fragile peace with the echo of gunfire—

his grunt sounds like a misfire, and then:

stillness.

the fists stop. you don't think the man is breathing anymore—on't think he can breathe through whatever is left of his face, his nose—and the stranger, your saviour, seems to come to the same conclusion because he peels back from with grunt, kneeling back on his haunches.

he sucks his teeth as he stares down at the mess he made, and you wonder what he's thinking. if losing control like this is normal for him, or if this is—is an episode, is an accident, is being consumed by anger until all that's left in its wake is soot and ash. but he's moving before you can even think about asking if the man is okay, if you can even will yourself to care enough because you still feel the cold metal of his knife against your throat, the pinch of his fingers as he pushed them into the soft skin of your cheek, vile breath spilling between clenched teeth; shut the fuck up you stupid fucking bitch—

you make a noise, then, and in some deep, trembling recess, the realisation that this is just the second sound you've since you clocked out for the night. the first—a gasp when you felt the searing kiss of cold metal, a damp, rough hand on your forearm, and a body that didn't belong to any you've known before blunting into your back. if you make a sound, i'll fucking kill you, bitch—

it's fragile. just a cracked, raw whimper. a noise you've never made before, one you didn't think you'd ever be capable of making, and all at once you want to swallow it back down—

but he cocks his head the moment he catches it.

he lumbers up to a knee. braces a thick forearm against it as his hand pushes into the man's sternum. a grunt, and he's up. stands tall. heaving. head bowed as he stares down at the man between his feet for a second, and from this angle, you'd almost mistake him for a man in a solemn prayer. head bent over a pew. hands clasped—

but the illusion is shattered when his arms fall to sides, and blood begins to drip from the tips of his fingers and onto the pavement.

he shakes his head, then, and you want to ask him what he's thinking about, why he'd go so far for someone he doesn't even know, a stranger—

but the fog clears, and everything that happened slams into you, a freight train splitting through your head. it rips another noise from deep in your chest—a clawing, keening whine. words surge like vomit up your throat. all of them indistinguishable, incomprehensible, but a thread forms, knits them together:

who are you comes first, fractured and scattered in the pale spill of moonlight. a whisper through the gaps in your teeth. you don't think he hears it. or if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it. he swings around, shoulders heaving.

swathed in shadows, you'll swear, years later, that you saw the devil that night. and—in the tangled mess of compounded memories, one knotted, frayed, with fear—that he cocked his head as he stared at you through the man's eyes and said, see? you come to me famished and here i bring for you—a feast.

so eat.

but what he really said is this: shush, you're alright, sweetheart.

and what he doesn't say is i'm here to save you.

because, standing there with a man's blood soaking his fingers, knuckles torn after being cut, sliced open on jagged teeth and broken bone, the drip, drip of it hitting the pavement as he just stared down at you, heaving—filled with an unslakeable energy he'll carve you open with later on, the same thick thigh he'd thrown over the man's torso splitting between your legs like a saw, prying you open as he takes his fill—the echo of it splattering into the cobblestone speaks louder than anything he could even think of saying.

he's your saviour, but he isn't here to save you.

there's still that disconnect. that misfire. crossed wires. you think about running but all you manage, all you can muster is a weak twitch of your leg when he bends down on one knee, and nothing more. paralysed again as easy, darlin' slips out between his teeth, and he reaches for you. there's no gasp. no whimper. just hands, warmer, rougher than the other man's against your skin as he slips his fingers over your nape, thumb brushing the smeared kiss the blade gave you with a low, rumbling grunt. a growl. he never should've touched you, is what he says, and he says it like it's supposed to make sense.

it doesn't.

he'll bundle you up in his leather jacket. it'll smell like old tobacco and cheap whiskey. you'll pull it a little tighter around yourself, stealing into the lingering warmth as he guides you to a truck parked a haphazardly in the mouth of the alleyway. it'll still be running. keys still in the ignition. door open. you'll say thank you, John because that'll be what he tells you to say—jus' say thank you—when you tell him you want to go home.

he'll lift his bloodstained hands and touch your cheek, tilting your head up to let him get a good look at you under the harsh, interior light. make sure you're really okay, is what he'll say, apropos of nothing.

you'll pretend you can't feel the sticky ooze of rotting blood congealing on your skin, and focus on swallowing down the words, the vomit, that bubble in the back of your throat as his eyes devour you whole, his rugged face consumed by a dark look edged in the cold glint of something too primal, too predatory, for you to understand. you'll stare at the smear of salt in his beard and when he tells you his age, you won't even flinch. you'll nod. accepting. pliant. you won't know where it comes from—this meekness, this sudden paralysis. self-preservation takes the shape of a prey animal dooming itself for consumption by pretending that the stalking predator hunting it down can't see it if it doesn't move—

he'll reward you for it, though. wrap your submission tight around the thick of his waist as he gives you his approval in each heavy, rocking slide of rough hips; cradle it in his palm as he grips your throat in his hand and drips his pleasure into your sticky, gasping mouth, smearing his satisfaction across your lips—good girl, he'll praise; such a good girl, mm, takin' it all for me, every fuckin' inch—

every goddamn drop.

he'll tuck his palms against the backs of your thighs when he's finished, tilting them back towards your chest, hips propped up on a pillow because it's better this way, this way it'll take—

but before that, when he buckles you in, his hand will linger over your chest. the heat of his palm will bleed through your pretty new blouse as he makes another quiet inhale. unlike before, you won't want to ask what he's thinking because you'll already know. you'll know.

he will let out a shuddering breath, his clenching tight, before he leans back in his seat, determined now, in that seething, quietly furious way of his, as if rage was soddered in his veins.

he'll say let's get you home, mm? and you'll nod, a quiet okay, John, slipping out as he puts the truck in reverse.

-'ow in the bloody fuckin' 'ell did she clock that car? i didn't even see it-

-just pull over, mate, it's over, let me have the girl and you'll just get done for the car. just pull over-

-kortac in our backyard and we didn't even bloody know it. fuck's sake. we've got to put a stop to it before makarov does a forcible takeover of wales or some shite-

you don't know the third 'voice' in your head; it's a woman, someone kyle knows and trusts, it would seem. this is a dramatic escalation, even more than murdering hans in cold blood- he's brought in reinforcements, invoking the names 'kortac' and 'makarov' to get some serious assistance.

-a little further, little further, just around the bend-

"deploy stinger." kyle says into the radio.

"stinger! stinger! stinger! up ahead!" you bark at d, who spots the black diamond shapes of spikes spread across the road and opts to veer off onto the grass. two people standing by another unmarked car jump back in surprise at the maneuver, and you watch them rush to recall the stinger and scurry back into their vehicle as d streaks by them. kyle's vehicle swings a wide left to follow d's example and avoid getting their tires punctured, keeping up the pressure on your car.

"good catch, bird." d laughs triumphantly, patting your thigh just a little too hard.

"he's got 'round the stinger, is carrying on at eight zero speed." kyle reports into the radio, annoyance clear in his voice.

"fam, how in the bloody hell did he even spot that?" the driver next to him asks, her brows creased in bewilderment.

"powers is career criminal, nova. this is just another sunday drive to a man like him." kyle sniffs, clenching his teeth in frustration. "we have to get him stopped before he gets to the village up ahead. god knows the damage he could cause there."

"we have to get to a residential area. they'll back off there. might get us enough distance to escape- maybe find someplace to park and hide." you blurt, and d whistles, a long high note of appreciation.

"and 'ere i thought you were a good girl." he chuckles as he shifts gears. "startin' t'see you aren't the type t'fuss about bein' in a stolen car."

"i don't give a fuck about the car so long as it helps us get away." you snap, turning in your seat to look through the stack of luggage- two cars trail behind you, blue and red lights flashing, but no sirens. a flex of authority without attracting extra attention.

"oh yeah?" d asks, smile audible.

wonder if she'd let me fuck 'er bent over the bonnet when this is oll over.

"oh my god, d. flirt later." you throw him an unamused look, and he just grins at you in return as you twist back around in your seat.

i'll definitely be 'avin' that later.

there's no time to pay him any mind, not when both pursuit cars are gaining on you. your heart is in your throat as d swerves hard, turning left onto a side road and scraping across the front of kyle's car. the seatbelt bites into your chest and belly as you slide in your seat. metal sliding across metal screeches in your ear for the briefest moment, and you can see yourself through kyle's eyes- eyes wide, face the epitome of panic and shock at the impact.

i'm sorry babes, i'm sorry, rescue is coming, hold on.

"need them alive, nova." kyle hisses at his driver."can't interrogate a dead man."

"not my bloody fault, gaz!" she snaps back, pretty face pulled into a scowl. "he hit me, the bloody maniac."

big d hoots in delight, slapping the steering wheel with his palm and laughing his ass off as he takes a sudden hard right that once again has you listing in your seat as he narrowly misses the other pursuit vehicle. all you can do is grip the door and brace yourself against the dash and your weight is thrown around against your will, holding on for dear life.

a small sign indicating that you're driving into a little village whizzes by you, moving far too fast to read. it's still very early morning, just a little past six, and your anxiety amps up at the thought of other people even bearing witness to this chaos. even though it's too early to worry about kids in the road, you can't help but be anxious about some early bird pensioner taking a stroll or taking their dog for a walk in this beautiful lavender and pink sunrise. the situation is bad enough, but you'll be devastated if someone's nan dies because of you.

"they'll back off soon." big d observes, hazel eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "they can't want a stolen car that bad."

it takes all of your willpower not to mention it isn't the car they care about. it's just pretext for the stop, but not the real reason- or even the fake one kyle fed to his compatriots.

-a basement somewhere in york, with a lawn chair set in a shallow children's pool. a black leather bag full of tools and medical instruments sat on a small table. a car battery sits nearby, and kyle is already fantasizing about hooking big d up to it by his balls-

"oh shit." the words bubble out of you as you stare in your side mirror, stomach lurching as you realize what kyle has planned.

"don't get your knickers in a twist, i didn't even 'it that lamp post." d remarks, far more cheery than is appropriate for the situation.

"no, i- the man. the one i'm running from. it's him in the car." you admit, pretending it's a sudden realization. d cocks an eyebrow and glances your way as he silently decides he's raising his price when you escape. fair enough, you suppose.

"y'sure?" he asks, suddenly serious.

"yeah." you nod, swallowing hard, still staring at the mirror. "yeah, that's him riding passenger."

were you not so actively terrified right now, you'd probably be sobbing. as it is, you're too deeply in the throes of your flight response, adrenaline rerouted to set your knee bouncing at 1000 bpm as big d takes another hard left, narrowly missing plowing into a hedgerow.

"bloody 'ell, woman." he mutters, shaking his head as he suddenly cuts into a park, squeezing his little car between a gap in the steel bollards and darting between the trees. the pursuit vehicles screech to a stop- one even slamming into the bollard, hood and bumper crinkling around it upon impact. a manic, wild laugh bubbles out of you- but it isn't joy. not yet. you're not going to allow yourself to celebrate until kyle's string of curses fades away into nothing, until you're truly far enough away to have lost them for good.

you know he isn't going to give up that easily, though. one car might be out of commission, but it isn't kyle's- and he's directing nova to cut you off using a side road, his finger jamming onto the gps screen as he points out their new route. it's easier to concentrate with your eyes closed, commingling gaz's view of the map and d's view of the road ahead.

"take a left here, down the dirt path, then turn right down the straightaway that connects to it." you instruct, eyes screwed shut. the dirt road isn't on kyle's gps for some reason- probably some unofficial path made by and for locals. a small mercy you hope to take full advantage of as you run for your life. d's view leaves the road and swings over to you, eyes scrunched, body language tight.

"y'know this place?"

"let's say yes. just hurry and take that left- they're going to try to circle and flank us, and i want to be in the exact wrong spot for him to do that." you tell him, eyes still closed as if in prayer.

weird bird.

if he has any hesitation about listening he doesn't show it, taking the left and barreling onto the straightaway. up ahead is a little house with a shed, separated from the main part of town, with a nice little garden and a big hedge alongside. as if reading your mind for once, d slows down to a more sensible speed, following the hedge until the road isn't visible anymore. he glances at his side view and smirks- no tire tracks through the grass. perfect.

"bloody 'ell, bird." d almost sounds out of breath as he puts the car into park and scans out the windows- but there's no one lurking nearby that he can see. the only person around is asleep in the nearby house- a widower, dreaming of his late wife making him coffee in the morning, relishing in how beautiful she looks in the golden sunlight. you, however, are relishing in how kyle's thoughts are growing fainter and more frustrated by the second, and you don't even try to hide your triumphant smile.

bloody fucking bollocking hell, where did they bloody go? they should've been there, the road should've dumped them in front of us-

you exhale slowly, breath shaky with nerves, and relief rolls through you like a wave. all that fear and anxiety is still rattling around inside of you, twitching to get out with nowhere to go. you're safe now, kyle's thoughts almost entirely gone from your mind as he heads the entirely wrong direction, but it's hard to say if he'll loop back or not.

"i say we wait 'ere for ten minutes or so, then 'ead out." d says after a pause. "let 'em put a bit more distance between us, but if we stay 'ere too long they might decide to 'ead back and retrace their steps."

"that's as good a plan as any, i suppose." you admit, trying hard to regulate your breathing. the adrenaline in your veins is still flowing, and it's hard to come down from it. "but wherever you were planning on going, i don't think we should go there directly."

"and why's that?" d asks, brow cocked and eyes narrowed. you don't have an answer that isn't insane sounding, so you do what you do best- hedge around the truth.

"kyle's connected. he could be waiting for us there. i don't think going back to london's a good idea, either, but- we should switch it up. head somewhere else for a while." it's vague, too vague for someone like big d to take seriously, but it's all you have short of trying to convince a very pragmatic man that telepathy is real.

kyle? the big bad killer of the austrian is some little git named kyle? bloody 'ell.

"bein' paranoid, bird." d assures you, patting your big, soft thigh. "there's no way 'e'll find us where we're goin'- not unless 'e's some sort of mind reader."

the laugh that claws it's way out of you is visceral and ugly, repressed tears springing to your eyes as you're swept up in a wave of emotions that adrenaline has pushed aside during your escape. you look wild like this, teeth on full display, tears streaming down your cheeks as you half-sob and half-howl with laughter, rocking back and forth in your seat. d slowly removes his hand from your leg, and for the first time since he was a child, big david powers is startled and unnerved. after a moment of watching you shake and cry and cackle, he pretends to need to piss just so he can get out of the car and let you have your sobbing, laughing, hysterical meltdown in peace.

~

exactly twelve minutes later, d gets you both back on the road. to your dismay, he's still silently planning to head further north to his great-aunt jane and her dahlias. nothing you could say would change his mind, and you suppose you understand that- after all, why on earth should he believe his plan has been compromised? he has no real reason to think he's been targeted long before he stole the car, no reason to suppose his phone was tapped before he left london, no reason to trust any explanation you might have for knowing that both of those things very much did happen.

your best bet, unfortunately, is to convince d to stop somewhere and steal the car while he's getting a cuppa or paying for petrol. it feels awful to even consider abandoning him, especially since he got you out of that close-call not even an hour earlier. stabbing him in the back after he's stuck his neck out for you makes you feel disgusting, like your insides are covered in mold and rotting away.

"we'll go t'leeds, nick a new car there b'fore we continue on. this one's too 'ot t'keep drivin' much further. imagine every bobby from 'ere to newcastle is lookin' f'it." d says, breaking the silence that's probably only tense on your end. he's still not sure what to do about this turn of events, and feeling a bit more than mildly embarrassed at witnessing a normally very put together you having a wild, sobbing breakdown.

"can we stay in leeds for a while? before we move on?" you ask, voice croaky from your hysterical crying fit. your face still feels tight from the crying, and you instinctually wipe at the dried tears crusting your cheek.

"why? wot you scared of?"

"he killed the austrian. he'll kill you if he gets the chance. if we ditch the car i'm sure he'll find it and assume we kept it moving- and i don't want to be wherever it is he goes looking for us." you tell him seriously. it's hard to shake the mental image kyle had of torturing d, and it makes you ill to think you somehow put this man in harm's way simply by asking for his help.

"and wot will 'e do with ya if 'e catches ya?" d asks, an uncharacteristic concern coloring his question.

"i-" you have to think about that. what is kyle going to do with you? he's obsessed, sure, but you're pretty sure he also half-believes you're a potential spy or asset for kortac. torture isn't out of the realm of possibility, and neither is death if you can't convince him that you're innocent of espionage. your pause drags on before you hang your head and admit the terrible truth.

"i don't know. nothing good."

d doesn't say anything to that. instead, he keeps driving, his mind churning.

somethin' else is goin' on 'ere. the fuck'd she get me into? definitely chargin' 'er double. triple, maybe, dependin' on 'ow much of a 'assle this detour in leeds is. bloody 'ell i could use a cuppa, my arse is draggin'. should get a 'otel room, nap, and see if she'll let me fuck 'er f'oll the trouble she's causin' me. tits for tat, so t'speak. he smirks at his own silent joke and you roll your eyes, opting to stare out the window.

the way he's hoping to badger you into giving him pussy makes the self-disgust you feel about your plan to abandon him dissolve like a sugar cube in a cup of tea. he's planning on stealing a new car anyways, right? so he can steal one for his way home. you'll leave whatever personal items he packed for his trip in the hotel room and just take off on your own. that should mitigate whatever pain in the ass you cause by leaving without him, surely.

as he pulls off onto the m1, your mind is made up- you're going it alone from here on out. d did what he said he'd do and got you out of london without getting caught by kyle, so his obligation to you is over. it's better off that you go on your own and prevent more people from being pulled into this bullshit. maybe you'll head southwest, dropping down to liverpool to catch a ferry to belfast. you can find some poker games as you make your way south and easily win enough money to get a ticket out of dublin airport to god-knows-where. you'll iron out the details later- right now, the important thing is to strike out on your own and get the fuck out of britain.

d flips on his turn signal, taking the exit into leeds, and the steady clicka clicka clicka keeps pace with your heartbeat as you watch the sun slowly climb into the sky behind the usual cloud cover, the violet-pink of the sunrise melting away into the usual comforting grey.

he shoves his phone back into his pocket and watches the screen of his laptop as his pretty, soft neighbor cries herself to sleep, the shaking of her body and muffled sounds of her sobs growing fainter and fainter until she goes still, her white noise machine having apparently lulled her to sleep. poor thing, she must've run into that big ugly brute while she was out and about, he must've frightened her terribly, and kyle can't help but kick himself for being away- too busy giddily hiding the cameras and microphones nikolai's contact had sold him while daydreaming about moving his few personal belongings into her flat.

"i'm sorry, babes." he whispers to the image on his screen, fingers tracing over the exaggerated curves of her ass and thighs. "i'll fix this. i've got you."

it'll take some work to get her walls to come down a bit more, but he's confident in his ability to wear her down little by little. she's clearly been put through the wringer by her shitty kortac boyfriend, but in his mind, that makes her even more perfect- she's already used to the distance and the secrets, after all. kyle knows he can make it better than konig ever could simply by virtue of not being a charmless git- he'll order flowers for her when he's got cell service, have her favorite food delivered to her flat, and make sure that every moment he's on leave is spent by her side (or on top of her, or under her, or pressed up behind her). he'll be everything that big lout isn't; handsome, attentive, caring, and loving.

he thinks back to that meeting in the coffee shop as he shuts his laptop closed, shaking his head in disgust. no 'hello darling', no 'i've missed you', nothing. just a stern 'i have been looking for you' that sent red flags flying in kyle's mind. clearly something is amiss, and he's desperate to make things better for her by any means necessary. god knows how long this poor girl has been trapped in this relationship, but it won't be for much longer. a plan is in motion to set her free, and nothing short of a bullet to the brain will derail kyle's plot.

he pauses as he steps outside of his door, eyes trained on her door number. she's tucked away, sleeping deeply behind a flimsy and a very pickable lock. anyone could get at her if they truly wanted to, and the idea makes him sick to his stomach. good thing he's taking matters into his own hands. god knows what would happen if he left her to fend for herself.

he can just imagine it now- big dirty boots kicking down her door, stomping loudly as that big austrian git chases her around her tiny little flat. screams of panic that would go intentionally ignored by the neighbors who don't want to know, don't want a fuss, are too concerned about protecting themselves against whatever it is that would make her shriek so wildly. the more kyle thinks about it, the clearer the solution is-

the austrian has to go.

he makes his way onto the street and strides down the sidewalk with a pace quick enough to create a bit of a breeze against his face. his pristine chelsea boots stomp against the concrete with intention, unwavering on their journey, all the while kyle's mind churns, spitting out scenarios, what-ifs, potential consequences and repercussions. it muddles his mind, but doesn't deviate him from his plan- if anything, it convinces him that this isn't a solo operation, that it's something he'll need assistance with.

the prepaid cell phone in his pocket feels heavier, as if it's begging to be used, calling to him like a siren's song that he has no intention of resisting. fingers fly across the screen in a practiced motion, tapping out a number long since memorized, and the line only buzzes once before it connects.

"ah, sergeant. so nice to hear from you." nikolai practically purrs, affection ringing clear through his words.

"nik. i need a hand."

"is that right?" nikolai sounds amused, and it nearly makes kyle laugh. he's clearly enjoying being needed, even if on an informal basis.

"found a kortac operative sniffing around my... neighborhood. the big austrian one." kyle explains, mentally kicking himself for nearly saying 'my girl'. god knows nikolai would never let him hear the end of it if he knew this was over a woman. the teasing would be merciless and unending.

"ah yes, the one so ugly valeria requires him to cover his face." nikolai chuckles, and kyle aspirates a small laugh. "still sore about the last kastovia op, eh sergeant?"

the big brute had caught him completely unaware in kastovia, dropping through an open hole in the ceiling and nearly catching kyle in the throat with his k-bar. it was only luck that the floorboards was so weak, dropping the big austrian lunk through another floor- and nearly taking kyle with him. it was close- too close- and ghost had reamed him out thoroughly about being caught off-guard. seems word had reached price, which obviously meant it reached nikolai, too.

no bigger gossip-mongers than soldiers and mercs.

"just being cautious. i'm hoping to take care of things before he becomes an issue. again." kyle can practically hear the gears turning in the pilot's head, hoping his vague response won't earn him a denial.

"and what exactly is it you need from me?" nikolai asks, and kyle can hear the telltale sounds of ice being dropped into a rocks glass, followed by the pour of what kyle can only assume is a paint-thinner vodka being poured over it. nikolai always did enjoy his rot gut liquor, insisting it builds character and separates the men from the boys. probably a mentality he picked up from price.

"i've set up a meeting, but i'll need cameras off for this one." the less evidence, the better.

"getting into freelance wet work on your time off, sergeant?" nikolai teases, and kyle knows immediately it's price that's tipped him off about being on leave.

"just settling a score before it comes to settle me." kyle deflects easily, and it earns him a deep, booming laugh.

"understood. send me the time and place, and i will make things happen. i will need at least one hour to prepare, and the window will have to be small in order to avoid detection. should be easy for a professional like yourself, yes?" kyle can practically hear that cheshire grin over the phone.

"copy. thanks nik."

"any time, my brother." the line goes dead, and kyle can't help but exhale in relief. trying to do this solo would have surely ended in disaster, he's convinced of that the more he dwells on it. getting the giant git out of the way was never in question- but getting away with it was uncertain. but now with nikolai backing him up and taking out the cameras, success seems inevitable

kyle ducks into a nearby pub, forwarding the information he'd sent to konig over to nikolai as he waits for the bartender to serve him. the pieces are settling into place, all he needs now is for his quarry to bite. it's an inevitability, but at this point all he can do is wait for confirmation.

this is the right thing to do, he tells himself as he gives a dazzling smile to the heart-eyed bartender. there was a time not that long ago that he might've pursued her, followed her home and slid into her bed- but those days are behind him now. he's locked in and focused, with a clear goal in mind; the woman in number 541.

the slight curve of her hard-won smile from earlier fills his thoughts as he kills time sipping his beer and halfheartedly watching the footie game on the shitty little telly in the corner. men in red and blue kits battle it out on a pristine green field as his mind wanders to the pretty face and big soft body he covets so deeply.

wonder what it would take to make her laugh. bet it's pretty, and that it makes all of her jiggle, he muses to himself, imagining the bounce of her tits. it'll be so much easier once we take care of our little problem- after all, she'll be much more relaxed once that giant git is out of the way. those walls she's built up will crumble when the imminent threat is gone, and she'll let us in. wonder what she'll give us first- her mouth or her pussy? maybe her hand, if she's shy- but i can work with that. we know all the shit girls like to hear, we can talk her into more. we can always talk them into more.

she's not like the others, though, another corner of his mind counters. that's what makes her special. you'll have to truly earn it this time- after all, any other bird would've given in at the coffee shop much more easily. she made you work for that smile, and you nearly didn't get her to agree to see you again. that bavarian git's got her disillusioned- you're going to have to restore her faith in others again.

the pocket of his jacket vibrates, and he can't help the satisfied smirk sliding across his face. he'd taken a calculated risk, calling in the favor o'conor had owed him- but declan came through, it would seem, having provided him the phone number to his brother-in-arms at kortac.

>>i will be there.

the smirk blooms into a full smile as the cell phone slips back into his pocket. in a quarter of an hour he'll meet the big brute, handle his business, and move on to phase two- comforting his poor, grieving neighbor over the loss of her boyfriend. or helping her celebrate his disappearance. either way, he'll be there, ready to pull her into his arms, and with any luck, her bed. his tongue traces over the edges of his teeth as he imagines biting into the fat of her ass, and he has to force himself to think of anything else to keep himself from getting hard while perched on a bar stool and sipping an incredible mediocre porter; wrinkled old nuns wagging disapproving fingers in his face, grenade victim's blown open ribs left still smoking, price's hairy arse in the showers catching and holding bubbles from the lather of his soap.

his libido settled and beer finished, kyle stretches his legs as he saunters towards the meeting spot- the tube. people around him filter in and out of the bisected staircase leading underground, their faces temporarily aglow from the red circle that stretches other the entrance, welcoming them to the underground. in a way, they remind him of ants, filing neatly behind one another, keeping to the left, their movements almost instinctual, never bumping into each other or lingering in the middle of a thoroughfare. he lingers for a moment, fingers idly playing with the edges of his oyster card as he watches the throngs of people moving around him.

with a forced casualness, he saunters down the steps, entering the underground. it's like a different world down here, where every single sound seems to echo off the tiled walls and the smell of burning metal, sweat, and piss commingled into an unmistakable signature scent. there's no transport police in sight- not that he'd really expected them, but it would be his luck to plan this little rendezvous on the same night as a protest or big concert that would bring the bobbies out in droves.

the burner phone buzzes in his hand as he checks the time- one new message from an unsaved but deeply memorized number.

>>they're off. you have two minutes.

kyle rushes to his platform, scanning for the big ugly kraut. it's not hard to spot him- tall, broad, and poorly dressed, loitering by some fenced structure with high walls, put up for some construction project or another. kyle's eyes sweep the platform as he strides forward- there's very few people around, and those that are have their noses solidly pointed towards their phone screens. it's late, likely they're texting loved ones, checking schedules, or killing time scrolling through social media. they're not looking around, aren't aware of their surroundings-

just like konig isn't. there's no time to waste, so kyle bee lines for konig, tapping his shoulder and leading him behind the fencing, away from prying eyes.

"you." the austrian says, accusation dripping off the single syllable as he steps behind the fencing.

"yeah, me, arsehole. we need to chat." kyle snaps. he's allowed to be short to a man who's shot at him, he justifies to his wincing sense of propriety.

"about?"

"the woman i was with earlier- what do you want from her?" kyle demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

"it isn't your business." konig replies, monotone. "what is she to you, anyways?"

"it isn't your business." kyle echoes, enjoying the flash of annoyance on the other man's face. "but what is my business is that you've upset her. i can't be having that."

"she's a silly woman. there is no reason to be upset, and no reason to bring you into this. i just need her to do as i say-" konig turns his head to watch the incoming train, like the fucking tourist he is, and kyle takes his opportunity. with one sharp shove with both hands between his shoulder blades, he sends konig tumbling onto the tracks mere moments before he's run down. there's barely enough time for him to scream like a frightened child before it's cut off and then drowned out by the squeal of the braking train. a woman screams, a man yells and points, and several people have their phones pressed to their ears as they call for help- but none of them seem to notice the young man with the blue baseball cap joining the throng of panicked people striding towards the exit, with his head down, moving at a quick and purposeful pace.

you had to. for her. now she'll be able to sleep without crying, be able to go get coffee without being harassed by him. it's for the best. you saved her. a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like price consoles him. and besides, it's for the greater good. you've seen the things that man would do for the pittance kortac pays him. whatever he was in england for, it certainly couldn't have been any good.

the thoughts console him all the way back to his flat, where he immediately pops open his laptop to watch the his neighbor sleep. she's rolled onto her side, curled up in a round little ball that inspires his imagination to run wild with what it would be like to wrap himself around her, having that big fat arse cradled up against his hips, hand draped over her to better play with her tits. she looks so peaceful like this, it'd be fun to see if he could fuck her in her sleep, something slow and gentle, maybe, so she would wake up until she came on his cock.

as he settles back on his couch, kyle fires back a quick thanks to nikolai, and barely has his phone back in his pocket when it starts to ring.

"is there a problem?" kyle says in lieu of hello.

"yeah. a big one." ghost's voice says, and the surprise of it makes him check his phone to look at the contact number. he'd expected nikolai, or maybe price- but this is a shocking development. he can tell already that his plans for his pretty, soft neighbor have been blown to fucking hell in less than ten seconds.

"makarov is on the move. get your arse back on base asap- your leave's suspended until further notice." ghost continues, and kyle curses under his breath.

"copy." kyle replies through grit teeth, jabbing at the call end symbol harder than strictly necessary.

bolts to see you when he hears that your best friend brought you over to swim and hang out. says the crassest things about your tits and lifts you up when you try to duck around him to go back inside the house, a poor excuse to grope you. throws you into the pool when you scream at him to let you down, mostly because he probably wants to see your bikini get all wet :((

it makes you hate going over to your best friend's house, so you usually invite them over to your place, but that just ends in Soap confronting you when he sees you around town. maybe he snatches you bag and holds it over your head just to watch you try to jump for it, says he'll only give it back for a kiss :(( but at the last second, he turns his head and gives you a sloppy kiss on the mouth :((