#k.exe

Thankfully the bathroom had been empty since you slipped away with him and slammed the stall door closed, his lips on your neck and your fingers entwining with strands of his dark hair. Someone could still walk in at any moment. The bathroom wasn't even especially far from the restaurant’s bustling floor. Sound seemed to carry well in there too from the marble tiles to the soaring ceiling. Tangerine’s dress shoes had clicked loudly as he ushered you into that stall.

You had to at least try and keep quiet but he never made that easy.

‘Sorry, love.’ He responded like a man who absolutely was not sorry for any of this. You had outright asked for this but had wrongly presumed he’d make you wait until you got home to his place. It was easy to forget Tangerine was compulsive enough to finger you in a restaurant bathroom. ‘The worst that can happen is someone walks in and then you’ll really have to keep quiet. So for now just relax and enjoy it, yeah?’

You knew he had you. One thing about Tangerine is that he always makes sure to support your body and keep you close. So you decided to relax and trust that he had you, as he always did.

‘That’s it. Atta girl.’ He praised when you relaxed in his hold. 

He liked watching your face as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, as he curled them to make your thighs quiver and shake. When you flung your head back against the wall of the bathroom stall it was like dangling a carrot on a string, your neck was just begging to be kissed. So he pressed his lips to it. The soft prickle along your neck from the hair upon his upper lip made you gasp.

‘I wish we were home right now so I could fuck you good and proper. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ He mumbled against your skin and you groaned at the thought. ‘We wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom, love. I’d have you sprawled out on the fucking dining room table with your dress still on and all.’

He loved the way sweat gathered and glistened on your sweet skin, the sheer desperation for release that laced your every movement, your every half-swallowed cry.

‘God, look at you.’ He admired, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you look right now?’ 

Your clit pulsed beneath his thumb as he pressed down on it in smooth circles. His pace was steady and thorough enough that you cried out so loud he had to kiss you to muffle the sound.

‘Careful.’ He warned. ‘As much as I love the sound of your pretty voice we don’t want to cut this short now do we?’

You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and waistcoat until your fingers cramped; Anything in a bid to relieve tension as he flexed his fingers inside of you so deliciously. It made him want to ravish you, to wrap your legs around his waist and have you right against the stall.

‘I’m close!’ Your voice wavered. The pace of his fingers sent heat down your back, pooling in your stomach like white-hot amber. Your entire body tensed. Your breath fell so heavy and quick.

‘You gonna come for me? Come on now, I know it’s gonna be beautiful.’

So you let the floodgates open.

He kept up the pace of his fingers even as you buried your head in his shoulder to muffle yourself, to keep your voice from bouncing off the walls. You barely even registered that he was praising you until you felt his lips on your forehead and the fullness dissipating along with his fingers from within you.

‘You alright, gorgeous?’ He asked with a gentle gaze and the softest touch to your cheek. ‘You did so well.’

You nodded and still held onto him as you caught your breath and your limbs softened. Tangerine was in no mood to rush your recovery. Instead, he took to smoothing your dress back down for you before pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist. His clothes were just as much of a mess as yours were from your clawing at them but he couldn't bring himself to care.

‘Do you think our food’s gone cold?’ You questioned once your breath evened.

‘It most certainly has, I reckon.’ He replied with a laugh.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, please.”

Oh, how generous a lover you were. Whatever did Kaz Brekker in all his crooked life do to deserve you?

Usually Kaz would at the very least take the time to enjoy the warm weight of your chest in his gloved hands or whisper delicately in your ear until you were squirming for him, untouched. But tonight, all he needed was relief from the adrenaline coursing through his hurried veins. The adrenaline ran so high that the cold waters barely even threatened to rise at his close proximity to you. His palms didn’t sweat.

The fire of want consumed him. He needed you here and he needed you now.

“You’re sure you want this?” He asked, quietly. “I'm afraid I can’t have you gently tonight.”

“I don’t want you gently.”

He studied your face for any hesitation, any discomfort yet he found none. Even in his bloodied, frazzled state you gazed up at him with want in your eyes. Kaz felt like his skin was on fire. 

With hurried hands he simply pressed you against the bathroom sink, knocked your legs wide open with the end of his cane and got to work.

Kaz hadn’t even bothered shedding his bloodied clothes. It was better that way, less risky for him. Only his jacket hung deftly on the hook at the door. A few folds of his shirt sleeves had his pale forearms glinting in the low light but his gloves stayed firmly in place. He’d come far but not far enough to have you without that barrier just yet.

He bunched your skirts together in his fist and peeled away your underwear. You gasped when he tore the lace at the hip and tossed them to lay in a heap on the bathroom floor. There was no time for neatness. He was the one who bought them for you in the first place and he would be happy to replace the pair.

“Saints, look at you.”

Were he a better man, he’d hoist you up on the sink so he could kiss you and dote on you as you deserved. Were he a better man he’d know he wasn’t good enough to be here with you at all. But in the end good men die just the same as bad ones. And you didn’t want a good man. You wanted him.

He tucked his face into your neck, feeling your pulse with his lips. You’re skin is warm and soft and inviting. Blood rushed through your veins beneath your skin. Your hair so soft and skin so smooth reminded him that you’re alive, you’re here and you want him to have you. He used your drumming pulse as an anchor.

With one bruising kiss of thanks to your cheek, Kaz sank into you.

His ribs ached and creaked with each thrust. His temple stung, ears still ringing. Pekka Rollins had definitely broken something when he kicked him as hard as the man could muster but Kaz couldn't find it in him to care. His knee ached too. A sharp pain shot through it when he tried putting even a sliver of weight on it. So he grasped at the sink’s smooth edge to keep himself steady and his pace thorough. Your sweet sighs made it all worth it. He could rest his body once the good work was done.

"My name. Say it,” he gritted out.

“Kaz!” 

He grinned, flashing a sliver of teeth. All he needed right now was this.  

The bone-white sink kept you upright for the most part, your hands gripping desperately at its sides as Kaz shook your very soul to its core. He’d started off with calculated, deliberate thrusts before the need took over. 

Saints, that man knew how to fuck hard when he wanted to. 

They say that Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason but he certainly did to fuck you like this. He was usually so gentle. If it wasn’t for your encouragement he might have been able to show restraint. But your cries for more made him want to give you just that. He’d have put his beating heart in the palm of your hand if you asked. He would rip the stars from the sky and scatter them at your feet if only to see your eyes brighten for him.

“Please!”

The sound was the sweetest nectar, a balm to all his ills. Your voice warmed the very caverns of his cold and bitter bones. But more than that, it grounded him. The sound kept the waters at bay and he savoured it.

“More, Kaz. Please.”

His gloved hand gripped your chin, guiding you to look at him in the mirror. In the low light he looked almost demonic. His face bathed in the warm tones from candlelight that cast deep cut shadows bordering every ridge. His hair, once so precisely slicked back, hung loose and swung against his forehead with each plunge of his hips. Fresh blood had even begun to trickle from the gash above his eye. Kaz's molten gaze had your knees threatening to buckle from intensity. The jet black of his pupils all but eclipsed the startling blue. 

That man in the mirror? That was Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands and whatever other name people whispered as he walked by with blood coating the end of his cane. Here he was brimming with adrenaline, dishevelled and so deliciously unhinged and you loved every inch of him.

Whatever mask of civility he wore on the day to day was torn to shreds sometime in between being kicked in the stomach by Pekka Rollins and having finally had the man on his knees. The sometimes gentle, maybe even soft man Kaz could be with you may as well have sunk to the bottom of Reaper’s Barge for all his presence was felt right now. He was death himself come to steal you away and you went with him merrily.

“Please, Kaz!” You cried out, shaking him from his thoughts.

"Tell me just what it is that you’re asking for so politely?" He murmured with his voice so smooth.

"More! Please, I want to come!"

"Is that so?" He asked, grinning again. "Very good. Keep your eyes on me."

You did just that. Watching in the mirror as he took his hand from your chin and flexed it once before bringing it down to the soft flesh of your thigh. This was the tricky part. Being inside you was as easy as breathing; Your warm honeyed walls welcomed him home each time. Even with gloved hands, it was touching the rest of you that caused the waters to rise, inch by freezing inch. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.” Your voice pulled him out of the harbour again.  

“No, I want to.” He replied, but you saw the clench of his jaw in the mirror. “So long as you’ll have me.”

You really didn’t mind touching yourself but Kaz was determined. He wanted to bring you all the pleasure you deserved. Even if it risked the waters trying to drown him, he needed this.

You nodded your consent and he started off slow with little squeezes as he made his way up your thigh. His hips slowed to a grind now as he touched you. When the waters began to rise, Kaz let his lips find your pulse point again and buried his face in your neck. Your words of encouragement helped greatly but it was the soft thump of your heartbeat that sent the waves lulling down to his feet.

“Each day, each night, I yearn to have you like this.” He uttered, close enough that you could feel his breath kiss your ear. "More than you could possibly imagine."

"Even when I dream I can’t escape you," he added.

Heat bloomed in you the closer he got to where you needed him. Your body began to shake when two leather-clad fingers parted your folds and dove right for your clit. You'd never realised his gloves had the most delicious texture. You couldn't help the moan of his name that escaped you at the feeling. Not only did it feel good, you were so endlessly proud of him. Kaz revelled in it. Your body's reaction sent any anxiety he had flying out the window as he focused on bringing you pleasure.

He had to plant one hand firmly on the mirror so he had enough leverage to fuck you properly again. The mirror squeaked as his hand slid down it just an inch or two. When you gasped he smirked like the devil and only went harder, his hair threatening to cover his eyes.

"Tell me how it feels." He ordered.

"So good!" You whined, "It feels so fucking good."

There was something almost sacred about this: Him buried deep inside you, his hand on your pussy and your pulse on his lips. He'd never felt so rich in his life and yet he still wanted more.

“Come,” he gritted out. "Be a good girl and come for me. That’s it. That’s it, darling."

With a shiver, you did just that. Your thighs shook like you were freezing. When you clenched around him he failed to suppress a groan and it was beautiful; The crack in his concrete composure akin to watching an angel fall. 

Soon Kaz was pulling out and resting the full weight of his body on the mirror for support. His arms caged you between him and the sink as you stood there breathing heavily together.

Saints, he needed that.

"Thank you." Kaz breathed, taking in the sight of you in the reflection.

Kaz tucked himself back into his dress trousers and took a step towards the bath. The bath was made of smooth, rich copper and aside from the stolen DeKappel painting hanging on his office wall, it was the most expensive thing Kaz now owned. Once the bath was filled, he extended a hand towards you and you took it after shedding your dress, letting him help you take a shaky step into the warm water.

He watched you settle down into the water, steam already leaving droplets on your skin. The sigh of contentment that passed your lips made him envious. Not of you but of the water. He wished he could give you as much comfort and relief. As much as he would love to get in there with you, to let you lay back against his chest as the water relaxed you; He couldn't and he likely never would. The harbour would come flooding back to him more quickly than he could ever hope to handle.

So instead he lowered himself to the ground with a wince and sat with his cane across his lap, legs outstretched on the cool bathroom floor. His knee would hate him for it but he couldn’t bear to be away from you right now.

He watched you trail your finger over the water's surface, seemingly lost in thought until your eyes landed on him. The water sloshed against the tub's curved edges as you moved towards the side.

"Can I borrow your gloves for a moment, please?" You asked softly, as if not to startle him.

His eyes met yours and he found nothing but softness in them. You just wanted to help and he trusted you with his life. So he tugged them off, one slender finger at a time, and handed them to you once you dried your hands on a towel. Kaz felt bare without his gloves, exposed and so very vulnerable. Yet he was mesmerised watching your delicate hands disappear into the black leather. 

With a cotton pad folded over your gloved fingers, you leaned over the bathtub’s edge to dab at the blood on his brow, then his lower lip. Kaz was sure he must’ve smeared some crusted blood on your neck when he sought solace with your heartbeat. But you didn’t seem to care. 

Once he had his gloves back on, you placed a kiss to his knuckles. Those hands that had done so many bad and crooked things? They didn’t deserve such a kiss but he hadn’t the heart to deny you right now, not when you looked at him like he held the sun in his hands. And if you wanted it, he’d do his damndest to steal it for you.

You settled back into the water, enjoying the steam. The water relaxed your muscles, washed away the sweat and grime of the Barrell. 

“So it’s done, then?” You asked about Pekka Rollins.

“Yes.” He replied, eyes unfocused. “It’s done.”

Kaz rested his head against the wall and dragged a hand back through his stubborn hair in an attempt to smooth it out of his face. He let a rare sense of peace wash over him. There was always so much pain in his world, in his life. But not in that room right now. Not with you.

The moment he gets home he's picking you up and carrying you to the nearest surface to set you down and hug you so damn tight! In between kisses to your head he's telling you how much he’s missed you and that he loves you so much

He would literally spend his every last pennie on you if you let him. He loves spoiling you with fine clothes, jewellery, lavish dinners or anything you like! He didn’t come from money but now that he has it he wants to spend it. It makes it even sweeter for him that he gets to spend it on someone he loves. This included items he has compulsively stolen. “I actually paid for that one this time, I promise”. He wants only the best for you

His hand is on you pretty much all the time. He’ll rest a hand on your thigh, wrap an arm around your waist or just have some part of you on him as much as he can. He just really likes the affection and it makes him feel more connected to you

He’ll have you in his lap at any given opportunity. Even if he’s researching for a job on his laptop and you wander over to say hi, he’ll wrap an arm around your waist and gently tug you into his lap. 'Alright. Give us a kiss then?' he'd say with a cheeky smile when you tell him you can't stay on his lap

Tangerine has called you every pet name under the sun. His favourites tend to be love (luv), darling and gorgeous but you'll get the occasional angel, beautiful, treasure or princess/prince as well. He uses pet names all the time

You see a lot of Lemon and get on really well with him. He's at Tangerine's place probably more than he is his own since they’re basically joined at the hip. He comes over for dinner all the time and he always gives you the biggest hug when he comes through the door

Preparing for a job usually consists of Tangerine doing all this incredibly detailed research on his laptop whilst you and Lemon sit together on the couch and watch Thomas and Friends or something you like

You know about his profession. It’s kind of hard not to considering the state he comes home in sometimes and the blood beneath his fingernails. He told you about it not long after he met you. He had to. Both because he didn’t want to keep secrets from you and because he’s an absolutely terrible liar

He is protective as hell. Both of Lemon and of you. You could be telling him about someone who was just mildly rude to you and he’s literally like “Want me to sort em’ out for you, love?" and he means it

Loves you playing with his necklace as it rests on his bare chest. Bonus points if you gently wrap the chain around your fingers or kiss the golden pendant. He liked you tracing his tattoos too, any scars he has or just his body in general. He just likes being touched so softly

Showering together a lot, even just because he’ll announce he’s going for a shower and invite you to join him. He loves it when you wash his hair or even just play with it in general

He’s a very light sleeper and has been since he was a child. If you’re tossing and turning or just generally having a restlessness night then be prepared to hear “you’re alright, love. Come here” as his arm tightens around your waist, inviting you to cuddle into him or tell him what's wrong

He's very affectionate and almost lovestruck around you. Lemon takes the piss out of him for it just because he thinks it's cute that he's found someone he's so enthralled with

He'd invite you to come live in his place a few months after you start dating. "I'm barely there anyways so someone may as well enjoy it" except it's a 2 million dollar apartment in central London. It's quite bare and to him it never really felt like home. But with you there? Now it's the most homely place in the world to him

He likes quietly reading with you in the mornings. It doesn’t have to be the same book. He’ll happily sit on the couch with a book in one hand and the other resting on your thigh as your legs lay swung over his lap, your own nose buried in a book too

When his breath evened, he spoke. “You know, back in the day I’d have taken you out to dinner first….. let you ride me in the restaurant’s parking lot till the car’s windows fogged up. If that took your fancy.” He'd have had some shitty CD blaring through the speakers too. The music would be just loud enough to mask your moans to passersby, loud enough that only he got to hear you.

“Here I thought you were trying to convince me you were a gentleman.” You joked and he smiled. It was a sweet thought, almost as sweet as the way you nestled your face in his neck and let a kiss linger there. If this night hadn’t begun with your back pressed against a wall, a shower of paint flecks dusting your hair and your clothes with each thrust, then maybe he could have been considered a gentleman. He certainly kissed like one.

“Maybe after that I’d drive you back home…kiss you underneath the porch light,” his lips pressed against your shoulder, the base of your neck.

It wouldn’t have been like this, was what he was trying to tell you. There would’ve more romance to it, more grandeur. He wouldn’t have made love to you in some abandoned apartment building where the bed creaked like it would collapse at any moment. It wouldn't have been a quick, need-filled endeavour either.

“So you would have been a gentleman? You keep acting like that then I’d have asked you to come inside.” He groaned as you tangled your hand in his tousled, inky hair and cupped the back of his head. Roles reversed, now he let himself sink into your warm embrace. He let you cradle him as though you had all the time in the world, like being here together was all that mattered. And the first time since the outbreak, he let himself breathe. Truly breathe.

He'd been dreaming about taking his time with you, of mapping your body with his. The entire time he thought about it he meant to be gentle. There was already enough harsh and roughness in the decaying world, of which you’d no doubt had your fair share. Why would he want to add himself to the list of things that made your body sore when he could treasure it? Yet when you finally snuck off and had a moment together he realised that you didn’t want gentleness; You wanted him. Nothing more. Nothing less. You reminded him that sometimes pleasure makes the body sore in the hours after. The scrape of your broken nails down his flannel-clad back was a feeling he would certainly treasure forever. Tommy just made sure to promise to be there when your body did begin to ache.

It was so long since either of you felt the touch of another in that way that despite the cold and the harshness of the room you made love in, it felt like being home. The world was such a lonely thing and you were, as everyone was, two lonely people just trying to survive.

They frequent an erotic bookshop in Tokyo run by an older woman named Momo to buy and sell information from/to her about the criminal underworld. Momo is very fond of them and even calls them whilst they're on the bullet train to check in and see how they're doing and give them advice on the other assassins on the train

They say that when die, they’ll keep coming back like the fruit that grows on fruit trees every year

They met Ladybug in a bar frequented by a lot of other assassins a few years before the events of the book and were said to look so similar that Ladybug couldn't tell them apart despite them having no blood relation

They’re both described as being tall with slightly longer hair and very conventionally attractive features

They’re real names are never revealed to the readers

Lemon

Like the film, he's very good at reading people and he relates people's behaviours to various characters from Thomas and Friends

He says he learns more of his life lessons from Thomas and Friends

Lemon is known for being very unpredictable and is considered to be the more deadly of the two because of this

His parents were neglectful alcoholics so he doesn't drink for this reason

He had his first kill when he was still in school

He thinks he's not physically able to die because if he was he'd have been dead a long time ago, in his opinion. However, he does die after being shot in the head by Prince in the climax of the book

Like the film, Lemon shoots Kimura, but the wound is unfatal

Lemon is fiercely loyal to Tangerine and pretty much no one else

He is described as a formidable fighter to the point where Tangerine doesn't even worry about him losing a fight to Ladybug

When asked by Prince 'why is it wrong to kill people?' Lemon essentially responds with 'It isn't'

He tends to wake up a lot later than Tangerine 

He is exceptionally good at remembering people’s faces 

He is remarkably intuitive and makes character-based judgments on people very quickly that are usually accurate. He then assigns people a character from Thomas and Friends based on their personality and gives them a sticker from his sticker book

Unlike the film, when Lemon gets shot by Prince he isn't wearing a vest. He gets shot in the head and dies. His body is soon found by Tangerine

Tangerine

Unlike his film counterpart, Tangerine in the book is described as being frighteningly calm and in control of his emotions at all times to the point where only Lemon can really tell when he's upset as he starts quoting a film or a book he likes

He reads a lot. He seems to prefer a lot of classic novels such as the works of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy (yes, including 'Anna Karenina’ lol) and he uses these as a basis for his worldview and morality

He tells Lemon that one of his biggest fears is dying alone

He is implied to have had a bad relationship to his Father, who is now dead

He is perpetually irritated by Lemon’s ramblings on Thomas the Tank Engine however he does prove that he’s been listening towards the end of the book when he sees the Diesel sticker on Prince’s jacket as was put there by Lemon

He’s described as being incredibly neat and clean, taking great care to wash his hands as thoroughly as a surgeon might before a procedure after going to the bathroom

When asked by Prince ‘why is it wrong to kill people?’ he responds with a philosophical ramble that lasts several pages of the book, quoting various philosophers as he does. His response amounts to him thinking that the concept of ‘crime’ in general is fluid depending on the country you’re in and is therefore meaningless in terms of moral value

When he realises that Prince was the one who killed Lemon, he hands Prince a gun as he says he wont shoot a child unarmed. He starts quoting Dostoyevsky and it is clear that he’s had some kind of mental break upon finding Lemon’s body

A wave of the new car smell hit you from your place in the back seat. Yet their car definitely wasn't new but it had been valeted to appear as though it was. The car looked like it cost more to rent for a few days than a holiday home would. Tinted windows contrasted heavily with the sleek, dark silver exterior and the dashboard looked like it probably let the car drive itself if need be. All this and yet the air conditioning was broken on a day so muggy that your throat burned.

As you fumbled with the seat belt you caught sight of an array of different license plates stashed beneath the passenger seat, the pile splayed out like a fan. There were some whose layouts you didn't even recognise. Different colours, different years all ready to be changed at a moment's notice.

 The place you'd been staying was only a few streets away but Tangerine circled the block three times before pulling in. For a moment you thought he was being overcautious but there was no such thing in this situation. You were grateful that he was taking your safety, his job, seriously.

'Stay here until I give the all-clear.' He ordered.

You looked on through the tinted window as he got out of the car, straightened his suit jacket and buttoned it as he walked towards your building. The sun glinted off a gun strapped to his side before he tamed his jacket from the wind.

You suddenly became acutely aware that you were trusting these men, two assassins named after citrus fruits, with your life.

 'Do you like Thomas and Friends?' Lemon asked from the passenger seat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

'Sorry?' You thought you'd misheard him.

'Do you like Thomas The Tank Engine? From the show Thomas and Friends.' He clarified.

'The kids show?'

'Yeah, it's a lot more than that actually-' His phone pinged loudly, interrupting him. The sender's name was simply an emoji of what looked like an orange. 'Tangerine says the coast is clear.'

 Tangerine was confused. Why did flat number 8 come before number 6 in your building? He glanced between the doors, each as old and poorly painted as each other. Then he realised that the brass number '9' that hung, half-bolted to the door, was upside down so it looked like a '6'. He moved it back into place with his finger, only for it to swing back down again like a pendulum.

He stood waiting at the door of your safe house if you could really even call it that. The flat's front door barely locked and the walls were paper thin. Even the floorboards sounded as if they were just one heavy step away from caving in. But it was quiet, unsuspecting.

 You spared Tangerine a glance as you fished out your keys and unlocked the rickety door. He wasn't leaning against the wall, probably too afraid of getting dirt on his suit. You felt his gaze on you, bright and burning still. He was studying you, trying to figure you out. His eyes on you felt like fire licking at your flesh. It stung your nerves in an almost pleasant way. But you hated that it seemed like he was analysing you, dissecting you with his icy gaze.

Lemon shouted to say your flat was clear before you fully registered that he'd even gone inside.

Tangerine nodded his head for you to go in ahead of him so you did, hearing him close the door behind you with a loud squeak of the lock and the distinct sound of the flat number scraping against the crudely painted wood. The landlady wasn't kidding when she told you every inch of metal on that decaying door needed oiled.

After just one step inside, the unsettlingly loud floorboards greeted you as a spring morning would a returning songbird.

'Just grab what you need, yeah?' Tangerine instructed, clearly anxious to get on the road.

You didn't bother telling him that you wouldn't need long to gather your things. Being on the run meant you couldn't really take anything other than the bare essentials with you. You missed your everyday comforts and non-essentials that you hadn't had time nor space to stuff in your duffle bag that night.

 Tangerine positioned himself at your bedroom door and watched Lemon wandering around your flat. A hand stuffed in his trouser pocket flashed the smooth silk lining of his jacket and the waistcoat beneath. His dark blue waistcoat was tailored specifically for him, it seemed. The pinstriped fabric hugged his every curve and edge. Everything about him looked expensive, not naturally but definitely by design.

You threw your duffle bag on the bed and began stuffing your things inside. Floorboards creaked loudly with your every step. It surprised you that those floorboards even supported a bed, even if it was small. You'd had to learn the hard way to wear shoes in the apartment if you didn't want a foot full of splinters.

 'Any of that yours?' Tangerine asked. 'The blood.'

It took you a moment to realise what exactly he was referring to. The concern on his face took you by surprise as did the gentleness in his eyes as he looked to you for an answer.

'No.' You replied and he nodded, shifting his weight to the other foot before turning his attention back to Lemon.

The clothes you'd worn to work the night it happened dangled, blood strained, from a drying screen by the yellowing window. Despite you scrubbing them for hours the blood never did seem to leave the fabric. So now your garments hung like bunting cut from the most brutal cloth until you figured out what to do with them.

To an untrained eye, it could have been wine spilt from some jolly night that soaked them but Tangerine knew better. He'd had blood or wine, sometimes both, sunk into the fibres of his clothes on more occasions than he ever hoped to count. Wine was a great deal more difficult than blood, he found.

 You heard Lemon coming before you saw him, his movements easy to track with the creaking boards beneath his feet. 'Bet you'll be glad to get outta this place then, eh?' He asked.

'You haven't told me where you're taking me yet. It could be some guy's dungeon for all I know.'

The pair of assassins looked so out of place in your shitty little hideout. They looked too expensive, too vibrant against the backdrop of greying walls and peeling paint. They reminded you of full-colour comic book characters bursting with paint that were dropped into some old black and white film. Two mediums too contrasting to mesh.

 You'd just zipped your bag closed when you heard a familiar squeak from the hallway. The floorboards creaked as if a pair of heavy feet just stepped inside. You froze.

Surely, you hadn't been found already.

The look of fear on your face alerted Tangerine to the sound. Lemon pulled his gun as Tangerine sent a flash of metal twirling from his trouser pocket. They shared a look and Tangerine nodded his head towards you before stalking out of the room.

Whatever silent conversation they had, they each knew exactly what they needed to do.

They acted quickly. Lemon stepped towards you, motioning for you to keep low with an outstretched palm aimed towards the floor. He looked over your bedroom window for a potential escape route in case any gun that went off wasn't Tangerine's.

A gun never went off but you did hear a smack, a thud. Then silence.

 'Tang, you alright?' Lemon called out, his gun pointed at your bedroom doorway.

'I'm alright.' Came his reply, his breath clearly ragged. 'Can't say the same for this poor bastard.'

You cautiously followed Lemon into the hallway to see Tangerine standing over a body, his chest heaving. The pair shared a look. Again, a silent conversation you could only imagine amounted to Tangerine confirming he was alright despite the blood splattered across his collar like red blossoms floating in a clear pond.

'Is he dead?'

'As a doornail.' Tangerine confirmed, the intruder's body lay crumpled like a puppet with severed strings at his feet.

He wiped his knuckles clean with a handkerchief, blood speckling the white fabric. Covering his knuckles sat a golden knuckleduster, alongside his set of golden rings. You watched for a moment, mesmerised, as he unloaded the man's discarded pistol and checked the magazine before tucking the gun into his waistband.

 You didn't have time to feel relieved that the threat was dealt with as they ushered you out with your packed bag. But as you reached the front door, you turned around and walked right back in.

'What the hell are you doing?' Tangerine asked as you approached the body. 'We need to go. Now.'

You ignored him and turned the man's body over. Still warm. His head lolled at an odd angle, his neck broken. His dark eyes bulged strangely, the irises reminded you of dark buttons sunk into a pool of melted wax. It was easy enough to tell what had happened. Tangerine hit the man across the cheek with a heavy blow and then snapped his neck before he could retaliate.

'You robbing his corpse? That's cold, man.' Lemon's voice bounced off the empty walls as you patted the man down.

'I'm looking for ID! If someone's come to kill me I at least want to know who.'

It could have been a lot of people. You knew there was a hefty price on your head amongst Hollow Eyes' rivals. But this was the first time anyone came so close to killing you and despite the fear, the adrenaline, coursing through your veins you wanted to know more about this man.

The fact that he'd just died trying to kill you dawned on you. Tangerine had snapped his neck without so much as a second thought and Lemon was ready to put a bullet in the next person that walked through your door. That frightened you but was a strange comfort at the same time. These men you'd met a mere hour ago just took the life of someone else in order to keep you alive. It was a testament to their commitment to their job if nothing else.

 Tangerine stood over your shoulder, peering down at the man. 'There. He's a Blackjack, looks like.' He pointed to a tattoo at the bottom of the man's neck.

He recognised the tattoo as one he'd seen on men who frequented the same information hubs as he and his brother. It was a strange symbol; The clubs and hearts pips commonly found on playing cards except their colours were inverted. To an untrained eye, it just looked like a very obvious mistake but to those familiar with it knew that it marked someone to be wary of. Every member of the Blackjacks had a pair of pips on their necks with inverted colours. Tangerine couldn't help but think the tattoo looked as idiotic on this guy as it had the other Blackjacks he'd had the displeasure of meeting.

 'So he's not working for Hollow Eye?' Lemon asked, visibly confused.

Tangerine drew his brows together. 'Did you even read the files I sent you? Actually, don't answer that.' He didn't want them to look unprofessional around you, even if you weren't the one who hired them. 'No, Hollow Eye himself hasn't sent anyone to kill our friend here yet that we know of and let's hope it fucking stays that way.'

The man didn't have any ID on him so you gave up your search and joined the two men who now stood in your doorway, clearly ready to leave. You were quiet as you descended the stairs but Lemon and Tangerine chatted amongst themselves like they were discussing a football match.

'Blackjack's are the guys who take the whole 'eye for an eye' thing very seriously, aren't they?' Lemon asked but Tangerine just shrugged. 'Well, you might want to find out cause' you did just kill one of them and they usually travel in pairs.' Lemon turned to you. 'You didn't piss off the Blackjacks and all, did you?'

'Lemon-' Tangerine warned.

 You hadn't been paying attention to them. The image of the man dead on your floor fogged your mind even as you stepped out into the open air. If the Twins hadn't been there then you would have come home later to that man waiting for you. It would have been you laying dead on those creaky floorboards, not him. The thought chilled you to the very bone. First Lemon and Tangerine found you and now the Blackjack? Three people in one day. How had you slipped up so badly?

'That man knew where I was staying...How did you even find me?' Was all you could really manage to say. Your entire safety net shattered and it felt like your life was being ripped out from beneath your feet again. That makes two times in as many weeks.

You just so happened to catch Tangerine's eye as you looked to them both for an answer. He saw then on your face the desperation, the defeat and the guilt. You looked like you thought you'd slipped up, maybe even that you deserved this, and he had to resist every nerve in his body screaming at him to comfort you and tell you that wasn't true.

'Word travels fast among people like us. It would've taken one informant who saw you walking home one day. That's it.' Lemon piped up, sensing that you were anxious. But whilst he sensed your worry, he also couldn't help but try and sate his curiosity. 'What did you even do to make someone want you dead anyways?'

'Lemon, pack it in!' Tangerine shut him down instantly.

'What? I'm just curious!'

'It was in the fuckin' brief that I sent you two days ago.' Tangerine hesitated to answer your question like he wasn't sure if he should be telling you this but after a mere second's forethought, he caved. 'Your friend, our employer, knew you liked that coffee shop. He just didn't know when you'd visit. All we had to do was wait.'

He could tell you either didn't believe him or didn't want to.

'Listen, I know you're scared and you have no reason to trust us or really anyone right now but I give you my word that we will do everything we can to keep you safe, yeah? It's what we're being paid for.'

 He held his hand out, offering to take your duffle bag and stuff it in the trunk of their car. You'd barely registered that you'd crossed the cracked concrete car park until he popped the trunk. Your mind felt hazy and dreamlike.

'Exactly. If you don't trust us. Trust that we do our jobs and it's our job to look after you.' Lemon reaffirmed but his words fell on deaf ears.

Instead, you looked up at Tangerine, at the way he looked at you like he desperately wanted to gain your trust, for you to believe that he could keep you safe. He needed that more for him than anything else. He needed to know he could do something other than killing, even if he had to snap a few necks along the way.

He felt for you, unable to imagine how powerless you must feel right now with your world crumbling beneath your feet, letting you fall into the mud. He'd been wading through the mud for a while, Lemon too. The very least he could do was offer you a hand.

So you gave him your bag and he took it with a smile, like you did him a favour.

  Across the other side of the car park, a man dozing in the driver's seat of a car with suspiciously darkened windows just so happened to wake up. He looked on as you, Lemon and Tangerine made towards their car. He hadn't even been awake to see you go inside the building in the first place. Although you'd changed your hair from the photo he'd been given, that was definitely you walking out of your apartment building unharmed.

You were supposed to just be some civilian. You weren't even supposed to be in your apartment right now, hence why he'd fallen asleep as his partner went inside to set up shop and wait for you.

They'd barely treated the order for your death as a job, more like a holiday with some first-degree murder sprinkled in.

Yet there you were alive and well and that meant his partner was dead.

The repetition of his name annoyed Lemon to no end. It sounded like Tangerine was scolding a child. He had barely muttered a fine in response when Tangerine raised a ring-clad finger in the direction of someone crossing the street. The rental car’s windows had finally unfogged enough for them to see the details on the other side of the glass. Lemon glanced at the picture of their target on his phone then back at you as you sidestepped a particularly mucky puddle.

‘Is that definitely the target?’ Tangerine asked, excited at the prospect of not having to wait around any longer.

But Lemon was already getting out of the car before answering the question. He hadn’t even bothered to take the keys out of the ignition so Tangerine rolled his eyes and reached over to do it himself. The last thing they needed was their car getting stolen on a job.

You reached the cafe’s hulking glass entrance. It looked tall enough for a giant to fit through. No wonder the staff kept the door open all the time, it must have been to ward off cobwebs in impossible-to-reach corners of the doorway.

The cafe was heavily gentrified with Einstein light bulbs dangling against a dark wood backdrop and a glaringly overpriced menu pasted along the walls. But the staff were nice every time you’d been in.

It was the only place you’d allowed yourself to frequent since they put a price on your head.

Tangerine noted the way you looked from side to side a couple of times.

Left then right. You were scanning the passing crowd. Left then right.

People on the run tended to have a sixth sense for when they were being watched and he was absolutely not in the mood to chase someone today. Not in this humidity, not ever. So he pulled out his lighter and stood to the side of the car, trying to look like he was casually smoking a cigarette and getting some air after a drive as anyone would in this weather.

He and Lemon stuck out like a sore thumb, of course. But thankfully you didn’t even glance in their direction.

‘Don’t engage until I say so. Can’t have you scaring them off with you jabbering.’ He blew a puff of smoke out the corner of his mouth.

‘I do not jabber! I’m a very concise talker.’

If the past few days were anything to go by, that was definitely not true. If Tangerine had to so much as hear another whisper of one of Lemon’s cartoon trains in conversation then his brain would start leaking from his ears.

The moment he saw you sit down through the cafe’s window he flicked his cigarette onto the ground and stubbed it out with his shoe. There was no time to waste.

Lemon frowned. ‘Pick that up.’

‘No.’

‘The planet is dying and you’re littering the ground with your rubbish!’ He maintained, ‘If anything it’s just a waste of a cig!’

Tangerine didn't offer a reply.

The café was a little quieter than when you’d last been in. Customers were sparse and the staff dawdled and chatted between themselves. One of them offered you a warm smile of recognition. Her eyes lit up and her pink-painted lips stretched into a wide smile as she greeted you. The music in the cafe wasn't too loud today, just loud enough to make its presence known.

Taking a seat at the same place you always did, you looked out the window to the street and passersby. The street was packed full of cars parked on either side jutting out like black piano keys but the road itself was quiet. Every half a minute or so a car drove past and the pleasant sound of rainwater splashing against the wheels filled your ears.

The few people that also sat in the café didn't seem worth any worries you might have. There was a man with a heavily receded hairline and thick-lensed glasses on the end of his nose reading a newspaper as he sipped his drink. Two women sat talking quietly amongst themselves at the other end, excitedly showing each other photos of their pets as they shared a blueberry muffin.

You should have been analysing these people, seeing if they were potential threats to you. Anyone could have been right now, even the baristas. But your soul had grown heavy and tired. All this running and hiding and looking over your shoulder was exhausting. You’d barely slept, barely ate. So just for a moment, you decided to let yourself breathe. You closed your eyes and listened to the soft murmur of the song in the background, of the water occasionally splashing on the road.

The sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted your thoughts.

‘Mind if we join you?’

Your eyes snapped open and you immediately met the gaze of two men standing at your table. The taller of the two with white-tipped and tightly coiled hair smiled at you broadly, with almost perfectly white teeth. The man at his side looked between you and the customer reading the newspaper a few tables down like he was trying to assess something about him. He had his hair slicked back so faultlessly that you were surprised to see the ends fighting to snap back into their natural curl when he turned his head.

You tried not to panic. At the very least you tried not to let the two men know you were panicking, that you knew they were probably the harbingers of your death. The shorter of the two held out his hand the moment you took a particularly sharp breath as if to reassure you.

‘Don’t worry. We’re not here to hurt you.’ He spoke quietly.

You found that incredibly hard to believe.

They outwardly greeted you like old friends, false familiarity etched across their faces. To anyone else, they must've looked normal because no one even looked at them strangely. But to you, they dressed like assassins. Or maybe people who worked in especially high-end finance. These two men looked dangerous. Not in the way that they would hurt you or mean anyone any harm on the day-to-day. They might have even been good people if you could ignore the part about being contract killers. But even so, they looked like they’d do anything for the right price and that made them dangerous to you with the price on your head. Two weeks ago you wouldn’t have had a clue about any of that but oh, how quickly sensibilities change.

‘Mind if we sit down?’ The taller man asked again.

They each took a seat opposite you without you answering, too frozen to even nod or shake your head. Some small part of you thought it was oddly polite that they at least waited a moment before taking a seat regardless.

‘Excuse me?’ the taller man asked the barista as she set your drink down in front of you, ‘Could I get a latte, please? With three sugars and a pump of caramel if you don’t mind.’ He smiled broadly at her, politely even.

‘Of course!’ she scribbled something very hastily in her notebook with a pen whose end was chewed into oblivion, ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked the other man.

‘No, thank you.’ he replied, ‘But can you put his latte in a to-go cup, please? We won't be staying long.’

You didn’t get to soak in their unusual politeness for trained killers, you were too busy looking for a way out of this. As tired of running as you were, you weren’t ready to die just yet.

As the barista walked off you eyed the door and Tangerine noticed. ‘Listen, we know you’re on the run from some very bad people and-‘

‘What?’ You interrupted him, ‘You’re going to try and convince me that you’re not one of those very bad people?’

He was taken aback by your attitude if only for a moment. But his painfully blue eyes almost burned you as he watched you sip your drink.

‘Nah. But we were hired to protect you.’ Lemon answered for him.

You made a face that Tangerine thought was oddly cute. It was the kind of face you might pull if someone just told you the sky was actually green instead of blue. Despite your confusion at Lemon's statement you didn’t seem too disturbed by his admission that they were in fact very bad people. You were right of course but it struck a nerve within Tangerine that he didn’t like. Lemon couldn’t have cared less.

‘By who?’ You questioned, eyes narrowed.

‘No idea. He never gave a name, never saw his face. But he hired us to get you out here and bring you somewhere he thinks you’ll be safe.’

‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Cause if we wanted you dead, we’d have killed you like fifteen minutes ago.’ The taller one replied.

You liked him, you decided. He was straight to the point but in an endearing, aloof way. Unlike his partner with the crease between his brows and a voice like he contemplated every word he spoke. He was calm but too calm to the point where you knew that was just a front.

‘What happens if I try to run?’ You asked, receiving a groan from them almost in unison.

The shorter man cleared his throat and adjusted his cufflinks before leaning forward so he could speak to you softly. He noted how the baristas eyed your table with suspicion. They seemed fond of you, he thought, and he didn't want to cause a scene.

‘Well, we certainly won’t try to stop you. But the way I see it? You can leave the city with Lemon and me or you’ll probably end up leaving in a body bag. Because if we’ve found you? It won’t be long until the people who actually want to hurt you will too.’

You sat for a moment, weighing up your options. Neither were ideal. You could run and go back to the way things had been for the past few weeks - All this running and hiding. Or you could go with these two complete strangers who promised to protect you and risk what little safety you had built for yourself. But what good is safety if it’s fleeting? Their employer, whoever he was, might be able to offer a more permanent solution to your problem even if he has an ulterior motive too.

As you were mulling things over, a sudden realisation dawned on you. ‘Wait, I’m sorry. Your name is Lemon?’

‘Yep! I’m Lemon, that’s Tangerine. They’re our operational names.’ He held out a hand for to you shake as the barista brought him his latte, ‘Nice to meet you!’

Well, there goes their cover for being your old friends.

‘We don't have time for this,’ Tangerine griped. ‘Are you coming with us or not?’

You liked making this man irritated, you decided. It was a good look on him. You liked the way he thumbed one of the thick golden rings on his fingers and his face set into a hard line. Lemon seemed taken aback by Tangerine’s impoliteness but didn’t comment on it.

‘Half the city’s underground wants you dead,' He continued, 'Every gang in competition with Hollow Eye that’s worth their weight in coke is probably tearing up the floorboards of everything even remotely resembling a safe house looking for you right now. So if you’re coming then we need to go.’

So against your better judgment, you took their word for it.