𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥.

He was in a pub, sipping on a brewski, scrolling through his phone becoming a victim to the void.  This was how Boone Hannigan unwound after a day of hard work.

After a job was completed, the man often found himself too full of adrenaline just to go home. He needed something to take the edge off, a beer usually did the trick. If one didn’t then he tried a second. Then a third. Fourth. Fifth. So on and so forth. Sometimes, when he found himself in an establishment like this one, he’d be chatty. Despite the neck tattoo, Boone could be a friendly guy and strike up a conversation with anyone who’d bite. Sometimes, it was an old barfly, they’d shoot the shit and Boone would wonder if he was getting a glimpse into his future. Other times, it would be a pretty, little thing and Boone would wonder something similar. 

However, tonight was not one of those nights.

Boone was not looking to make friends of any kind. All he wanted was to sit at the bar, drink his beers, like a couple thirst traps on Instagram, chain smoke half a pack and then go the fuck home.

Just as easy as Boone could make a friend, he could make an enemy. When the empty seat beside him was claimed with eager hands, when the stool squeaked as it was being dragged away, Boone’s head shifted towards them. He barely looked at the fellow patron, in fact, he didn’t at all. His eyes were still glued to his phone, his fingers double tapping the screen, and a heart appeared  in between a pair of tits. 

Even so, Boone couldn’t help but be an asshole. 

“Yo,” he began, “You’re not gonna ask if its taken?”

Even with the hand gone, Eilidh was still too scared to make a peep. Breath racing but quiet, hell, she even fought to make sure it was. So careful not to give him any reason to hurt her. Not when the gun still pressed against her back stopped her from thinking of anything but what he could do with it. Hurt her, end her life, end her career. The thoughts only got worse. She wasn’t going to make any sound unless he invited it, wasn’t going to do anything that would make this end badly, even if she hadn’t the slightest clue why he was here.

Even as he rooted around in her pockets and eventually pulled out her phone, nothing clicked. She could barely get her head around what was happening. Let alone put her thoughts together to try and assemble a why. The gun no longer pressed against her brought some relief, but with eyes wide the entire time she saw it, her fear was obvious.

And she’s ready for his instructions. Ready to carry them out to the letter if she could, though her jaw does go a little slack, eyes wider still as he lays out just what he wants from her. Andrés? How did anyone even know about the pair of them, even with the friends she’s dropped hint’s with she’d mentioned his name only to a very select few. And to think she’d actually be able to do this? Months of texts hadn’t gotten her anywhere, what was going to be different now? Oh god she was going to let the guy with the gun down and she was going to get hurt and it was all going to be because she couldn’t get the guy she was trying to get to text her back to actually do it. Life was a cruel fucking joke.

“I don’t know if I can” She eventually managed after he had shoved the phone into her hands. Voice tiny and terrified and tears already in her eyes. Hands trembling as she unlocked her phone and tapped into her texts. “I won’t panic him! I won’t, I promise! I just—” The tears were truly falling here, even as she kept trying to type out a message to pull off the impossible. “He hasn’t answered any of my texts in months, I even sent photos — and they were great fucking photos — and nothing” But she was still trying here, a desperate act really, a text that would never work. Written and sent off now.

“He’s no my boyfriend” She hits back, almost instinctively, as they hand the phone back over having now sent the text and move to dry their eyes. That seemed the safest way to do it even though he hadn’t like asked for it or anything. An easy way to show she was cooperating. To not get hurt. She didn’t want to get hurt. Already following his directions and heading for the couch, taking a seat and making sure her hands were directly visible the entire time, no sudden moves either. That was how these things worked, right? “He’s just some guy I shagged every so often, he was well good at what I needed him to be. That’s all that mattered”

“Uhh…” It took Eilidh a quick second to remember which cupboard she’d need to direct him too. “There’s a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and some other American shite too in the cupboard under the sink” Wincing a little as the words she said hit her after, that might not have been the best choice of words. “But I’ve got the good stuff, the stuff from home-“ Pointing to herself to make her point. “I’ve got that in the cupboard above it”

When the excuses start flowing, he’s almost disappointed. That’s not what shows, no, instead his baby blues glared into hers. Unamused. Unforgiving. He didn’t ask for a sob story, frankly, he didn’t give a shit about one either. His instructions were simple. Get Andres Majano to this goddamn apartment or lose your life.

Meh. Who knows what extreme Boone was willing to go tonight. He might settle for a pair of kneecaps.

Before he can open his mouth to explain to her just how much he did not give a shit about her lovers’ quarrels, Eilidh began drafting the text. Great, that’s all he asked for. Then came the waterworks. He could have done without it all, but that’s how these things went sometimes. You start waving a gun around and then everyone gets a little weepy.

“Try shagging men who reply to your texts. See where that gets you,” Boone replied, very nonchalantly considering the circumstance. “Try a real man, you know, not the kind who runs away the second shit gets real.” He squinted his eyes some. “Cause that’s what happened, ain’t it? All of sudden, it wasn’t just fucking anymore, was it?”

Boone was able to find the stuff from home and pulled a glass for only himself, he was all out of kindness for the evening. He didn’t need her liquored up, then fired up, so he’s drinking alone tonight. He looked at the time on her phone. “Alrighty, Eilidh,” Boone began after a swig from the glass. “Loverboy’s got an hour.” One way or another, Andres Majano would be paying tonight. Boone’s accepted forms of payment was cash, check, or Eilidih’s knees

“Let’s hope he’s missing you tonight.”

Meeting Boone had been entirely by accident. She’d gone to try to find Lilli, to see why her best friend hadn’t been responding to her, only to be met with no response at her friend’s flat, but then Boone had shown up, and he’d been kind and lovely, and clearly so different from most everyone she knew (and not only because he was an American), and admittedly she’d been charmed from the very start.

Even if they only saw one another in her flat at nighttime. Even if a number of her texts to him often went unanswered. He’d still show up, and there was something sort of thrilling about the fact that she couldn’t always predict when that would happen.

Last night, when he’d come by, she’d asked if he could stay - just so she could have someone there - and Lydia had been more that a bit pleased when he’d agreed to it. She knew that it was always a long shot for her to ask, and so usually she wouldn’t, but she was glad that she had last night.

Shifting around in the bed, she blinked open her eyes just in time to hear Boone’s question. She grinned, pushing herself up against the pillows on her bed. “I am.” Lydia offered him a small smile. “Though just barely.”  She scrunched up her nose, “and I’d ask the same of you but given that you were the first to ask, I think my answer’s right there.”

She moved closer to him, sheets still wrapped around her body, and ran her fingers along his jawline. “Were you going to sneak off without saying goodbye?”

They weren’t anything, yet, Lydia wasn’t nothing to him either.

A sheepish grin spread across his lips, as Boone dropped his head lowly at her accusation. What a shit thing to do to someone, especially to someone as kind and as sweet as Lydia. Boone was no saint, he’d done that to girls time and time before. But leaving her without a goodbye never crossed his mind. Leaving, in general, had yet to cross his mind this morning. His blue eyes hung into hers as he shook his head. “Don’t think you can get rid of me that easy,” Boone mused playfully as he leaned in close, but their lips didn’t touch.

There had been plenty of girls since Achara, but no girlfriends.  After that nearly decade long shit storm, he’d sworn off love forever. All this time, Boone had stood by that decision, he hadn’t been in love since. That didn’t mean the man couldn’t dip his toes in a little, did it? It didn’t mean, he couldn’t pretend some, right?

And there was no one he loved to pretend with more than Lydia.

Boone picked himself up off the bed and started to throw on his jeans. “I’m gonna go smoke,” he told her. It was his morning ritual. After he threw on his shirt from the night before, he turned to her. “You hungry?” Boone asked, “Why don’t you get dressed? I’ll take you to breakfast after my smoke.”

WHO: @lrzadie

On any given Tuesday night, at this hour, most people would be safe at home, sound asleep, or at least, close to it. But Boone Hannigan wasn’t most people. Neither was Zadie Lewis-Raynot.

He hadn’t been outside of her apartment long, however, he only decided now to call. Who knew when Boone decided to drop by her home this evening. The man was an improviser, he didn’t plan, he acted. Somewhere between the time his feet hit the pavement and him showing up at her building, Boone decided that Zadie was just the person he needed to speak with tonight. It dawned on him once he got there, Zadie could be anywhere in the world right now. Literally. What made him think he’d be so lucky to catch her at home?

They had history, one which was still being written. Who was she to him? A familiar face? A fun fuck? She wasn't a friend, was she? Labels did him very little, he avoided them for the most part. What Boone did know is, he found things in Zadie that he found in most of the women around him. Beauty. Entertainment. Use. Still, she stuck around longer than most. Perhaps, because Zadie had that secret fourth thing Boone never realized he was looking for. Zadie was his opposite, she was everything he wasn’t. Rich, educated, poised. A man with humble beginnings like Boone was easily mesmerized by a woman like Zadie.

And he was.

It was late, but he wasn't there to hook up. For once in his life, Boone just wanted to talk tonight. However, being a simple man, if the opportunity presented itself tonight, who was he to deny it?

Still outside of her building, he put the phone to his ear. It rang. Hopefully, she was home and not across town, wasted at some bougie ass club. Or worse, somewhere across the world. No, Boone prayed she was home, just waiting for his call.

The phone rang, it rang and rang.

open starter  – it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

          Evie sat with both hands wrapped around the steaming cup of raspberry zinger, watching the tea infuse with the hot water creating a pink haze. As Evie had such a sweet tooth and obsession with tea a fruit-flavoured tea like the raspberry zinger was her favourite go-to, although it might not be to everyone’s taste. Her eyes looked up briefly for a moment and as the tea room was starting to crowd and become busier than normal, she saw someone looking around for a place to sit. She bit the inside of her cheek nervously for a moment before deciding to speak up.

          “This seat is free if you’d like it.” Evie offered politely as he gestured a hand to the seat at the opposite side of the table. Busy places and crowds did make her feel uncomfortable sometimes, but she would have felt bad if she didn’t offer.

This wasn’t his usual scene. He much preferred the atmosphere of sketchy dive bars, rather than a peaceful tea room. But he was not there for himself, no, Boone was there for her.

They were cut from completely different cloths. If she was cut from silk, Boone was cut from a fucking beach towel. Plus, she was a Liddell for Christ sake. Boone loved the family he worked for with, he couldn’t help but noticed Evie wasn’t tainted like the rest of them. Somehow, she got out unscathed. Maybe, that’s why he was so intrigued by her. Both a Liddell, and an innocent, who thought there could have ever be such a thing?

Evie was a friend. Only a friend. Only ever a friend. Which is rare for the man, he had habit of mixing fucking with his female friendships and it never worked out in his favor. Yet, Evie did have that one annoying quality that her entire family seemed to have. Untouchable.

That’s what the two were. Friends. Though most of the time, Boone felt like a glorified guard dog. But hey, maybe that’s because he liked protecting things. Maybe he liked protecting Evie.

No, this was not his usual scene, and it showed. The gruff man with the eagle neck tattoo did not blend in at the tea room, perhaps that’s why he looked so grumpy. Boone clicked his tongue instead of saying hello, then took the seat next to her. With an annoyed glimmer in his eye, Boone stared at her drink.

“What the hell is that?” 

EIlidh was a creature of habit, in as much as she didn’t have any good ones, really. Certainly not much of a daily routine, coming and going at all hours of the day. An early start was the most constant part, up bright and early for training, but what time she made it home? That was always up in the air. Tonight she’d been kept out by plans with some of her teammates, coffee plans she’d quickly turned into a few drinks at the pub. She wasn’t drunk or anything. Nothing that far. Just a nice healthy buzz was all. She was walking steady and everything!

But what she wasn’t exactly was that aware of her surroundings. Not that she was that at the best of times, though. Eilidh didn’t notice someone hanging around as they walked up their front path. Didn’t notice him slip in before the door was shut fully. Didn’t notice him on the stairs, a bit behind her. She didn’t have the slightest clue anyone else was there. Not till there was a hand slipped over their mouth and something pressed against her back. Pushing her inside the flat and not letting up at all.

Their mind went blank in an instant. It wasn’t panic. It wasn’t anything as active as that. Didn’t freeze or try to run or try to fight or any of it. The door clicked shut, but Eilidh didn’t even register it. Just hearing the thudding of her own heart. It was the only thing she could here before he began speaking into her ear.

He didn’t want to hurt her. Okay, that was good because she didn’t want to get hurt. He doesn’t even have to finish laying out his conditions before she’s already nodding along. No screaming, no kicking. She could do that. He didn’t need to hurt her. She didn’t want to get hurt.

A muffled almost gasp as what she could only guess was a gun was pressed deeper into her, almost painfully so, and it serves just to make her nods all the more emphatic. She wasn’t going to do anything wrong, no, she was going to do exactly what he asked of her.

See? Easy peasy.

When she nodded her head, giving Boone the confirmation he needed, he released his grip from around her lips. The glock didn’t move. People had a tendency to get real agreeable when you pull out a gun, then suddenly real rowdy when you put said gun away. Boone had done this, orchestrated a hostage situation, a time or two, he knew how these things went. He didn’t trust her, not yet he didn’t. She’d have to earn that from him.

Still standing behind her, Boone reached his free hand around her frame. Respectfully so, there’s only one thing he wanted from her. He shoved his hand in the left pocket of her hoodie. Nothing. He tried the right one. Bingo. He grabbed her phone out of her pocket, then maneuvered himself in front of her, gun still drawn, but it was aimed at the floor, rather than on her. He waved his findings in his hands. Looky what I got.

“This is what you’re gonna do, Eilidh.” Cut to a first name basis. Except, he knew her name but she’d never know his. “You’re gonna unlock your phone. Open your texts. You’re gonna send a message to your little friend, Andres Marjano, okay? You’re gonna say whatever you need to get him to come down here. Right now.” Those blue eyes of his could be so intense sometimes. Especially now, as they looked into hers. “I don’t give a fuck how, say whatever you need to. Tell him you’re finally gonna do that thing in bed he’s been begging for, for all I give a shit. But what you’re not gonna do, Eilidh.”  He was beginning to like the way her name sounded on his tongue. “You’re not gonna make him panic. But you will get him here within the hour.” Boone took one step closer. “You try anything cute….” Silence. “You’re smart enough to know what will happen. So don’t try it.”

Boone shoved the phone in her hand.  He would watch her send the text. After it was sent, he’d take the phone back for safekeeping.

“When you’re done,” Boone continued, as he began to turn his frame towards her living room. More so, her couch. “You’re gonna take a seat and wait with me for your boyfriend to arrive. We can get to know each other a little bit.” Something of a playful smirk rose on his lips. “Maybe we oughta talk about your real shitty choice in men.”

Another idea popped into Boone’s head. He was full of them tonight.

“You got any whiskey around here, somewhere?”

Brick by brick, Achara works on rebuilding her life. Her thirties are going to be different, she tells herself. Her twenties? A fucking mess. But now she has her  apartment, a fresh coat of paint, and — Caleb, her morally questionable roommate and undeniable best friend. Philia like the Greeks used to say. She crows with gratefulness when he returns with the drinks. She raises a glass to him, to her, to them.

“Fuck! Is that this week?” She exclaims when Caleb brings up the holiday. There’s an unending history of slammed doors and raised voices there for her. (Mania, if they’re still speaking Greek.) Pizza, beer, and good company sounds heavenly in comparison. ”I mean, me and my Barcelona shirt will be fighting for my life in some Chelsea pub — but it’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have plans to con your way into some poor, unsuspecting girl’s heart?”

She cracks a grin over the rim of her third shot (second, long gone). Brick by brick, shot by shot, Archara forgets things like Valentine’s Day and the people she used to owe such days to. 

“’Tis the season’ as they say. Or am I just quoting you?”

Her life - it’s all still a mess, just a more tolerable shade. Achara should know better though, than to assume that speaking the devil’s name is his only invocation. He appears then without her saying a damn thing.

@thetowerr​

It had been five years since Boone last spoke to his wife.

Say what you wanted about the man, but he was a true romantic at heart. Time and separation did not halt the passion he felt for her. Boone thought about her often. Kept tabs on her too. It really wasn’t hard. There weren’t very many Achara Hannigans in London after all. Come to think of it, Boone was only able to find the one. She’d gotten a new place, but still had the old one. For what reason, Boone didn’t know. The old place didn’t look lived in, however, the new one did. He knew this, because Boone was partial to dropping by every so often. Only a handful amount times throughout the years, he wasn’t stalking her. Whenever the longing felt too long, whenever he just needed a glimpse, Boone would linger outside her new flat. How long? Minutes, sometimes up to an hour. That’s all.

Though what happened between them happened, though Achara fucking lied like she did for all those years, Boone still cared about her. He still loved her too. These are truths Boone didn’t accept head on. Instead, they were manifested through action. He’d been thinking of her more lately than he had in years. The more he thought of her, the more he dropped by.  However, a few months ago, during the first drop by in a longtime, Boone saw something in her window he couldn’t have prepared himself for.

A dude. Her dude?  Her new dude.

No, he didn’t barge in the door and bash the guy’s skull in, even though he could have. Even though he wanted to.

Tonight, Boone found her because he knew where to look. Since the discovery of her dude, he couldn’t get Achara off his mind. So these drop bys stopped being  drop bys, and started being follows. He learned her routines, some new, but some weren’t. Truthfully, after that one occurrence, Boone never saw her dude again.  The man thought he was in the clear.

Until tonight.

When Boone entered the bar, when he saw her, when he saw him, her fucking dude, an insidious rage took over the man. The kind of rage that filled his chest and made a fist out of his grip. The kind of rage that just made him want to bash a motherfucker’s skull.

Boone bolted over. When he reached them, he only looked at her. “Are you kidding me, Char?” he shouted at her, just like he used to. “Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of janky ass, tough guy wanna be, downgrade is this? If you missed me so much, pick up the phone and call. You didn’t have to settle on some cheap ass, knock off.”

He’d been waiting for her longer than he had wanted to. That Boone Hannigan, he could be patient. He lurked in the courtyard in front of her building where he had done so for the last... twenty minutes? Half an hour? Truthfully, he hoped she’d already be home by now. From what he’d learned about tailing her for the last week, her schedule was all over the place. Hoping was all he had to cling to. Regardless, Boone made a whole plan in his head how tonight would go.  She’d already be in her flat, he’d help himself inside. Maybe, she’d be in the shower, perhaps, he’d get a glimpse of something interesting. Yet, when he arrived to her building tonight, the light on the top floor, the one he knew belonged to her, was off.

A new planned turned in his brain as he waited. Plan B.  She’d come home unsuspecting. She’d enter the building, he’d wait a beat, then follow. She’d walk up the stairs, he’d tiptoe after her. She’d unlock the door, he’d press his .22 against her back. He’d invite himself inside, she’d gladly accept.

It would go easy. She was a good girl. Well, maybe not good, Eilidh O’Dea was messy, according to the digging he’d done.  Boone did have a healthy fear of getting kicked in the balls with her being a soccer player and all. But she was clean for the most part, not as much trouble as that fucking loser she was involved with. You know, the one who liked to take out big bets, but didn’t seem too keen on paying them. See, it was his sins that brought the devil to her doorstep tonight, not any deed done by the girl herself. What a shame. Maybe, she ought to try fucking winners and see where it landed her instead.

Finally, when she did arrive home, the plan went as he imagined. When they made it to the top floor, when he heard the jingle of the house keys meeting the lock, when he heard it pop open, when he heard the door creak open, Boone pulled his gun from his waistband and followed through. The man pressed the gun into her back as he wrapped his hand along her mouth keeping her from making a peep. He forced the two of them inside of her flat, kicking the door shut with his leg when they made it inside.

Still holding her close, he brought his lips to her ear. “Listen, I ain’t gotta hurt you. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He spoke in a coarse whisper, his native southern twang sprinkle in his words. “So don’t make me. If you be good, then I get to be good. No screaming, no kicking, no nothing, you hear me?” His voice was almost soft, but his words were not comforting. “You do as I say and I don’t gotta use this.” Boone pressed the gun deeper into her spine. “We got a deal, sweetheart?”

He only came to see her at night. If it was daytime, and the two were together, it was because their night had followed them into tomorrow. Like this morning. The sun was peeking through her window, yet, there he laid in her sheets. It was always her place. Never his. He could stop by when he wanted to be there, leave when he didn’t.   Boone didn’t text much. Never called. When he wanted something, he just showed up. When he wanted her, he was there.

And he was there a lot. 

Last night he came by late. She invited him stay. He didn’t always, but he did this time. They fucked. They talked. They fucked some more. She fell asleep. He snooped. What had he been looking for? Honestly anything. Did her Jolly Rancher ass brother come by and leave anything interesting behind? What about her best friend, you know, the traitor? Any evidence she had stopped by? Anything leftover by her other male visitors? Were there any other male visitors? Quite bold of Boone to even give a shit, they weren’t exclusive. They weren’t boyfriend / girlfriend. They weren’t friends. They weren’t anything. Lydia was someone Boone kept around because he’d know she’d be useful to him someday.  Hell, she already was. He was fucking her, remember?

While still sitting on her bed, Boone put his feet on the ground and leaned to grab his pants, to get out his pack of cigs. It was about that time. When he did so, he heard shuffling on the bed. Boone looked back at her. 

“Lyd?” he spoke, trying to whisper but his gritty voice came off hoarse. “You awake?”

TW; HEAVY MURDER / DEATH MENTIONS, SUICIDE MENTION,  VIOLENCE,  ABUSE, NEGLECT, ADDICTION.