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chickensarentcheap · 9 months

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Lost and Found- Chapter 24

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (OFC. But you do not have to read the others in the series to understand this fic.)

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @themaradwrites @munstysmind @thebejeweledwatercat @fanficanatic-tw @asirensrage @kmc1989 @karimac @theesirenteller @residentdormouse @alisbackalleybbq @ninjasawakenedmystar @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @occommunity

Warnings: profanity, (very minimal) gun violence, (brief mention) blood, (minor) physical violence (I mean, the guy's a mercenary, mmmkay)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/132270193

My tag list is OPEN. Please just let me know if you'd like to be added :)

******

As smoke billows heavily from the garbage room and fire alarms blare, he leads her down the hall; a firm, protective hand on the back of her neck as they blend seamlessly into the steady flow of guests that head for the closest stairwell. Taking an alternate route would have caused too much suspicion; The Continental’s clientele well-versed in how to be deceptive and how to spot those guilty of the same. The majority is immensely loyal to Winston; with eyes that are forever curious and peeled and ears that are always open and lurking for even the smallest hint of trouble.

Drawing attention is the last thing he wants; keeping his rifle pressed tightly against his side as he makes random, mundane small talk with a clearly nervous and fearful Esme. Knowing that his voice -if kept low and steady and reassuring- is enough to calm her down and keep her focused; needing both his presence and the security and the confidence that he’s always been able to instil in her. Using both words and the pressure on her neck to keep her moving; encouraging her to match his slow and steady gait as opposed to adopting anything more frantic and hurried.

The growing crowd notices nothing amiss; intently focused on the reality of their situation as opposed to what others are doing around them. Chattering and grumbling to one another in a mixture of confusion, slight concern, and immense annoyance; questioning the cause of the fire and bemoaning disrupted naps and schedules as they pull on sweaters and overcoats. He never makes eye contact; his hand slipping from the nape of Esme’s neck to the small of her back as he steers her towards the stairwell. Pausing to hold the door open for others; accepting the words of appreciation tossed in his direction and returning them with nothing more than a simple nod. And when the last person begins making their way down the stairs, he lingers briefly on the threshold; waiting until the others are a flight below before turning on his heel and quietly closing the door behind him.

Fishing the lone key from his jacket pocket, he jams it into the control box and turns it all the way to the left; the toe of a filthy, well-worn combat boot rhythmically tapping against immaculate, gleaming marble as they wait for the elevator to reach their floor. Beside him, Esme nervously rocks back and forth on her heels and chews anxiously on the inside of her cheek; her eyes fearful, her complexion a washed out, almost sickly gray. Taking advantage of the lull in activity, he reaches out to gently tug on her hair; shooting her a wink and flashing a brief yet reassuring smile when she glances up at him.

The lift noisily rumbles to a stop, and as the door opens, he moves his hand to the small of her back; applying firm yet gentle pressure as he encourages her to step on, then directs her to stand against the side wall. Out of sight in case an employee beckons the elevator from another floor; wanting to avoid both a confrontation and the chance of her impending departure getting back to Winston.

He shoves the key into the control panel; holding it in place as his free hand activates the two-way radio clipped to his vest. “We’re in the elevator now. Heading to the basement, level one.”

“Copy,” Nik responds. “We’re right behind you; southwest stairwell, seventh floor.”

“Any word from Wick? About the outside?”

“He’s stationed across the street. Taken up position on the roof. His people are here; fire trucks out front, men inside checking the situation, evacuating people. Should make it easier for you to get around.”

“Armoured car?”

“ETA three minutes. It’ll be waiting for you.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Fourteen minutes. Before the hotel’s security system goes back online.”

Esme urgently tugs on his sleeve, whispering: “Ask about Millie” when he glances down at her.

“Have you heard from Alcott? About how things went?”

“They made it safely out of and away from the building. Met no resistance. They’re at the designated spot; Wick will join them once you and Esme are away from the building and you give the all-clear.”

“Millie?”

“I’m assuming she’s fine. Alcott didn’t say otherwise. No news is good news.”

“What about Winston? Any sign of him?”

“Not that I was told. I know that doesn’t exactly fill you with a sense of confidence…”

“I’ll handle him. If I have to.”

“Tyler…”

“We talked about this. You know where I stand. I’ll handle him.” Releasing the comms button on his transmitter, he gives Esme a small yet reassuring smile. “She’s good. They didn’t have any problems getting outta here. They’re a few blocks away, waiting on us to get the fuck out. And to pick up Wick.”

Esme breathes an audible sigh of relief. “I’ve just been so worried about her. She’s just so sensitive, you know? I know she’s tough and resilient, and she’s crazy smart, but she’s still just a little girl. It’s always just been her and I, and it was hard enough telling her that she couldn’t come with us, never mind sending her with someone else.”

“I don’t necessarily like the idea of her with other people, either. But it was the right decision to make; if things go wrong, at least she isn’t around to suffer because of it. And like you said, she’s in great hands.”

“I don’t trust many people when it comes to her. I wouldn’t send her with just anyone.”

“I know. I trust your instincts. And your choices. I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I didn’t.”

“I just didn’t want you to think that I’m neglectful or thoughtless or that I just leave her with random people. I just…”

“I don’t think any of those things. I never would. You did the right thing for Millie. Do you really think I would have gone along with it if I didn’t think that?”

Esme shakes her head.

“Stop doubting yourself. You’re a good mum, Me. You’re an amazing mum. You’ve done right by her. And I know it wasn’t easy; doing it all yourself. There’s no doubting how much you love her. How you’ve devoted your entire life to her.”

“She’s my baby. She became my entire world. And if anything happens to her…”

“Listen to me.” Laying a hand on the back of her neck, he firmly squeezes. “Nothing is going to happen to her. Alcott will make sure of that. She’s safe. And you’ll see her soon. I promise.”

“You’re not worried about her? Or scared or…”

“You kidding? I’m scared shitless. But I know she’s gonna be alright. She’s with people that would do anything to protect her. I wouldn’t have gone along with sending her with them if I didn’t truly believe that. Now…” He re-checks the tightness on her vest. “...what I need you to do is just breathe. Stay calm, keep your eyes and your ears open, and let me know if something doesn’t feel right. Okay?”

She nods.

“You just gotta breathe, Esme. Just breathe and trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

Patting down the pockets on her coat, he reaches into the left one and removes a black, purple and pink striped beanie. Gently slipping the garment onto her head and then giving her a wink as he tugs it down over her ears. “It’s cold out.”

She manages a smile; briefly leaning her body into his before once again issuing a long, heavy sigh. “Please tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“You KNOW.”

“What YOU know is that I hate when you talk in riddles.”

“You’re not going to go after him, are you? Winston?”

“Not intentionally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You either are, or you aren’t. What…?”

“I’m not going looking for him. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m not going to search the place; hunt him down like a rabid dog. Even if it IS what he deserves.”

“But?”

“If he tries to stop me from getting you out of here, then I’ll deal with him.”

“Tyler..”

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want hear about the fucking rules of this place; how they're the only thing separating us from the animals. Or whatever bullshit he likes to preach. And I especially don’t want to hear about The High Table. Those fuckers have caused enough damage and enough problems to last a lifetime.”

“They are not the people you want to piss off. Haven’t you learned that by now? That they’re not the type of people you want to cross? After everything they did five years ago…”

“I already talked to Nik. If it comes to having to kill Winston and live with The High Table on my ass, she and Yaz will make sure you and Millie were kept safe. Taken care of.”

“So we basically just go back to the way things were? You in one place, us in the other?”

“If it has to be that way, then…”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Five years wasn’t enough? I realize that was all my fault, and I can’t go back and make a different decision; I can’t ever erase what I did or make things right. But we just found each other again. After YEARS apart. And Millie just finally got her dad. And you’re willing to just say ‘fuck it’ and throw all that away?”

“I don’t want to fight. Especially right now. I don’t…”

“I’m not trying to fight. I’m trying to make sense of it. We are so close to having everything we wanted. Everything we should have gotten five years ago. And yet, you’re okay with losing that? For a second time? I don’t…”

“I’m not okay with anything. It’s not like I want to throw it away. It’s not like I love the idea of things going back to the way they were and…”

“You can’t retaliate. I know you’re pissed off; about that sniper coming after you and putting Millie in danger. And I know you hate this weird, gross obsession that Winston has when it comes to me. Believe me, I don’t particularly like the thought of it either. I understand why you’d want revenge. Part of me wants it to. But to go against The High Table and put a target right on your back…”

“I don’t care about me. If it comes down to protecting you…”

“You think it’s caring about me to put yourself in danger like that? Do you think that’s caring about Millie? You think we want you having to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?”

“Don’t I already do that?”

“Trust me when I say this, Tyler: there isn’t anyone you’ve gone against that is as vicious and cold-blooded and unforgiving as The High Table. They won’t just kill you. That’s going easy on someone, as far as they’re concerned. They will make you suffer. They will abuse you and torture you until you’re begging them to put a bullet in your head. Even then, that won’t even be enough. They’ll stop and give you a few days rest and then start all over again. And that will last weeks. Maybe months. Maybe even years. Do you think I want that? Them doing things to you? I already saved you from that shit once. Don’t make me do it again.”

“Don’t threaten me with that. Don’t…”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m begging you. Please don’t go after him. Don’t let him reel in you like that. He wants you to react. He wants you to snap and do something drastic because he knows he can’t bring you down any other way. None of his threats have worked. Offering you money didn’t work. The sniper didn’t get the job done. And he’s not going to get his own hands dirty. He wants you to draw blood on Continental grounds so that The High Table will come for you. How can you not see that? That he will do whatever he has to ruin everything. To ruin YOU. Don’t fall for his shit. You are way too smart for that.”

“I can’t let him hurt you. I can’t let ANYONE hurt you. And if he gets in my way…”

“If you’re not going to think of yourself, at least think of me. And Millie. We NEED you. We’ve always needed you.”

“You’ve already done almost five years on your own. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. If you have to…”

“It isn’t about ‘having to.’ It’s about not WANTING to. I don’t want to do this alone anymore. I didn’t want to do it alone the first time! I am begging you, Tyler. Don’t do this to me. To Millie. To US. Please don’t.”

“What am I supposed to do? If he tries to stop us? If he won’t let me take you out of here. How am I supposed to handle that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…”

“Well, you better figure it out fast.” He glances up at the illuminated numbers above the elevator doors. “Because we have two floors to go and if we step out there without a fucking plan…”

“I don’t know. I don’t…” Briefly closing her eyes, Esme takes in a long, quivering breath. “...I’m just begging you not to kill him. I’m not saying you can’t defend me. Or yourself. He won’t break the rules; he’s not going to draw blood on Continental grounds.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. He’s not above The High Table. NO ONE is. He breaks one of their golden rules, and they WILL punish him. They will strip him of his management, deconsecrate this place, and allow it to become a bloodbath in here. He knows it, and he won’t even chance it. The power that comes with running The Continental and being in The High Table’s good graces are what matters most to him.”

“You’re sure of that.”

“I’ve spent enough time here…enough time around Winston…to know what he treasures most of all. And it isn’t me. It’s power. He won’t risk losing that. Not even for you.”

“So we just talk it out? What do we do? If he tries to stop us? You better hurry, Esme. Because once those doors open…”

“You just can’t draw blood. You can threaten him. You can rough him up. You just can’t kill him. You find another way to handle things. You’re smarter than you think, Tyler. Way smarter. If anyone can handle Winston and play him at his own game, it’s you.”

“So I’m allowed to at least beat the shit out of him?”

“Within reason. If you start, you have to know when to stop. Don’t cross a line you can’t cross back over. That’s all I’m asking. Because I love you, and I need you. And I’m trying to protect you. So just please…PLEASE…remember who you’re dealing with and what he wants from you. And DON’T give it to him.”

Tyler nods slowly as he considers her words, then lays a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her into him. Covering her mouth with his in a long, deep kiss that lasts until a melodic tone announces that the elevator has reached its final destination. Pulling away, a gloved hand tightly squeezes her neck. g “We’re going to be alright.”

“Stronger together than we are apart.”

“Yeah…” He offers a slow yet shaky grin. “...we are.”

*****

The rifle moves slowly; controlled by a steady and confident grip as it makes sweeping passes over closed doors, hidden alcoves, and empty hallways. The silence within the bowels and dark recesses of The Continental deafening; exacerbating the sound of every breath they take and the brush of their soles against the cement floor. Coming to an abrupt halt when voices puncture the stillness; muffled conversations within the laundry room as employees shut down equipment and prepared to evacuate the building. And when they grow louder and closer, and he hears the faint squeak of an opening door, he mutters a "fuck...fuck....FUCK" and seizes her by the front of her vest; quickly and aggressively dragging her into an alcove. His back pressed against the wall as he pulls her much smaller and lighter body into his; a forearm draped across her collarbone and a hand covering her mouth in order to ensure her silence.

When the threat passes, he issues a sigh of relief; an arm ushering her behind him as they once more continue their journey. Vaguely aware of the hold she has on his jacket; her footfalls light and quiet as opposed to his awkward, shuffling gait. His weight and size proving to be detrimental; creating unwanted noise that seems to echo throughout the basement and bounce off the surrounding walls. And they’re fifty yards away from freedom when it happens; an unmarked door tossed open, followed by cocky, smirking Winston stepping out into the hall.

“You really didn’t think you’d get away with this, did you? That I wouldn’t catch wind of your little plan? That someone wouldn’t give you away? Not very smart, are you.”

“Stay back,” Tyler warns. “Don’t come any closer. Don’t…”

“You came into my home, where you’re certainly not welcome, and proceeded to ignore every rule laid out in front of you. Not to mention disrespected not only me, The Continental itself, but all of those who seek and take refuge here. Just who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the one that’s getting Esme out of here. Away from you. Out from under your thumb. It’s over, Winston. She’s not yours to protect. She never was.”

“You seem to forget that if it weren’t for me, she’d be long dead. And so would your child. In fact, that little one would have never even been born. She exists BECAUSE of me. Because I opened my doors to her mother. Because I gave her a safe haven. Which is something you couldn’t do. Something you’ll NEVER be able to do.”

“I’m going to need you to take a couple of steps back. ‘Cause if you come any closer to her…”

“In case you haven’t noticed by now, Mister Rake, you don’t intimidate me. Not in the slightest. I’m not threatened by you, nor am I scared of you. And I certainly don’t respect you.”

“Never thought I’d say this, but we actually have something in common. Because I feel the exact same way about you.”

“You are under MY roof. This is my home. My KINGDOM. Mine and mine alone. I certainly didn’t want you here; your type is never welcome at The Continental. And believe me, I did everything in my power to prevent you from even stepping foot in this city, never mind this establishment. But even I have my limits. My weaknesses. I admit that I DID succumb to her…how should I put this…feminine wiles.”

Esme hurries out from her ‘safe place’; managing half a step before finding herself blocked by his much larger, heavier body. “And what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean?

“Get back,” Tyler orders, using a forearm to once more tuck her behind him. “Don’t engage. Don’t even look at him. Just stay right there and keep quiet.”

“You know exactly what that means,” Winston informs her. “You have an uncanny ability; the gift of being able to manipulate people into doing exactly what you want. A well-placed smile or pout. Those big, dark eyes. That ‘damsel in distress’ air that you so easily adopt. Even those well versed in your true self fall for it; strong, noble men that never crack under pressure, never break a sweat under even the most dire of circumstances. You act shy and coy and sweet and…”

“That’s not true. I’ve never acted like that. Not with you. Not with ANYONE.”

“You’ve made a living…and a very lucrative one at that… doing those very things. Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place? Why you needed my help? My protection? For years you’ve conned the very best; talked and flirted and lied and…if I may be so bold…even whored…”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Tyler snarls. “Don’t you EVER…”

“... your way into their good graces. Their lives. Their BEDS. How long have you gotten away with it? How many men HAVE you fooled? How many have fallen in love with you, only to have their entire world crumble underneath them?”

“Those were jobs,” Esme argues. “Nothing more. Nothing less. That’s all they were. I never…”

“Never what? Meant to take things that far? Use them in ways that go far beyond your job description? You can’t tell me that Alessio was the first that you devoted so much time and energy to. Eight months. Nearly three-quarters of a year. You became part of his family and even accepted his proposal. You allowed him to raise your daughter, you…”

“He treated Millie like complete and utter shit! Like she was subhuman. He wanted to send her away! To boarding school! A four-year-old! A baby! He…”

“And just who enabled his behaviour? Who allowed him to be around the child? Who was so desperate to have a father in their daughter’s life that…”

“You fucking asshole!” Esme lunges forward; immediately finding herself snagged by the hood on her jacket and aggressively yanked backwards.

“Stop!” Tyler orders. “Just stop. This is what he wants. He wants us to react. Lash out. Do something stupid. So just get behind me and stay there. And don’t say another goddamn word!”

“That’s Millie he’s talking about! My daughter! OUR daughter! She’s just a little girl. A baby. She…”

“He’s using her to get to you. To get to US. Now just get behind me and stay there. And keep quiet. Got it?”

“But…”

“Got it?”

She tearfully nods, then obediently tucks herself behind him.

“You are noble.” Winston addresses Tyler. “I will give you that. Perhaps not the most intelligent, but…”

“I’m only going to tell you once. Get out of the way.”

“So gallant. So eager to protect And so damn devoted. To a fault, even. Do you not see what she’s doing to you? The pattern? Isn’t this how it all began? You protecting her? SAVING her?”

“Winston, back away. Before…”

��Before what?” The older man chuckles. “Before NOTHING. Are you that oblivious? To how you’re being played? Not just once, but TWICE?”

“I’m not taking the bait. I know what you want from me. You want me to snap. You want to be able to paint me as unstable. Unhinged. An unnecessary threat. You want to be able to tell everyone that you acted in self-defence. That I had no reason to act the way I did. You want to be able to kill me; break all the High Tables rules. And then get away with it by making up some bullshit on how it was justified.”

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are more intelligent than I give you credit for.”

“It’s not going to work, Winston. No matter what you say or do. I’ve had much worse said to me. DONE to me. By WAY better.”

“She’s using you, Mister Rake. Just like she used you in Dhaka. She has no morals. She doesn’t care who she hurts. She brings men like you…like US…to our knees. She…”

“You and I? We are nothing alike.”

“We are EXACTLY alike. As much as it pains me to admit it. She’s conned us both. Used us. Manipulated us. Only with you, she got away with it TWICE.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You know nothing; about Esme and I and what went down between us and Dhaka.”

“Word travels fast in the circle. You should know that by now. You should also know that you’re the laughing stock. Everyone talks about it. About YOU. You may be a hero. You may be a legend. But you’re also a damn fool.”

“I’m only going to tell you once more, Winston. Get out of my way. You either move on your own, or I do it for you. And you don’t want that, believe me.”

“I’ll tell you something else. What happened two days ago? In your room? It’s the last time I hire an outsider. To get a job done. It was simple; I told them who the target was and exactly where to find him. Yet here you are. Standing in front of me. Still breathing. You’re a hard one to kill, Mister Rake.”

“I fucking knew it. As soon as it happened. I knew you were behind it. Why? Of all places to try and take me out, why there? With Millie in the room? She’s a baby. MY baby. Why…?”

“Unfortunately, when it comes to war, there’s always collateral damage.”

The rage is overwhelming. All consuming. And in one quick movement, he drives the butt end of his rifle into the side of Winston’s face; the older man roaring in both surprise and pain as he drops into a bloody heap. Blood thunders in his ears as he tosses the weapon aside and then stalks towards his prey; placing a knee in the middle of the other man’s chest as he changes his method of attack. Restoring to using his fists; raining punches down on Winston’s already battered head and face. Oblivious to Esme's initial orders and then her desperate pleas for him to stop; ignoring her as she attempts -in vain- to pull him away. Unable to control either strength or aggression, he pushes her away; causing her to lose her balance and fall heavily onto her rear in the middle of the dirty floor.

“Tyler! No!” As he reaches for his rifle, she scrambles to her knees and then her feet; rushing towards him in a frantic attempt to yank the weapon from his hands. Both arms wrapping around one of his as he places the muzzle against Winston’s forehead, finger poised on the trigger. “Tyler! Stop! Please don’t do this! Don’t…!”

“Just step away, Esme. That’s all you gotta do. Just step away.”

“Please don’t,” she tearfully pleads. “You don’t want to do this. It’s not worth it. HE’S not worth it.”

“You heard what he said. It WAS him. That tried to kill me. Millie was right there. She was in the room. That sniper aimed right at her.”

“Tyler, this isn’t what Millie would want. You kept her safe, yeah? You made sure nothing happened to her. You SAVED her. She’s alive because of you. And she’s waiting for us. She’s waiting for YOU. Her dad. She needs you, okay? She’s always needed you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t make that happen. That I kept her from you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for it to get this far.”

“You have nothing to do with this. With HIM. So just step away and…”

“You and Millie just found each other. After all this time. You get to be a father again. And she finally gets her dad. The one she’s been asking about. Don’t rob her of that, okay? Don’t rob her of you. I already did. Don’t you do it to her, too.”

“Esme…”

“I can’t let you do that to her. I just can’t.”

“He deserves it. For him to have his head fucking blown off..”

“Maybe he does. But I don’t want you to be the one who does it. We are so close. To having everything we ever wanted. Please don’t throw that away. Please don’t throw ME away.”

Initially pressing the muzzle harder against Winston’s head, he finally relents, index finger slipping off the trigger as he backs away. And while Winston stumbles to his feet, Tyler once more takes hold of Esme’s hand and guides her behind him.

The older man smirks; using his tie and the sleeve of his suit jacket to clear the blood and sweat from his face. “You realize you just signed your death warrant. Both of yours, for that matter. You drew blood on Continental grounds. That’s rule one: no business is to be conducted on company property.”

“Just let us go, Winston,” Esme attempts to reason with him, struggling to remain calm despite the hammering in both chest and head. “It doesn’t have to go any further than this. It doesn’t have to escalate. Just let us go.”

“You know that can’t happen. It WON’T happen. I was never going to let either of you escape. The child, yes. She has many people who love her. Who will gladly step up and take care of her in your absence.”

“You’re going to kill both of us? Is that it? That was always your plan?”

“I’m not going to kill you. Why would I waste such a wonderful, beautiful asset? I’m not a stupid man, Esme. Don’t treat me as such.”

“When I told you I was hiring Tyler, and you agreed to let him into The Continental, you told me you’d let us go. That we’d be free to just walk out of here. You PROMISED me.”

“Well, you see, my love, like you, I too have to lie from time to time. To get my way.”

“You’re fucking crazy. Why would I ever stay here with you? Why would I want to? Especially after all of this. You think I’d just forgive you? For everything you’ve done? For keeping my daughter from me? For killing Tyler? You think I’d just learn to be okay with all of that?”

“I can have your daughter brought back. At any time. All you have to do is ask nicely and…”

“And do as I’m told? Is that what you were going to say? All I would have to do is be a quiet, obedient, submissive little thing, is that it? Play along? Be a trophy for you; someone you could parade around? Show off? Feed your ego? Cure your limp dick? Is THAT what you were going to say?”

“You are a feisty one. Always have been. I can give you a life. A very good one at that. You’ll never want for nothing. There’s nothing I can’t give you. Why won’t you let me do that? Give you the world? Why…?”

“I would rather put a bullet in my fucking brain than spend another minute here with you.”

“You’ll learn to love it. Life here. Where you’re safe.”

“I’m not staying here. So you’re going to have to kill me, too. Because I’ll do it myself. I’ll find a way. I will NOT be some toy for you.”

“But you’ll be one for him? Some ‘no one’. You’ll accept a life with THAT? Over one with me?”

Esme remains defiant. “I’d rather be his whore than your wife.”

“You really would choose him? An alcoholic, drug-addicted mercenary who abandoned his dying child?”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Her hand disappears underneath the hem of her jacket; fingertips brushing against the handle of the Glock. “Don’t EVER talk about him like that. Don’t even say his name.”

“I don’t know who is more blind. Him or you. He can’t see what you’re doing to him, and you can’t see him for who he truly is. A nobody. No more than some two-bit thug who…”

“Winston, I am warning you. DON’T talk about him like that.”

“You’re more foolish than he is. You realize that, don’t you? The fact you would turn down a life with me for a pathetic, miserable existence with him? He doesn’t deserve you. Don’t you see that? He’ll never change. This is who he will always be. He’ll never give this up. This life. Not for you, not for your daughter. You can’t change him. You can’t save him. No matter how desperately you want to.”

Slipping the gun from its holster, she removes it from under her coat before either man has a chance to stop her.

Winston gives a mocking chuckle.. “And what are you going to do with that, little one? What…?”

“It’s not what I’m going to do. It’s what YOU’RE going to do.”

“And that would be?”

“You’re going to let us out of here. You’re going to keep your promise. Or I will put a bullet in your fucking skull.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Like I told Alessio earlier. I don’t bluff.”

Behind her, the doors to the kitchen swing open, and she quickly pivots; training the gun on the figure that strides into the hallway.

“Miss Drummond,” Both Charon’s voice and eyes are soft. Reassuring. Kind. And he holds his hands up in a plea for peace, signifying to both Esme and Tyler that he poses no threat. “If you would be so inclined as to hand me your weapon.”

“I can’t. Not unless he lets us go. He’s going to kill Tyler. And keep me here. Away from Millie. He’s…”

“He’s going to do no such thing,” Charon assures her and slowly reaches for the weapon; giving a calm, gentle smile as he gingerly plucks it from her hand. “You’re safe. You’re BOTH safe. No ill is going to come to either of you.”

“But he said…”

“What he said doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen to you. Either of you. You’re going to walk out of here. Together. And you’re going to be reunited with your little girl. Very soon.”

“It was him, you know. That hired that sniper. To kill Tyler. He didn’t care that Millie was there. She could have been killed, too. And he didn’t even give a shit. That’s my little girl. My baby. And he didn’t even care.”

“I know. Of his involvement. The news of such I didn’t learn until this morning. But she is safe now. She’s away from here. This place. This life. And if you want to see her again…”

“It’ll never happen,” Winston interjects. “My people are already on their way. They’ll be here in minutes. So I suggest…” He glances at Esme, then at Tyler. “...that if you have anything to say to each other, you do it now. Or you won’t get the chance.”

“There is NO ONE coming,” Charon informs him. “There is no cavalry.”

“I called them myself.”

“As did I. After you hung up. It’s been called off. And they’re free to go.”

“You can’t make that decision. You…”

“No. But The High Table can. You’re not the only one with friends in power, sir.”

“You’re lying. You’re…”

“I NEVER lie. You should be expecting a visit from The Adjudicator. The High Table was very concerned that you hired someone to do business on Continental grounds. Not even you are above the rules.”

“First Jonathan, now you? Charon, how could you? Betray me like this? After everything we’ve been through. The years we’ve spent together. The battles we faced. All the things I’ve done for you. And THIS is how you repay me? This…”

“THIS is the right thing to do. Now…” He regards Esme over the top rim of his glasses, then holds out the Glock. “...you can be trusted with this? Rule number one…”

“I can be trusted.”

“Good. Now I suggest you leave. The way you have planned. I will meet up with you. At the airport.”

“You’re coming with us? Why? Why are you…?”

“I’m merely tagging along. To make sure you get to your destination. Safely. But if something does happen in the meantime…” Cradling her face in his palms, Charo presses a kiss to each of her cheeks. “...it has been a pleasure, Miss Drummond.”

As tears well in her eyes, she stands on her tiptoes and embraces him tightly. “Thank you. Not just for this. For EVERYTHING”

“I have very much enjoyed your company. And your friendship.”

Shouldering his rifle, Tyler plucks the Glock from Esme’s hand and slips it into the waistband of his pants, then wraps an arm around her shoulders and draws her tight against him. He gives Charon an appreciative nod. “Thank you.”

“We will see each other soon, Mister Rake.”

“I hope so.” He begins leading a trembling and terrified Esme away. “I really fucking hope so.”

******

As an armoured SUV waits for them outside the shipping and receiving, Tyler’s eyes quickly scan the immediate buildings for any sign of trouble; any figures lurking in open windows or within the shallow recesses of doors. And when he’s certain it’s safe, he jumps off the platform and then turns to assist Esme. His arms outstretched and waiting for her to make her move; easily and effortlessly catching her and then placing her on the ground. Holding her securely by the wrist as he pulls her in the direction of the vehicle; opening the door with one hand, the other shielding the top of her head from coming in contact with the frame. And he waits until she buckles herself in before shutting the door and hurrying for the driver’s side; slipping behind the wheel and throwing down the overhead visor, allowing the keys to fall into his lap.

“Well…” He guns the ignition. “...that went to shit.”

Esme attempts an apology. And an explanation. “I’m sorry. He just knew exactly what buttons to push. First talking about Millie, then about you. I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t hear another word. He just kept going and going, and I just snapped and…”

“What did I tell you? About listening to me? About never second-guessing a goddamn thing?”

“I just couldn’t listen to it. As if admitting to being the one to hire the sniper wasn’t enough…”

“Esme, I told you to stay quiet. To not engage with him. And I didn’t tell you just once. I told you multiple times. To just shut up and get behind me and let me do my job. Why don’t you listen to me? Why can’t you just do what you’re told? Why…?”

“He just got to me. It was just too much. I can usually handle what people say about me. And I don’t really care that he called me a whore and…:

“I sure as hell fucking cared.”

“...and accused me of being a liar and manipulator. Because I WAS those things. When it came to the job. I DID do those things. I did lie, and I did manipulate people.”

“It was always a means to an end. You did what you had to do. It was work. That’s it.”

“He said the exact same things Gaspar did. About me. About US. About how I used you to get out of Dhaka. And that’s not true. I didn’t lie to you, and I didn’t manipulate you. And I didn’t use you.”

“I know that. I…”

“Everything that happened between us, everything we said to each other, everything we planned? It was all real. Every second, every word. None of that was fake. And for TWO people to insist on it?”

“If I didn’t believe it then, what the hell makes you think I’m going to believe it now? I don’t give a fuck what Gaspar said. And I sure as hell don’t give a shit about anything that came out of Winston’s mouth. I was there too, Esme. In Dhaka. In that hotel room. And it all felt real. It never felt anything BUT real.”

“I just wanted to make sure, that’s all. That you know that none of what Winston said is true and that….”

“Esme, I KNOW. I’ve ALWAYS known.”

“And then when he started in on Millie and then you…”

“Listen, as much as I would love to be able to just sit here and unpack all of this with you and assure you that everything is okay…that WE’RE okay…I can’t do it. Maybe later, but not right now. I need to get us the fuck out of here. Away from this place and out of this city. Out of this COUNTRY. So I’m going to need you to let this shit go. For now. Okay?”

She nods.

“I also need you to toe the fucking line. Because back there? With Winston? That almost ended very badly. And I don’t want to have to deal with something like that again. So, please…I am begging you…listen to me. Do as I say. Got it?”

Tears well in her eyes as both chin and lower lip tremble. “Got it.”

“And please don’t do that. Cry. Because I can’t deal with that right now. I can’t be who you need me to be when you’re this upset and close to freaking out. You hired me to do a job, yeah?”

She nods.

“Then let me do it. Or we are NOT going to get out here. Cooperate. Please.”

“I will. I just…”

“No more. No more talking about this. Just sit there and be quiet and…” His words trail off as his SAT phone vibrates within the confines of the inner pocket of his jacket. And he mutters a ‘fuck me’ as he pulls it out and jams an index finger into the ‘talk’ icon.“What?!”

“Where the hell are you?” Nik inquires. “We’ve been waiting here. At the rendezvous site. Where…?”

“I got a little held up.”

“A little?”

“We’re on our way now. Be there shortly.”

“You’re fifteen minutes past the deadline. Of when the security systems came back on line. Why haven’t you been answering me? On your radio? Did something happen to it or…?”

“I turned it off. In the basement.”

“Tyler…”

“Look, we had an issue, alright?”

“What kind of issue?”

“One I don’t have time to explain. I’m trying to fucking drive!”

“Do I need to remind you who's in charge? Who your boss is? Who gives you orders and signs your paycheck? Do I..?”

“Fuck off, Nik!” He barks, then hangs up and tosses the phone onto the dashboard; unleashing a host of profanities when it bounces off and falls to the floor at Esme’s feet.

Chewing anxiously on her bottom lip, she glances over at him, then down at the cell. And she strains against her seat belt as she leans over to pick it up; placing it in the hands-free holder clipped to the dashboard.

For several minutes, they remain in silence as they make their escape; grateful for the clear and easy path created by the slew of emergency vehicles provided by Wick’s men. To the untrained eye, the FDNY badges and logos seem legit; boldly plastered on the handful of engines and SUVs that not only keep the street directly in front of The Continental car and pedestrian free, but have succeeded in closing down all intersections within a three block radius in each direction.

The closer they get to their meet-up point, the more steady and confident his nerves become. With the confrontation with Winston now pushed onto the back burner, it makes room for cautious optimism; allowing himself to think of not only being reunited with Millie, but of finally being able to start his life -as a partner, soon-to-be husband, and a father- in his homeland. He’s anxious to share the things he loves with his little girl; already dreaming of teaching her to surf and taking her camping and fishing and dirt bike riding. Witnessing as she thrives and grows and gets accustomed to life ‘down under’; making friends and falling in love with the people and the wildlife and taking on an accent.

It’s those thoughts that release the last of the tension in his shoulders and jaw, feeling remarkably lighter as he glances over at Esme; watching as she nervously chews on the inside of her cheek and fidgets with the ties on either side of her hat. He regrets how harsh he’d been with her; the aggression he displayed, and the way he’d barked at her and ordered her around. Lowering himself to reprimanding her as if she were nothing more than a petulant child.

Dropping one of his hands from the steering wheel, he gently sweeps dirt and debris off the thighs of her jeans. “You’re not hurt are you?”

She glances over; a quizzical frown knitting her brows together.

“I didn’t mean to push you as hard as I did. I just meant to get you out of the way. I didn’t…”

“It wasn’t THAT hard. You didn’t hurt me. I just lost my balance. I…”

“That was a pretty hard fall. I didn’t…”

“Tyler…” She grabs a hold of his hand before he can remove it from her leg; managing a smile as she tightly squeezes. “...I’m fine. Honest. Remember when I talked about being thicker too?”

“Oh fuck, not this again…”

“Most of that thickness is in my ass. I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it’s just made your ass even better. And it was pretty awesome before, so…”

“And you excuse me of unprofessional talk?” she teases. “Aren’t you supposed to be the mature and sensible one in this situation?”

“Fuck mature and sensible. You talking about your ass being thicker? All I can think about is that saying. About ‘more cushion for the pushin’.”

“You are nothing if not predictable,” she chides and releases his hand. “I KNEW as soon as I mentioned my ass, your mind would go there. Right into the gutter.”

“I was a total prick back there. I didn’t…”

“You weren’t. You…”

“No. I was. I shouldn’t have talked to you like I did. You didn’t deserve that. You…”

“You had every right to. I haven’t exactly been the most cooperative client, have I?”

“You’ve been a challenge. I thought maybe the last five years might have calmed you down; gotten you over that whole ‘I listen to no man’ stage.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I tend to listen to you more than other men.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not saying much.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. That I just didn’t shut up and do what I was told. I didn’t exactly follow my own advice, did I? About not letting Winston get under our skin.”

“No, you did not.”

“Like I said, I don’t really care what people say about me. I’ve been called way worse by way better. But when he brought up Millie and then started threatening you and talking all kinds shit about you…”

“I’m a big boy, Esme. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You DO need me. In more ways than you’ve ever been willing to admit. I may not be able to protect you the same way you do with me, but I can still have your back. Defend you. Take care of you.”

“And I’m still going to tell you that you don’t need to.”

“We’re going to have to come to some sort of impasse, Tae. Because…” She pauses when she sees the slow, almost boyish grin that spreads across his face. “...what? What’s that little smile for?”

“Nothing. I just haven’t heard you call me that in a long time. I missed it.”

Smiling, she reaches out and rubs his thigh, then squeezes his knee. “I missed saying it.”

“You gotta promise me that you’ll try and rein it in. How much you worry about me. Want to take care of me.”

“You know that’s impossible. It’s just who I am. Who I’ve ALWAYS been. When it comes to you. I’ve always cared too much and worried too much. That’s not going to change, you know. So I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree. About whether or not you need to be protected or not.”

“As long as you promise you won’t go too Mother Hen on me. You know I can’t handle it when you start that babying shit.”

“You are so full of it. You like it when I baby you. I mean, who else is going to put up with you when you’ve got the man flu? You’d probably drive other women completely crazy. They wouldn’t know how to handle you. You’d break them for sure.”

“Well, your sister always was amazed about how I managed to never break YOU in half.”

“I’m made of tough stuff, I guess. Momma didn’t raise a quitter. Or a coward." Yanking off her beanie, she smoothes down her hair and fixes her ponytail. “Did you know? About Charon? That he was part of all this?”

“All I knew was that Nik had someone on the inside. Who got her the blueprints of the hotel, security codes, and all kinds of info. I never would have thought it would be him, though.”

“What do you think made him turn? Against Winston?”

“You heard him; he said it was just the right thing to do. What happened the other day probably pushed him over the edge; the sniper even going after Millie.”

“You never told me that. That they intentionally targeted her.”

“I didn’t see a need to. There was no reason to upset you more than you already were.”

“That must have been terrifying. It’s one thing for people to come after you; you’re used to it. But for them to go after her?”

“I handled it. I did what I had to do. To keep her from getting hurt. But if I ever find exactly WHO pulled that trigger…”

“I give you full permission to shoot them in the head. After you torture them. Slowly and extremely painfully. Do you think he’s going to be okay? Charon? Winston isn’t going to take this lying down; he’s going to view it as a massive betrayal.”

“Winston isn’t dumb enough to try anything. Charon’s got The High Table on his side. Which means, in some weird, fucked up way, they’re on our side too.”

“Better than having to worry about them coming after us. Let’s just hope we never have to call in any favours. Rely on them for anything. Because if I ever have to resort to THAT…”

It happens quickly. Leaving no time to time to react or prepare for impact. The roar of an engine, the glare of headlights cutting through the thin veil of fog, the screeching of brakes. Safety and security suddenly and brutally ripped away; bodies violently jostled within the confines of the SUV as horns blare, glass shatters, and metal crunches and crumbles.

And then, silence.

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fanfic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake #Extraction/John Wick crossover

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zutraeumen · 1 year

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Passionfruit (Julian Slowik x OFC)

Welcome, dear readers! I am not a fan of long introductions so I will keep it short for your sake. This is a self-indulgent fanfic crossover between the John Wick and The Menu fandom where I do not own any other character than my self-imported character Adele Cole. As English is not my mother language, I apologize for any grammar mistakes in advance. Spoiler warning if you aren't familiar with any of those films! Reviews are appreciated but if you don't like it, don't read it.

You can find this work on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev.

Passionfruit🍴Masterlist:

Hawthorne Island

The First Course

The Second Course

The Third Course

The Fourth Course

Palate Cleanser

The Sixth Course

The Assassin and the Chef

Final Course

#romance #john wick #the menu #julian slowik x ofc #julian slowik #chef #john wick 4 #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #eventual comfort #eventual romance #eventual happy ending #eventual relationship #eventual smut

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tobytheeggo · 6 months

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Here is the church, and here is the steeple

We sure are cute for two ugly people

I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else

But you

(Song: Anyone else but you - The moldy peaches)

#ship moodboard #mood board #them but younger ofc I’m just too lazy to draw #chidi x marquis #marquis de gramont #chidi john wick 4 #Chidi JW #white cat being Vinny and the greyish brown being Chidi

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lavandulacosmos · 11 months

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Inktober Day 26: REMOVE [ATEEZ x John Wick]

Assassin!Mingi & BabysitterDoctor!Yunho (Ft. Handler!Wooyoung & Concierge!Jongho)

"You won't guess what San just did- Holy shit, Mingi! What is all that?" Wooyoung whistled as he came to a stop beside the pouting assassin. “Don't even ask,” Yunho complained as he aggressively unrolled a new tape. "I removed a bullet and about half a forest and a brick wall from his back." "It's not my fault!" Mingi argued, hissing as Yunho continued to cover his wounds with vindictive care. "I got ambushed by those goons from Gangnam and I didn't want to be late in case San needed backup- Ugh, can you maybe not tell Hongjoong-hyung?" "Too late," Jongho interrupted with a mighty frown. "How many times did I tell you not to leave blood all over the lobby?" "Sorry, Jongho." "Oh, before I forget. I just wanted to tell you that San is on his way and he needs a little bit of medical attention." Wooyoung grinned, making Yunho squint at him with displeasure. "I don't even want to know." "Yeah, you really don't. But now I kind of want to check up on Yeosang just to make sure he actually stayed in one piece." "Just leave him to Seonghwa-hyung," Jongho waved him off. "I better go. Before Hongjoong-hyung gets the call about whatever it is that San-hyung did, and ends up destroying another completely functional phone."

[ATEEZ days - Part 7]

Continuing the John Wick AU mini story from Day 25~ (Insp.: x)

#art #inktober #inktober2023 #ateez #ateez x john wick #yunho #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #yungi #atzsource #ateez fanart #myart #ateezdays #jonghomies #i never got around to drawing assassin!mingi so it needed to happen immediately #and ofc he is a princess when he is not causing mayhem #much to everyone's fond exasparation

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sunflowerbower · 1 year

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I wrote this ages ago now! Need more Winston fics in my life. Watched all the John Wick films and somehow came away with as much an obsession with him as Keanu Reeves!!

#John wick #Winston John wick #Winston x ofc #fan fiction #sunflowerbower fics #winston Scott

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thedeadthree · 1 year

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🥀✨🗡

#so i am doing ye olde browsing into the wiki for more lore right and i wind up in the m*arquis wiki right #and as im reading i learn more about him right bc teehee i love him #and like……. crime boss beloved right high table dearest 🥀🗡#BUT b*ill the actor who plays him said he thought of the character as having an non aristocratic background like he grew up in poverty?#which was the reason for the extravagant suits and ever since i have been going INSANE all day ✨😵‍💫#and that he was an assassin before the titles like it’s giving me THOUGHTS #bc with karols new lore like she was in the phones (now that AND a radio host teehee in Paris) and doing a bit of thievery on the side right #i mean what if they knew each other back then u know? they’ve known each other for much longer than either say right……#theyve always wanted to reshape the table as they saw fit u know? and had a PLAN to achieve that <3 #and it was him to encourage her to woo santo? (shooting himself in foot though bc baby boy entered a wicked jealous era but like…. the plan)#but then he was zeroed by John and so she was like oooo okie dokie 🥀😌)#(ofc power gets to him and poor karol was like 🥀✨🤷‍♀️ YIKES)#i think they lose contact and then reuniting then THEY get married and then he died 🥀✨💀#and that is the new lore of dear girl karol 🥀✨🤭#j*ohn w*ick verse karol you iconic dear you !!!!!!!#oc: karolina pajari #x: karolina x vincent #leg.txt #ash got to hear the lore essay about them first 🥀✨🗡🤭 !!!!!! they’re everything rn to me skzjzjjz #(and bc fellow marquis appreciator!!!!!!!! you get it!)#IM MOVING AT A SNAILS PACE BUT I AM WORKING ON IT !!!!!!!!#like listen it may or may not be canon but it is canon to ME and fits so well with karolinas lore 🥀✨🤭✨#and even ties her into the connections with chiara as he and cosimo were both friends back then?#and maybe even valentina as well? that’s my two social climbers 🗡✨🥀🤭

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

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le marquis et le moineau

Marquis de Gramont x f!reader

themes: angst, twisted business associates(?) to lovers, dubious morals, the Marquis has his eyes set on you and only you (but you don't know that ofc)

a/n: this bloody Frenchman has been plaguing my thoughts (thanks to a very sinister portrayal by one Bill Skarsgård). Mind you, I still haven't even seen the film John Wick 4, but I'm a fan of the series, and the morsels I've seen of the Marquis have been more than enough to give rise to a new lil fixation.

word count: 932 ▪︎ more of moineau ▪︎ other works

It started as a little game.

Just some passing fancy between yourself and the Marquis.

Or at least, that was what it was supposed to remain. Only that. A game.

But you should have known better. You should have known that any game played with Marquis Vincent de Gramont may eventually turn deadly.

Your high-risk job at the Continental usually also reaped the highest of rewards.

Tip off the right person and receive a gold coin. Deliver a message, without any bumps or bruises to all parties involved, and your reputation would be given a much-needed boost or two.

This business was danger wrapped in deceit wrapped in glamour. And you knew how to deal the right cards.

Although it seems, things are not as easy when it comes to the Marquis.

Vincent was every bit a menace as his reputation decreed. The Marquis tasked with restoring the authority of the High Table, he was nothing short of cunning and ambitious, prepared to take down any and all those who posed a threat to his objectives.

Dangerous. Deceptive. Glamourous as well, mind you. He was perfectly suited to this world.

He was also brazen, pretentious, snobbish.

And beautiful.

He knew just how to tug at your strings and make you bend. Or at least, he always tried to.

Like he was doing then, in one of the bigger rooms in his palacial estate, wherein only the two of you stood with only a few feet in between.

"What did we agree upon, mon moineau?" His silky accented voice implored.

My sparrow, he called you. The reason for which remained undisclosed to you, not for a lack of trying to wrench it out of him.

Why couldn't he call you something sweeter? Of the more classic French romantic sobriquets?

Chérie, perhaps. Mon amour. Mon coeur.

But no. You were stuck with measly ol' "my sparrow".

Of course, not that it mattered. Perhaps the Marquis reserved his sweeter words for those he actually cared for. At the very least, well-regarded enough to be associated with. Those impossibly beautiful and refined members of European aristocracy that he was so often rumoured to be wining and dining.

Unlike you. Renegade, foul-mouthed vagabond.

You stared up at his pacing figure. "I am fully aware of what we agreed upon, Vincent. What I have done does not breach that. I am perfectly capable - "

His head snapped to you menacingly. "You could have been killed, moineau."

You shrugged. "Consequences. I did not enter this damned line of work without considering the risks. As it goes, getting killed would not exactly be an uncommon occurence."

"Don't jest." He shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, in obvious annoyance.

You took a step forward, trying to find his gaze. "And if I were to... pass... so what? Everything would simply go on. The truth is that I'm already a ghost. Doing what I do in our world makes me some kind of spectre. I am already not there."

You knew this. You repeated this to yourself when you woke, and before you went to sleep. It was the only truth you could hold on to.

Until him. Until some buried, twisted part of you began hoping that he would care.

But hope is a dangerous thing.

You continued, as he kept looking away. "You would go on. Perhaps even find a new sparrow to play with."

You felt it. As your words hung in the air, his entire mood shifted. He straightened, and with both hands burrowed in the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, his eyes land on you.

He slowly took a step forward, and then another, until his figure loomed over you.

In all your shared moments, you learned to discern the quick switches in his temper and his expression. But not enough, not completely.

The look he was giving you then was impossible to read.

"You think..." His left hand drifted to the hem of your blazer, toying with it. "... that I..." His index finger then drifted upward over your silk shirt, stopping in between your collarbones. His tongue briefly darted out to wet his lips, catching your eye. "... would simply replace you?"

You finally felt his touch on your face, his fingers delicately caressing your jawline.

He made a fleeting tsk tsk sound with his tongue, as if in disapproval.

"I believe you underestimate just how much you matter to me, mon moineau."

You did your best to remain unfazed. This was the game, wasn't it? Whatever you might think it can become, what you hope it can unravel into - set it aside as delusion.

Don't fall.

It's just a game to play.

Don't fall.

You took a deep breath, then smiled sweetly. Mockingly. "What makes you think I would even pay any mind to how much I matter to you? That line of thinking doesn't work for people like us, Marquis."

"People like us," he repeated, amusement furrowing his brow. "Non, mon moineau. There are no other people like us."

He leaned in, eyes not leaving yours, all but eliminating the distance between your faces. You could feel his breath on your skin, could count the faint spotting of freckles around his nose.

You wished to ask him what he wanted, but held back.

No. There was something better to say.

"What are you waiting for?" You managed to voice the words despite your very heart lodged in your throat.

He smiled, proud of his precious sparrow.

"Mon coeur... I've been waiting for you my entire life."

Ahhh! 🖤 Everybody say thank you Bill Skarsgård and the on-set stylist for the visual treat that is the Marquis.

I'm not even sure if this will find the right crowd - seeing as my lovely followers are of the HotD persuasion. But oh well, I had to get it out of my system.

Could be more of this... idk 🤷‍♀️ Rest assured I haven't forgetten about all my series works, even the ones I haven't started but said I would do...

#marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont #john wick #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont imagine #bill skargard #bill skarsgard x reader #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard imagine #john wick 4 #marquis vincent de gramont imagine #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård x reader #vincent de gramont x reader

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 1 year

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Les Petits Morts (Marquis de Gramont x Assassin! F! Reader)

(Cat and mouse, do-they-want-to-kill-each-other-or-fuck-each-other, enemies to lovers, two psychotic mfers flirt)

taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

warnings: freaky behavior, blood k!nk, knife play, violence, what y’all came for (🤨), reader is lowkey a brat hehe, marquis doms ofc bless up, mentions and brief moments of violence, build-up, more story than necessary probably. Romance⁉️

Part Two is here!

Vincent de Gramont had made a grave miscalculation when it came to her. He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he was in danger: her wide, brown eyes shining golden in the rising sun, her fragrant hair swooping over one shoulder, letting the skin of her neck catch the light, and, as she’d finally stepped before him, that haunting scent of jasmine and gardenias, the radiance and bohemian ease she exuded; he was immediately disarmed from the knowledge that she was a killer. She was a slippery figure, shrouded in mystery, in fear. No one knew where she came from, but everybody knew of the story of how she earned her freedom. A young girl, bloodthirsty, filled with fire, tearing open the throat of the Marquis to whom she had been promised, her bloody mouth pulled back to bare a glimmering smile in the face of her freedom. Still, she remained in her former line of work, even more dangerous with her years of being outside of The Table’s shadow.

La Belladonna is what they called her, and she gave no name. She smiled at him, gaze twinkling something wicked. He maintained composure, of course, but he couldn’t break away from that haunting, doe-eyed gaze of hers. He’d expected a woman, but not one like this. He’d imagined a savage before him based on the story that had always been told. Not someone so beautiful, so graceful…so enchanting.

“Bonjour, Marquis,” she greeted, “I do hope you didn’t mind the early morning.”

“I did.”

She laughed, turning away and taking a seat against the wall.

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

She checked her nails; a crimson manicure. Her eyes flitted from it to him. He was confused by the expectation in her gaze. He’d never once seen that look in anyone’s eyes before (except, perhaps, from one of The Table).

“Won’t you have a seat,” she questioned.

He cleared his throat, glancing over to one of his men then slowly moving over to the barrel next to her. She admired the horses with a small subdued smile, then turned to him with a sigh. He surveyed her, unsure what to make of this so-called dangerous killer. He was quite sure he’d met worse. He moved to speak, but she cut him off.

“So, Marquis, why exactly do you require my services?”

“They say you’re the best,” he responded cooly.

Her lips curved into a bemused smile. “They say we’re all the best. Why me specifically?”

He gave a slight smile. “You are able to go unnoticed. Become invisible. I want someone invisible.”

“And why is that? Don’t you have Caine? He’s the best.”

His smile fell. Her eyes widened slightly with the thrill of his upset.

“What? That’s practically public information.”

“In that case, I suppose you already know the answer to your own question.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” she corrected, tapping his nose with a slender cigarette holder and a bright smile, “I know you want John Wick dead, I know you want those aligned with him dead. But I know you not only have Caine, but the entirety of The Table’s resources at your disposal. You don’t need someone like me; you don’t require someone so subtle, it’s certainly not your style. You are fortunate enough to have to ability of using sheer force to achieve your goals.”

She took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder, then put in between her lips. Despite himself, he stole a glance at her mouth, taking in the slight purse of her lips as she lit her cigarette. He watched smoke puff from between them.

“So…what is it you want with me?”

He met her eyes, sitting back. “You’re very observant. Good job.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance, creating a tiny crack in her mask. She gave a slight smile, blowing some of her cigarette smoke at his face.

“Hm.”

He stood, brushing his nose off. “You’re right. If we were looking at this in the short term, I don’t need someone like you. But I am not thinking of the short term.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “I’m not a kept puppy, Monsieur de Gramont. I’m sure you recall my exit from the Table. I wouldn’t recommend becoming my boss.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“For my price, I think you are.”

She held his gaze for a moment, finishing her cigarette. She tossed the butt onto the barrel, then gave a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.”

She stood, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted our time. I suggest getting some extra sleep while you can.”

Vincent watched her turn away with unease, swallowing as she started to leave. He shot a look to the men at the door, then walked after her. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she turned swiftly, pressing her cigarette holder into his chest, pushing him backward.

“Do not grab me, Monsieur. I cannot be bought. Only hired. I do not make deals, especially not with men like you. There is not a price you can name that would change my mind.”

“I’m quite sure the prices I can name are beyond anything you’ve heard before.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re quite arrogant, Gramont. It’s endearing, but not enough to hold my attention. Goodbye.”

Vincent watched as she turned to leave, but soon slowed down, then halted to a stop. A pressure lifted on his chest. She tilted her head, twirling the cigarette holder between her fingers.

“Do you really want to offer up two perfectly fine men for the slaughter? Just for a silly little price?”

“I would prefer to avoid bloodshed altogether, mademoiselle.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Whoever told you I am a patient woman was misled you, Gramont.”

He smiled. “Whoever told you I am a relenting man did the same.”

***

Milan, Italy.

Belladonna sat back in her chair, taking a long drag from her cigarette in its holder, crossing her legs with a smile. After several months of hide-and-seek with that pesky Marquis, she’d finally shaken off some the men he had tracking her, and killed the rest. Now, she finally felt like she could just breathe, sit back, relax, enjoy her espressos and afternoons by the sea, and then, when she fancied, a night at the opera. As luck would have it, they were performing her favorite; Madama Butterfly.

She poured herself a glass of champagne as the lights dimmed, and as she took a sip her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance; she made it clear to her team not to contact her, lest they risk her being tracked again by one of the…

She frowned, reading the text. It was in french, from a sender with no number.

The Italian sun has treated you well, Mademoiselle.

Her shoulders tensed, but she kept her cool. How did he find her? And why the hell did he follow her here? She was quite sure she’d made herself clear with the last two men she got rid of: do not bother me again, or you’ll end up looking just an mangled as them.

Darkness swallowed the theater as the curtains rose, and Belladonna felt a pit form in her stomach. She’d never felt so troubled by anyone as much as she had by this man. He was bull-headed and inescapable—with all of the ability in the world to keep her in his sights. Discretely, she glanced around the balconies in her view, but only saw strangers. Where was he? Where was the son of a bitch this time?

She put out her cigarette harshly, trying to keep her composure. After finishing her glass of champagne, she sent a message in response.

You’re toying with your life, Gramont.

I could say the same for you.

She rose an unimpressed eyebrow, twirling her cigarette holder between her fingers. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Bothering her during her jobs, and now during her time off. Her phone buzzed again. With a clench of her fist, she ignored it.

As she paid more attention to the opera, her mind wandered. Her six-foot-four shadow quickly evaporated into a tiny shadow in the back of her thoughts, and she admired the gorgeous costumes of the singers, the swelling and rhythm of the orchestra, and rested her cheek on her fist in awe as the soprano playing Madama Butterfly began her aria Un Bel di Vedremo.

She could remember the first time she’d heard it; she’d gotten it as a gift from a lover in a period of innocent youth that had become alien to her. The lover she lost as a sacrifice of that innocence. Despite herself, her eyes grew misty from the memory. She watched the soprano’s wistful gaze, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she reached the peak of the aria and the orchestra swelled, Belladonna could’ve sworn she could see the singer’s eye’s glistening along with hers.

The music of the aria faded out, and she quickly wiped her eyes as the lights of the house rose. She rose to her feet, glancing around again. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall, brown haired man in a three-piece suit leaving one of the booths. She hesitated to get worked up—every man she’d laid her eyes on had a three-piece suit on, it didn’t have to be him. Maybe she was just in denial. Although she’d never want to say it, the Marquis was successfully beginning to wear her down.

She dialed a number on her phone. The call was answered before it could ring.

“Yes?”

“The Marquis is here in Milan. There may be some of his men at the opera house. Kill them, would you? Be thorough with it. Wherever they may be crawling about. And leave me a change.”

“Of course, right away, ma’am.”

She hung up, scanning the audience again before leaving her booth. She slipped into a women’s restroom, entering an out-of-service handicapped stall and quickly removing her dress and opening the duffel bag tucked between the toilet and the wall. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the pleasure of enjoying it, it was a lovely piece. She admired it on the hanger with a sigh, tugging on a bulletproof jumpsuit and zipping it up, adding elbow and knee pads. She laced up her black military boots, then unzipped the duffel bag, placed the dress and heels inside, and pulled out the pair of pistols under the false bottom, placing the magazines in the sides of her boots. She slid a pair of blade into hidden pockets in the lower back of the jumpsuit, then tugged on a beanie and a black face mask.

She pushed the duffel bag back in its spot, then stepped onto the toilet, opened the air vent, and with a hop, grabbed onto the ceiling and pulled her way up inside. Her knee and foot made dull impacts with the metallic interior of the vents as she pulled the door up.

She pulled out her phone, going through her messages to find the blueprints one of her navigators had sent. She stalled on a message from that numberless contact, the one she’d ignored before.

You look beautiful in that dress, Bella.

A frown formed on her face at the message. It wasn’t the first of these messages she’d read in these days. Messages occasionally complimented her ways of eluding him, how a pair of earrings complimented her honey brown complexion, how bloody a mess she’d left behind. Still, none were as direct as this one.

Beautiful, she thought. It conjured up an odd feeling, imagining him saying such a compliment. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a foolish nuisance, it might’ve even excited her a touch. She quickly went to the blueprint of the vents and started to crawl towards her escape.

After a sweaty fifteen minute excursion through the vents, Belladonna finally jumped down from a window and landed on a cushy pile of discarded wood. She didn’t allow even a grunt as she got to her feet and rounded the corner, finding a grey-suited body lying in a pool of her own blood a few feet away from her bike. Her cushy hotel was no longer an option, so she had to relent for the secondary location she’d had set up. The only bother would be the chilly night ride.

///

Montemarciano

She’d made it the country house by dawn, and the sun was preparing to break through the horizon. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, demanding she collapse directly into the earth as she made her way to the door. She let her shoulders slump as she rested a hand on the door. This place was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She’d made sure it was no registry or map. Yanking her beanie and mask off and taking a deep inhale of fresh, crisp air, she went for her key behind the false brick when a creak sounded inside the house. Belladonna froze, gripping the brick in her hand.

It couldn’t have been the Marquis, but it could’ve been someone else even more dangerous. She stayed in a crouch, crawling towards the back door and seeing it ajar. Her eyes widened, and she pulled out a pistol. Gently, she pushed the door open and slid inside, crouching against the wall like a statue, eyes scanning the living room. There weren’t many places for an intruder to hide.

In the blue light against the curtains, she watched a large figure pass through the room and right by her. The figure entered the bedroom, and Belladonna placed the brick down silently, getting onto her feet.

She slid through the door, watching the figure in the darkness. They sat at her desk, staring out of the modestly sized window as more blue light filtered through the linen curtains of the dark room. She flicked on the lamp. The figure turned and she fired without hesitation, watching as they tumbled to the floor. She leapt over the bed, planting a foot by the stranger’s head and placing her weight into the knee that she dug into their shoulder. The figure had covered their face with their arm and swiped it blindly at her, but she easily knocked it to the ground and trapped their wrist under the heel of her boot.

Cooly, she held the gun to their face, pressing harder on their wrist. A familiar voice swore, letting out a grunt. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gramont,” she remarked quietly, making out the face beneath her.

He was breathing heavily, eyes darting between the gun and her face. She turned off the safety.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she said.

“Many will come after you. Worse than me,” he said breathlessly.

She smirked, shaking her head. “I said a good reason, Monsieur. Don’t waste your breath.”

He looked at the gun, then to her surprise, smiled a bit. He rose his eyebrows.

“Come now, Bella. Haven’t we had fun these past months?”

“I thought you’d be better at bargaining.”

“If you really intended to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

She paused and tilted her head.

He made a good point.

With a grin, she added. “I really intended to kill you, Monsieur, I would’ve killed you the morning we met.”

She moved the gun away from his face.

“You came here alone.”

“I came to deliver something to you.”

He tried to sit up, but she doubled down her weight onto him.

“Certainly you don’t think I intend to harm you?”

She studied his face, then chuckled. “Not alone, no.”

He let out a breath as she rose to her feet, stepping away from him. He sat up, watching as she trained her gun onto him as he stood. Vincent fixed his hair and his suit, gesturing to the door.

“It’s in the living room.”

“Mhm. Ladies first.”

With his trained on her gun, he passed through the door and she followed silently, pointing it at his head. She flicked the light switch on as they rounded the corner, and lamps lit up, revealing a spare but cozy living room. He chuckled, turning to her.

“Very cute, Bella.”

She didn’t answer, only held the gun to his face. He turned back around, going to the coffee table. There was a large black box, along with two other boxes. One appeared to be a shoebox, the other a mystery. Caught off guard, by gifts, Belladonna’s grip loosened on the gun. She squinted in confusion, almost wanting to laugh.

“What…”

“Your gown tonight was lovely, but it can’t be worn again after you left it in that filthy bathroom. I thought I would replace it for you.”

“…the fuck…”

He stepped towards her, and her gun returned to its leveled aim reflexively.

“…Is wrong with you?”

He smiled, pleased at her bewilderment, although she seemed a bit amused as well.

“What is wrong with a gift?”

“Oh, when it comes from you, several things.”

He chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve been playing this game for a little while now, and I must admit that I see no end to it. So why don’t we talk it over dinner?”

“It took fourteen bodies to get to dinner, huh?”

He looked away almost bashfully, if his eyes could express such an emotion.

“I thought you’d be easier to kill, I’ll admit that too. And I believe tonight makes twenty.”

His callousness uneased her, but not as much as the glimmer that formed in his eyes when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Come now, is dinner so bad compared to these last few months?”

She narrowed her eyes. He smiled again.

“Think of it as a celebration if you want. Perhaps for your birthday? It’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

In an immediate shift, her eyes darkened, and without warning she flung a knife at his face that he barely evaded being mortally wounded by. Blood poured down his cheek as she lunged at him, knocking him against the wall, but this time he had his footing. He grabbed the fabric of her jumpsuit and whirled around to slam her into the wall with a grunt, but she quickly drove her knee into his stomach once, twice, then kicked him back with both legs, sending him crashing against the kitchen counter. The photos on the wall shook on impact. Before he could even recover she had him on the floor, and his mind quickly went back to the position she’d had him in before and he shot into action, overpowering her just enough to have her beneath him. Still, she was fast, and limber. It seemed like only a moment had passed when she’d locked her thighs around his neck and held his arm at a seemingly impossible angle. He gasped and coughed, feeling the blood pumping in his head.

“You haven’t really gotten your hands dirty like this before, have you Marquis?”

He felt around desperately, and found a saving grace sheathed in her boot.

“You’ve never had your heart race like this, feeling your life threatening to slip through your fingers.”

She twisted his arm further, and he snatched whatever he’d found out of her boot. Her laugh rung in his ears like a funeral bell.

“It’s unfortunate your first real fight turned out to be your last.”

He stabbed her in the upper thigh, and she growled lowly, her hold weakening. He moved in a flash, snatching the blade out of her leg and trying to force her onto the ground, but she began to shimmy backwards despite her injury. He grunted, grabbing at her until he’d finally pinned her down, when he saw her arm go out of his line of sight and something hard slammed into the side of his head. Despite his delirium he grabbed her arm as she hit him again, and forced it to the ground, getting frustrated grunt out of her as she struggled, but he had her.

He caught his breath, his muscles straining to keep her in place. Adrenaline was coursing through his body faster than blood as his sight cleared, and his eyes fixed onto her searing gaze. Slowly, he pressed the blade—a small one, to his surprise—against her neck, watching her swallow. Their eyes locked onto each other. Their blood rushed violently as their chests heaved. Vincent pressed his hand into her chest harder, keeping her firmly on the ground. Her eyes scanned his face with a curious glint.

“I’m not afraid to cut,” he said through puffs of labored breath.

She grinned. “I’m not afraid of cuts, rich boy.”

He dug in the blade, dragging it slowly through her skin. Her fists clenched but she gave no reaction this time. Her eyes only bored into his as the living room filled with warm sunlight. Crimson trickled from the cut, and he smeared it with his thumb as they fell still. He could feel her blood humming through her thundering pulse. Her skin was hot, alive. She watched him, then grabbed his arm, pulling him down with sheer strength. He tensed, preparing for an attack but she just held him by the lapel, a smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up slightly.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, “Has this become business, or pleasure, Vincent?”

His eyes seemed distant as his name left her lips. They drifted to her curved, full mouth, and then fixed onto her eyes. Wordlessly, he took his thumb from her neck and placed it against his tongue, watching for her reaction. She gave none. A challenge.

“Are you pleased?”

To his surprise, she giggled. Her body relaxed under his and Vincent’s head swam with confusing desires. What was this, now that he thought about it, what the hell had gotten into him to chase this girl for months? He looked at her face for answers, finding that same smile he’d seen the first time they’d met. What did it mean?

“Come here,” she encouraged, watching his eyes scan over her in a daze.

He looked at her. Her smile widened, and she beckoned him closer. But with what, he wondered, how could she command him so swiftly without words? Her eyes trailed down to his lips with what part him hoped was the same mysterious hunger that was bubbling up inside him. He leaned closer, breath fanning against her face.

“That’s right,” she said softly, reclining.

He leaned down over her, and for a moment there was stillness between them, a pull that seemed to magnetize them closer. Belladonna’s eyes widened a fraction as the feeling of it came over her, and she quickly head butted him with all the force she could muster. He groaned, clutching his head, leaving him completely vulnerable to her attacks. She managed to twist her way from beneath him, hopping to her feet and grabbing the knife that had lodged into the wall. She sniffed harshly, grabbing his hair and tilting his head up, pressing the point of the blade just below his chin. He stared up at her, eyes half blazing with unspoken fury, the rest uncertainty of what to expect next.

“You surprise me, Marquis.”

He tried to move but her grip tightened onto his scalp painfully. “Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. Unless you want me to drain your neck.”

With an even more furious stare, he relented. She grinned at his expression.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to put up such a good fight. The last one I dealt with wasn’t half as good a match as you. I’m impressed.”

A strange swell of pride bloomed in Vincent’s chest despite his indignation. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Dinner does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, struggled to swallow in her hold.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she remarked, “Maybe you’ll show me a good time, eh, chéri?”

She let him go, stepping back. Before he could respond, her knee collided with his head. The world went dark.

He came to in the afternoon with the sun beaming down on his face. The back door was wide open, leaving only the sound of birds and the breeze flowing through the golden-yellow grass. He popped his jaw and sat up with a groan. She was gone. If it weren’t for the blood and the dents in the wall he’d have thought it were nothing more than a dream. But he could smell gardenias, he could still taste her on his tongue. He could still feel her racing pulse beneath his thumb, hear her voice. He inhaled deeply, unsure what to think of the feeling passing through him. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he recalled something that caused him to smile.

She’d called it a date.

***

Paris, France. Two days later.

She was reclined on a park bench, eyes shut, taking in the sun while her black dress sparkled. He watched her a couple yards away, finding himself rather daunted. She’d told him over the phone he’d know where to find her, and it had taken barely twenty minutes for her to be tracked down. Despite their fight, she looked radiant. Completely unscathed. It was inhuman.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned as he answered. It was her. He glanced up curiously, seeing she had disappeared. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dragging our feet? I’m not a patient lady.”

His searched around for her, but she’d vanished into thin air.

“Go ahead, you can ask…how the hell did I do that?”

He listened to her soft chuckle through the phone with surprising pleasure.

“Come to me, and I won’t make you wait any longer.”

“Awe, listen to that. You’ve been so good at finding me, this shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You are impossible,” he sighed, turning to scan the park.

“Impossible? This just part of the fun.”

The call ended, and he stared at the phone with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked to the bench, noticing something fluttering and went over to examine it. It was a note. He unfolded it, reading sweeping cursive. It was in french, but he knew she’d written it.

Come and get me, chéri. I am a ghost with many faces.

Vincent smiled, eyes crinkling. He pulled out his phone, making a call that was quickly answered.

“Where is she now,” he questioned.

There was a pause. “Well…sir…”

“Mm?”

“It seems like she’s at a cafe.”

“Alright—“

“She’s also at the Notre Dame.”

He hesitated to answer, but kept his cool. “I…see.”

“And the Louvre.”

He moved the phone away, smiling to himself. “A ghost with many faces.”

“Go get her,” he instructed, “Each one.”

Belladonna’s game led him across the entire city. Well, his men, but still. They called him reporting of notes that read ‘warmer’, ‘colder’, or ‘come on, you can do better than that’. Each of her clones proved to be as slippery as the original, and it gave him a thrill and a more subtle concern. He was aware what she was telling him, their game aside. She was showcasing her manpower—how perfectly coordinated her operation was. She wasn’t just a mere assassin, she had built her own network. He’d suspected help, although not to this scale of control. It was clear to him, though, why she’s wouldn’t accept any price. Leaders can’t be bought. She’d left The Table and had somehow managed to build one of her own.

When the evening had rolled in, he simply relented trying to track her down. It was impossible, he’d accepted it. Standing outside the restaurant he’d reserved, he called her.

“Alright, you win. I give up. Where are you, I’ll send a car.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No need. Just come in.”

“Have you been inside this entire time?”

“God, no. How boring would that be?”

She hung up. He shook his head, going inside. “Mon dieu.”

When he’d entered, she was there waiting, smoking with her legs crossed. Her lips were crimson red like her nails and her hair was curled to a dazzling perfection. Still, as he approached from behind, he could see the bruises on her back and shoulders. He stopped next to her, brushing her hair away from her neck, revealing the bandage over his cut. She turned her head, met his eyes. They glittered as she looked over his face.

“You know, if a date was all you wanted, a whole lot more of your men would be alive right now,” she said.

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

He brushed the bandage with his finger, earning a stare from her. She was smiling at him.

“Why are you here?”

She looked away as if to think, then locked her gaze onto him. “Why are you?”

He smiled in return. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason.”

His fingertips brushed down her neck and over her shoulder as he moved to take the seat across from her. Her eyes followed him, smoke passing through her rouge mouth.

“Well, then.”

She leaned onto the table, eyeing him.

“Do we really need to have dinner, or should we just get out of here and get straight to it?”

A wicked grin spread across her mouth as she surveyed him. He cleared his throat, but smiled.

“I went through so much trouble to get you that dress, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll ruin it, will you?”

He pressed his stare onto her. “I’ll rip it right off of your body and devour you.”

Belladonna took in his words, absorbing his stare in her deep brown eyes. Her teeth bared in a wide, shimmering smile.

“Not if I eat you first.”

Her cigarette burned out as they were served the first course.

She ignored the food, her eyes fixed onto him. Something about being under her stare made him feel stiff in his bones. The closer he brought her, the more it felt like reaching into a fire. Her gaze was always so predatory. It gave him a thrill of familiarity, and the chill of it, too.

“Eat,” he told her, gesturing to her plate.

She glided her finger over her wine glass, then shook her head slowly, eyes daring him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He paused in annoyance, but couldn’t help how pleased the resistance made him feel. It was plain on her face, she was playing with him.

“Don’t be difficult, now. We’re just starting to get along.”

Her teeth gleamed again. “Or what?”

The response made him pause. He set down his fork, processing what the woman who’d nearly killed him two days ago had just said to him. He leaned towards her slightly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is that what you want, yeah? You want to be in trouble?”

A soft laugh made her shoulders bounce as she sat back. The toe of her heel nudged his leg underneath the table.

“That depends. What happens when I’m in trouble, Monsieur?”

“You don’t want to be in trouble with me, Bella.”

The warning only spurred her further. “Oh, but I love a little trouble.”

“All you American girls love trouble, don’t you?”

“It’s our middle name,” she teased, “So you’d better be as bad as you say.”

Her eyes flitted from her eyes to his face, zeroing in on his cheek. He was surprised by the warmth that seemed to emerge in her eyes as she leaned forward, tracing the cut in his cheek with her cigarette holder. A soft smile spread across her face. She almost seemed gentle.

“Such a pretty cut,” she muttered, “don’t you like it? A pretty cut for a pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

She chuckled softly at him, leaning further and caressing the slice with her thumb.

“Of course it’s pretty, chéri,” she murmured, “That’s why I made it mine.”

Wordlessly, Vincent took her hand. He could feel the slight callouses on her knuckles and the bases of her fingers that had been softened by manicures. He turned her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers and kissing her knuckles.

“Si tu me fais tienne, je te ferai tenir.” If you make me yours, I’ll make you mine.”

She turned her hand, brushing her fingertips against his lips, trailing a finger down to his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his tie, and she tugged it out of his vest, carefully pulling him over the table and leaning in for a kiss. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fell shut from the feeling of her lips against his. With a rotation of her hand she tightened her grip and pulled him closer. He kissed her deeper, tasting a hint of champagne in her mouth and feeling her shuddering breath against his when she broke the kiss for air. She took in his intense green eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“Alors fais-moi tienne, Vincent.” Then make me yours, Vincent.

“Ah, I thought you were not kept puppy,” he said, a grin threatening to form on his face.

She yanked him, raising a brow. “I am not.”

He gingerly held onto the table with a laugh. “Then what are you doing here?”

Belladonna loosened her hold, dropping the tie and considering him for a moment.

“You may not be able to make me your puppy, but you’re in danger of making me your woman.”

His eyes flashed, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“There would be many who would start ringing a funeral bell for you if they heard the news.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. Vincent took her chin in his hand.

“Is that the price to make you mine? My life?”

“It would certainly be one I’d consider.”

“Then it’s the one I’m offering.”

She laughed, looking away. He turned her face to make her hold his burning stare. For a moment, her eyes softened. She seemed to hesitate despite how far she’d escalated the entire situation. But, soon after, she closed her eyes and placed another kiss on his lips.

“Then I’ll tell you again,” she whispered, “Fais-moi tienne, chéri.”

He kissed her firmly, letting out a sigh. “Come with me, Bella—now.”

The minute he’d gotten her in the back of his limousine he tore the slit in her dress up to her torso and pinned her to the ground, undoing his tie and holding her wrists together firmly.

“You’re not getting away this time,” his voice rumbled lowly, “I won’t let you get away.”

He bound her wrists together tightly, watching her skin chafe against its luxurious material. Her breath was trembling. Her skin was already hot for him.

His cock was already hard against her inner thigh—the string of desire had been tugging at him the moment he’d read that note. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing her hips up against him and lifting her arms over her head to drape them over his neck and pull him down to her. Their lips crashed together while her hips ground against him, and a soft moan spilled from her mouth into his as her body started to wrap around him. He kissed harshly down her neck, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing it back down onto the floor.

“Stay still—stay fucking still.”

A laugh bubbled in her chest. “Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder to keep me still, baby.”

He quickly removed his jacket and grabbed his butterfly knife from his waistband. He grazed her leg with the cool blade, admiring the flames of desire that sparked in her eyes from the mere contact. Delicately, he dragged the point down her inner thigh, stopping to watch how her chest rose and fell erratically. He guided the blade lower and lower over her hips, grinning at how they slightly bucked.

“Ah, you want it?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she gently pulled him back up to her lips. She opened her mouth against his with a moan, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Just take me,” she whispered.

“Fuck, stop ordering me around,” he said, lips trembling against her collarbone as he laughed, “I might start to like it from you.”

“Then make me beg.”

He nicked the cut he’d made in her upper thigh, shuddering at the gasp she let out into his mouth. Without wasting even a millisecond he dragged his mouth down over her stomach—and ghosted over her cunt—to run his tongue along the weeping slice. He grabbed onto her as he made his way from the cut to between her legs. His lips brushed her clit and her body seemed to jump a little at the feeling. Vincent couldn’t control himself. He placed a kiss close to her aching core and relished in how her body seemed to quiver at the slightest touch.

“Look at you, so wet…”

He hesitated to leave her cunt alone, but planted a kiss on her hip and then sank his teeth into her, earning a yelp and a soft, lighter moan when he didn’t let up.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

He was close to getting what he wanted, he could tell.

“Yes, chérie?”

His fingers teased through the fabric of her lace underwear—she let out a soft mewl, making his eyes widen.

“You wear these lace panties for me, chérie? You were going to give it up to me that easy, like I already owned your little cunt?”

“Vincent…”

“Est-ce que c'est ça qui te fait mouiller, mon coeur, quand tu es en dessous de moi comme ci ? Quand tu sais que je peux faire ce que je veux de toi ?” Is that what makes you wet, my darling, when you’re beneath me like this? When you know I can do whatever I want to you?

She sounded almost anguished. “S’il te plaît, Vincent.”

“Ah, now I can get a please and a thank you? Is this why you’re so fucking disrespectful to me, Bella? You want to be punished like a filthy whore, then?”

“Oh,” she managed through weak laugh, “I’m definitely disrespectful because I’m a pompous bitch. Why do you think I’m the one that can’t be bought?”

“Mm, but you can be fucked, huh?”

She smiled widely, eyes falling shut.

“Only if they’re as pompous a bitch as me, monsieur.”

He moved away from her hip and went back to her cut, sucking on it hard enough to make a hickey. Her body arched at the sting of it and Vincent could feel her getting slick in her underwear.

“Beg,” he said, taking off the heels he’d bought for her, “Beg for me.”

The words left her mouth in a whisper. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

“Je ne t’entends pas, chérie.”

He closed his teeth around her waistband, pulling it taut and slicing the underwear open.

“C’mon, baby, please?”

“Don’t ask,” he instructed, “Beg.”

In his fervency he nearly pressed his mouth onto her as he tore the rest of the fabric off and laid eyes on her pussy. His teeth sank into his lower lip—this woman was going to be the death of him.

No. No. He had to take his time.

There was nothing guaranteed with La Belladonna, it was what they all said. He couldn’t waste the moment she was wide open and willing for him. He returned to her sweet lips, kissing her slowly, inhaling her scent. He kissed down her neck hungrily.

“Fuck, I need you,” she whispered, “Please, just fuck me. Please, please, Monsieur.”

“Mon dieu, you know exactly how to beg, too. How can one woman manage to push every single one of my buttons?”

“I’m not the only one with a type here, honey,” she said, smiling, “I get what I want, too.”

His hand snaked down to rub her clit—slowly, to take in her expression, her voice. She moaned, grabbing his hair, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

“Oh, god, Vincent. Please…please…”

His fingers slid inside her eagerly, curling and pulling back then thrusting deeper.

“Mm…Vincent…”

“Yes, baby, say it like that.”

His voice was soft against her ear. She melted into the floor of the limousine, her body easing against his hand, just they way he’d imagined it would.

“I knew you’d be a good girl, Bella, I just needed to give you a nudge—“

She gasped loudly at his fingers pumping harshly back inside of her.

“—In the right direction. Don’t you think?”

Her smile even shone in the feeble light the managed to get through the limousine’s tinted windows. She turned her head and kissed him. He returned it sloppily, his head pulsing with blood as his cock ached painfully. Her lips found his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue grazed his neck, making him shiver. She closed her teeth around his earlobe and tugged harshly. He moaned into her hair, shutting his eyes. He needed her. He couldn’t even keep his head on fucking straight enough to tease her. Months he had to wait—months of clinging onto remnants of her scent, her red-stained cigarette butts and rivers of blood that trailed behind her—months that drove him fucking mad.

“God, you fucking woman.”

He tore his belt open, undid his pants and pulled his dick out, wetting it with her slick. He rubbed the head against her pussy, breath shuddering, mouth drying; he wasn’t sure if he’d survive making love with her, feeling the way his heart thundered out of his chest.

“Take me,” she whispered, “fuck me, Vincent.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He slid inside her gently, but once he felt her, he couldn’t be gentle anymore. His hips drew back and crashed into hers, making her groan loudly and move her hands back over her head. His thrusts were harsh, intense, but his hands slid into her hair affectionately. He kissed her skin like it was the first thing he’d ever tasted, her sweat tasted like sugar to him.

“Fuck, you taste like vanilla.”

Her hands returned to him unbound, and they slid under his shirt. She held onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips as her breath caught with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hang on for him, to have this moment last as long as it could. His body felt perfect against his, his warmth, his scent, his taste. She’d only said words earlier—of course no one kept La Belladonna for long— but he seemed to be the man that just may have the ability—

“Put your hand on my neck,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His hand caressed her neck delicately. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes. Yes, he just might be the one.

“Harder, please,” she whimpered.

“Anything, mon cœur.”

“Faster.”

Her voice was barely leaving her throat. Vincent’s hips moved quickly as he felt her tightening around him. He moaned again, sure his voice managed to reach outside of the windows.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Bella, you’re going to kill me.”

Her nails dug into his back cruelly, pushing him even closer to the edge as the pain echoed throughout his entire back. He managed to reach down and rub her clit again, feeling how swollen it had gotten as her orgasm came closer.

“Come for me, Bella, come, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers working quickly.

She cried out, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his shoulders. She was just at the edge, her mind was spinning wildly. Her words were unintelligible to him, he’d never caught onto Italian very well.

“Oh, mio caro, sì, sì, ah, cazzo, sì—“

Her legs tightened around him as he slammed his hips against her, watching how her mouth fell open, listening to her gasping breath.

“Sì—sì come questo, tesoro, oh…oh! Non fermarti, per favore, oh per favore—ngh—cazzo!”

He groaned as her pussy clenched around him and she let out a cry, her nails digging so hard into his skin they might’ve been drawing blood. He snapped his hips into her one last time and came—loudly—as he felt for her breasts and grabbed onto them, tried and failed to stay upright, then lowered, his body pressed up against hers.

They laid for an eternity, trying to catch their breath, trying to wait for their heads to clear. Vincent managed to move first and kissed her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, feeling her pulse starting to slow down. She let out a heavy exhale, eyes opening.

“You are…”

She trailed off into silence for a moment.

“…Magnificent.”

Vincent chuckled, kissing her jaw softly, unable to speak just yet. She smiled.

“Ti terrò in giro per molto tempo, tesoro.”

“I don’t know Italian, Bella.”

She laughed. “I said I’m going to keep you around.”

They looked at each other, and he smiled.

“Oh, are you?”

“Oh yes, Monsieur…for a very long time.”

She lifted a finger, tapping his nose affectionately.

“You keep me, I keep you, Mademoiselle.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “That arrangement just might be acceptable.”

He smiled. “I’m glad we could finally settle on an agreement.”

Her laugh was weak, but her eyes shone with that sardonic humor that had charmed him so. He slowly pulled out of her, gently sitting her up.

“Come with me. I will take you home so you can rest. We’ll have dinner.”

#marquis de gramont #amaranthine_enihtnarama #my wriitng #ao3 writer #marquis de gramont x reader #fanfic authors #john wick fanfic #john wick fandom #Spotify

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skyfallslayer · 10 months

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Scorched Earth || Masterlist

-John Wick x Daughter!OFC-

Main Masterlist

❤️‍🔥 Summary: Legendary Assassin, John Wick, has retired from his violent career, and married the love of his life. From that love came a child, and then from that love came death. Now, a sadistic mobster, Losef Tarasov, and his thugs steal John’s prized car, kill his dog, and kidnap his daughter, Analiah. From there is the tipping point that draws John back into a vengeful killing machine. While all this is going on, Losef’s father, and John’s former colleague, puts a bounty on his head.

❤️‍🔥 Pairings: John Wick x Daughter!OFC

❤️‍🔥 Rating: Mature

❤️‍🔥 Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter

❤️‍🔥 Word Count: N/A

❤️‍🔥 Start Date: N/A

❤️‍🔥 End Date: N/A

❤️‍🔥 A/N: This story's been on the backburner for a while. Hopefully this turns out better than I expected, but will see. Enjoy my rewrite of all the John Wick movies :)

-INDEX-

✏️ Movie 1 -

✏️ Chapter 1: No Rhyme or Reason (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 2: One Way Ticket To Death (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 3: The Boogeyman (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 4: Hotel In The Shadows (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 5: Escape The Circle (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 6: An Eye For An Eye (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 7: Reunion (Coming Soon)

✏️ Chapter 8: Unfinished Business (Coming Soon)

🐶 Movie 2 -

⏱️Movie 3 -

🔪Movie 4 -

-Taglist is open-

@si1versamurai @scream-queen-25 @girlypopsiclcentral

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x y/n #john wick franchise #john wick 4 #john wick x reader #keanu reeves john wick #keanu reeves #john wick x daughter!reader #john wick x daughter!oc #Analiah Wick #john wick imagine #my fanfic writing #skyfall writes

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bluelolblue · 6 months

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Yup this is the man I'm gonna write getting fucked with a gun

Yeah, he definitely had a gun shoved up his ass at some point

#santino d’antonio #santino d'antonio #john wick #john wick x santino d'antonio #john wick/santino d'antonio #yeah :)#no one can stop me #listen guys santino is a kinky guy #ofc he's gonna do stuff like that

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chickensarentcheap · 1 year

Text

Lost and Found- Chapter Twenty

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (OFC. But you do not have to read the others in the series to understand this fic.)

Warnings: some profanity.

*Includes Extraction 2 canon mentions

Tagging: @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @theesirenteller @asirensrage @residentdormouse @ninjasawakenedmystar @ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon @occommunity @thebejeweledwatercat @kmc1989 @karimac @themaradwrites @alisbackalleybbq

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/127894162

My tag list is open!! Please just let me know if you'd like to be added :)

Chapter Summary: Tyler Rake, John Wick, and Alcott walk into a bar...

*****

They make quite the threesome in The Continental lounge. Wick with his American drawl, infamous slicked-back hair, and all-black attire, Alcott with his crisp English accent, neatly tailored pants, and cashmere sweater, and Tyler in his ‘casual best’. A simple black Henley shirt and well-worn and faded, olive green cargo pants he’s had for years; tattered around the cuffs and sporting holes in the side pockets.

Three entirely different yet somehow similar men; a combination of unique backgrounds yet familiar circumstances. Their lives filled with loss and heartbreak, and their hands drenched in the blood of many.

And their bank accounts much fuller because of it.

“Now explain this to me again,” Alcott implores from his middle seat at the bar, nursing the remains of his drink. “Like I’m a three-year-old. Because the information is just not getting through. You’re not telling her WHY?”

Sighing, Tyler takes a sip of water. “It’s not that we’re NEVER going to tell her. It’s just that we’re waiting.”

“Waiting for what? Hell to freeze over? Pigs to fly? Just what are you waiting for?”

“For the right time.”

“And just what constitutes the ‘right time’? The child’s existed for nearly five years. She’s been asking about her father for almost a full two of those. If you ask me, there’s no time like the present. She already admitted to loving you. What more do you need?”

“It doesn’t matter if she already loves me or not. Esme and I agreed; that we'd hold off on saying anything.”

“But why? If the little one is already this attached to you and you…by my brief albeit brilliant observation… are already attached to her…”

“She’s been through enough. I mean, it’s been a hell of a four days for US and we’re grown-ass adults. She’s not even five. A baby still.”

“Baby or not, she’s resilient as hell and stronger than either of you are giving her credit for. You don’t think it would be a welcome surprise? In the midst of all the bullshit? Don’t you think it wouldn’t give her something to smile about? To learn you’re her dad?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“It matters a hell of a lot. It’s your damn swimmers that helped make the child. You’ve got more of a say in this than you realize. Don’t be a pussy, Rake. I know you love the woman, but stand up for yourself. Tell her to shit or get off the pot.”

Smirking, Tyler sips at his water. “You saying something bad about Esme? Of all people?

“I’m not saying anything bad about her. I’m simply saying she’s being foolish. That this is all just a bunch of horseshit. There’s no reason to keep it from her. It’s not like it’s horrible news. For either of you.”

“You gonna say all that to Esme’s face? Tell her she’s making a mistake? Being foolish?”

“No. And you’re not going to tell her I said it, either. I’d prefer to keep my balls exactly where they are, thank you very much. And you…” He nudges Wick with his elbow. “...does any of this make sense to you?”

In response, Wick bobs his head from side to side, then shrugs his shoulders.

“What the hell is that…” Alcott mimics the gesture. “... supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t have a horse in this race. I’m just here to listen. To support. Not throw my two cents in.”

“How very diplomatic of you. I hope you’re not going to be like this when we get out onto the street. All passive and shit. I can barely carry my own weight most days, I don’t need to be carrying yours as well.”

“Job me and ‘real life me’ are two totally different people.”

“You must have an opinion. One way or another. Does it make sense to you, or is it just the stupidest damn thing you’ve ever heard of?”

“My opinion means nothing. I’m not taking sides in this. I’m not a father. I don’t have kids.”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters a lot. It means I don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling other people what to do with their children.”

“I don’t have any either…”

“That you know of,” Tyler mutters.

“...but I know when something is purely idiotic. And this is about as idiotic as it gets. Tell us. Come on. How do you feel about all this? What do you THINK about it?”

“I think…” Wick downs his bourbon and then waves the empty glass at the bartender. “...I need another drink.”

“You alright, mate? Do you need to talk about it? Whatever you’ve got going on? ‘Cause there’s a couch over there…” Alcott nods in the direction of the lounge. “...and you can lie on it and I’ll sit next to you and you can talk to me like I’m a therapist. Gonna cost you, though. One sixty-five an hour.”

“And would that be in US dollars or pounds?”

Sighing in exasperation, Alcott turns back to Tyler. “You realize this is a stupid idea, yeah? Keeping it from her? That little girl is smarter than any of you are giving her credit for. And she’s been wanting a dad in her life since she’s practically been old enough to talk. I know you think you’re protecting her, but…”

“That’s exactly what we’re trying to do. Protect her. She’s been through enough. More than any kid should have to go through. So we’re just giving her a little bit of a break and…”

“Hearing that you’re her father IS the break. That bit of good news in the midst of all the bullshit. Don’t you think it’ll lift her spirits? Especially after what happened this morning? That incident scared her to bits; she needs some kind of assurance that her entire world isn’t going straight to hell. That she’s safe and secure and no one else is going to hurt her.”

“And I can give her all of that. I can keep her safe. I can stop anyone from getting to her. She doesn’t need to know I’m her dad for all of that to happen.”

Wick speaks up. “If I may be so bold…”

“Oh, now you have something to say,” Alcott chides. “After you get a fourth one into ya. Need the booze to loosen your lips and tongue, do you mate?”

Tyler nods, signifying for him to go ahead.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say anything because I’m trying not to put myself right in the middle of your personal life. But…”

Tyler scowls. “Mate, you’ve been in it for years. Since you kept Esme’s whereabouts a secret. And then didn’t bother telling me about my kid. You have been knee-deep in my personal life for a while.”

“I did what was asked of me,” Wick defends himself. “Esme’s my friend. She needed my help. I gave it to her. And I wasn’t going to betray her confidence. For anyone. And I’m sorry; if that puts me on your shit list permanently. But I did what I had to do.”

“It wasn’t up to any of us to tell you where she was or that you had a kid,” Alcott adds. “None of that was ours to tell. She asked for our help, we gave it. It wasn’t anything personal against you. Although I still think she could have done a hell of a lot better than a two brain cell having, knuckle-dragging, nappy-headed bastard from Queensland.”

“I think it would do Millie a world of good to hear that you’re her dad,” Wick continues. “She needs something to hold onto, some kind of bright spot in all of this. She’s a little kid, and little kids need to know that everything is going to be okay. Hell, even us adults need to know that from time to time. She’s been asking about her dad for a while; who he is, where he is, why hasn’t she met him? And she doesn’t just get on her mom about it. She’s asked me. More than once.”

“She’s asked me several times,” Alcott admits. “She even once asked if I was her dad. I said to look at me and look at herself in the mirror. That alone should tell her I’m not the one that put the bun in her mother’s oven.”

“I just think that this is something that could undo some of the damage done this morning,” Wick says. “We all see how much she adores you. And vice versa. If she’s already head over heels and doesn’t know, imagine how she’ll be when she finds out. And I just can’t help but believe it’s better if you do it sooner than later.”

“Listen to him,” Alcott addresses Tyler. “That’s a man that knows what he’s talking about.”

“Ten minutes ago, you were worried he was going to get you killed out on the street. Now you’re kissing his ass?”

“We’re on the same page. Both of us feel it’s best for Millie if…”

“What do you either of you know what’s best for Millie? For MY daughter? She doesn’t belong to either of you.”

“Maybe not, but we’ve known her longer,” Alcott points out. “As much as I’m sure that hurts to hear.”

“Not my most favourite thing to think about, no.”

“The truth is, we’ve been in her life from the start,” Wick says. “When she was still inside her mother’s belly. Both of us have changed her diapers, fed her bottles, read her bedtime stories, tucked her in…”

“She’s puked on me more times than I care to remember,” Alcott adds. “And believe me, her mother will eventually get my cleaning bill.”

“Why would you think I want to hear this? You’re not making things any better, mate. I’m already pissed off enough. Bringing things like THAT up? Are you trying to get her ass handed to you or…”

“No one is trying to rub salt in the wound,” Alcott assures him. “But the fact of the matter is that we do know Millie better than you do. For now, anyway. I mean, I let her call me Uncle Duey, for fuck sake.”

Wick swigs his bourbon. “I’m Uncle John-John. Killer by night, Uncle John-John by day. My, how the mighty have fallen.”

“She’s a damn good kid,” Alcott continues. “Her mother has done an amazing job with her. And you should consider yourself lucky; you didn’t manage to knock up someone who would have gotten rid of your spawn the second they found out about it. This isn’t exactly the life we strive to bring kids into, is it? Give them dads who kill people for money?”

Tyler frowns; brow furrowed as he drums his fingertips against his glass. “That’s not all we do.”

“Aww mate…” Alcott chuckles and slaps a hand down onto his shoulder. “...don’t sugar coat it. Don’t romanticize it. That’s EXACTLY what we do. And one day, that little girl is going to grow up and she’s going to find out what her daddy really does for a living and…”

“What I DID for a living,” Tyler corrects him. “Past tense. By the time she’s old enough to understand it, I’ll have been out of the game for a few years.”

Alcott waves down the bartender. “The fact of the matter is that she WILL find out. Right now, you’re just the cool friend of her mother’s who can kick ass and take names. That’s how she sees it; you’re big and you’re strong and you’re here to keep her safe from the bad guys. But once she’s older…”

“I just think it’s better if she knows about you being about her dad before THAT happens,” Wick pipes up. “That’s my opinion. Take it with a grain of salt. But…”

“You must want her to know,” Alcott says. “That you’re her father. How could you NOT want her to know?”

“Of course I want her to know. You think I like this fucking game we’re playing with her? You think it doesn’t burn my ass every time she calls me by my first name? Or ‘this is my mum’s boyfriend. Do you really think it doesn’t bother me?”

“I think you’ve got a lot of anger stored up,” Wick says. “And I think the more you lie to Millie, the worse that anger is going to get and then you’re going to snap one day and say some shit you’ll regret. And then both her and her mother will be out of there.”

Grinning, Alcott nudges Wick with his elbow. “Now who’s the therapist?”

“I have my moments.”

Alcott addresses Tyler once more. “Isn’t five years enough? Wasn’t that enough time apart? Do you really want to let this shit fester and a year or two down the road, let it completely ruin things? For good?”

“That’s the last thing I want.”

“If Millie is anything like her mother…” The Brit tosses a wad of cash down on the bar when one of the tenders sets down a tray of shots. “...which we already know she is, she is going to be the type to hold one hell of a grudge when she’s older. So you can imagine what that’ll be like? If you keep up this bullshit? The more time that drags on, the more she’s going to resent both of you for not telling her the truth sooner. And the next thing you know, you gotta teenager who can’t stand being in the same room as you and would sooner spit in your face than look at you.”

Wick side-eyes him, then helps himself to a shot. “Are you SURE you don’t have kids?

“I don’t have kids. But I do have brothers and sisters. And I know how lies…even told with the best of intentions…can tear a family apart. Why would he want that to happen when he just got his family together?”

“HE is sitting right beside you,” Tyler reminds him. “HE can hear you.”

“Mate, in the long run, it’s your life. And from what I understand, that life has been quite shit the past few years. Now, you’ve managed to get her back; the woman that you love more than anything in this world. The person you’d gladly give up your own life for. Do you really want to hold onto this shit you’ve got bottled up and risk losing her? AGAIN?”

“It wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t the reason Esme left.”

“You were and you weren’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. We all know that. But she did leave BECAUSE of you. To protect you. And I’m not going to judge that decision and we’re not going to debate whether she was right or wrong. And I’m certainly not going to pretend I understand anything about the situation she was put in…”

“But…”

“Enough lies have been told. Enough secrets have been kept. I think it’s high time that all of that shit stops. For you, for her, for Millie. For all of you as a family. You’re that little girl’s father. Whether you’re ready to be it or not.”

“I was ready to be ‘it’ the second I saw her and knew she was mine.”

“Then do your first good thing as a dad, and don’t lie to her. No more than you already have. She’s smart and she’s resilient and doesn’t have a hateful bone in her body. Not yet. But the older she gets…”

“What we’re trying to say is that you’re going to just fuck things up more,” Wick says. “Or at least that’s what I’M trying to say. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about half the time.”

“I was ready to tell Millie the first day. That I was her dad. But it’s not my decision to make. It’s not…”

“Not alone, it isn’t,” Alcott downs his shot and the winces at the immediate burn. “But it’s half yours. Now I know it’s been a while since I’ve indulged in any extracurricular activities of the sort, but I’m pretty sure it takes two people to make a baby. Unless times and technology have changed since the last time I…”

Wick frowns. “Jesus, how long has it been?”

“Way too long, mate. Way too damn long.”

“But aren’t you…you know…with his ex-wife?”

“On and off. And without giving too much away and completely disrespecting her, I’m sure the big-headed, big-eared Australian and I can agree on the fact that she isn’t the most…what’s the word… affectionate…of people.”

“It’s like fucking a couch,” Tyler grumbles as he slides off his bar stool, then pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Three or four times every six months.”

Alcott smirks. “Now THAT’S not nice. It’s true, but it’s NOT nice. At all.”

Wick nods in the Australian’s direction. “Where are you going?”

Tyler tosses a handful of bills down onto the top of the bar. “I’m not going to name names, but unlike certain individuals, I have a woman to get back to.”

“That’s right,” Alcott scoffs. “Just rub it in, you prick.”

“I’ll be rubbing it in while you’re rubbing it out.”

“You know, it’s moments like these where I don’t like you very much. Are you the one still holding a grudge? Because I drank all your milk?”

“You’re just damn lucky I hit that coffee cup. ‘Cause the meds had me pretty shaky that day. Be glad you still have your hand. Is that your favourite one? The one gets the most use?”

“I really do hate you sometimes, you know that, yeah?”

“You’d miss me, though. If I wasn’t around anymore.”

“In your wildest and wettest.”

“Last thing I want to do is sit around here, watching you two get shit-faced. Not when I’ve got a warm body waiting for me.”

“I don’t know what she sees in you. You’re certainly not the best catch on the planet. Not even close to it. She can definitely do better.”

“It’s okay to be jealous, mate.” He clamps both hands down on Alcott’s shoulders.. “ Especially when you’re not even on her short OR long list.”

“Now that’s just rude. Those are just fighting words. Give her a kiss, would ya? From both of us.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Wick grumbles. “I prefer all my limbs attached to my body.”

“Get your beauty sleep, Australian,” Alcott calls to him as he heads through the room. “Good knows you need about ten years of it to look good even in your mother’s eyes.”

Tyler smirks. “That’s okay. Your mother thinks I’m perfect just the way I am.”

“You fucking asshole. You regular fucking muppet. I oughta come over there and rearrange your ugly face.”

Chuckling, Tyler steps out of the bar. “I’d like to see you try.”

******

He’s rougher than he needs to be. Using his considerable size and strength difference to punish her; able to convincingly hide the hurt, anger and bitterness under layers of voracious want and need. And she willingly takes everything he dishes out; her body eagerly responding to the tight grip around her throat, the yanking of her hair, and the brutally hard thrusts that have her crying out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

It had always been her favourite; that tiny body able to withstand enormous amounts of torment in the name of sexual gratification. Something he’d both discovered and marvelled at five years ago; amazed at not only the things she allowed him to do but so openly -and boldly- requested of him. And it remains all this time later, despite their absence from each other’s lives; the awe and the adoration and that powerful, all-consuming mixture of lust and love that nothing -or no one- else could ever come close to measuring up to.

The self-loathing makes a quick appearance; feeling the utmost disgust in himself as he lays in bed beside her. Listening to her soft rhythmic breathing as she sleeps soundly; her back presented to him, yet her head resting in the crook of his elbow, those long, dark tresses fanned out across his arm and the sheets below. He hates himself; for both manhandling her and continuing to harbour such resentment. And while it will be ever strong enough to undo the love and the adoration and pure, unadulterated worship that he’s carried for years, it is enough to slightly tarnish them. To make him feel sick to his stomach and despise himself for ever thinking such negative and hateful ways towards her.

Sighing heavily, he drapes a forearm across his brow and takes in slow, deep breaths; a somewhat successful attempt to chase away the ugliness that festers inside his brain. His own body bearing the effects of just how rough and unhinged things had been between them just two short hours before; deep and painful fingernail trails that crisscross his back and his ribs, bite marks that decorate his collarbone, shoulders, and even the inside of his thighs, a tingling scalp where having his hair twisted and yanked. Incredibly enjoyable at the time; her enthusiasm and her ability to ‘dish it out’ encouraging his intensity even more. But now he feels like shit; the conversations in the bar replaying in his head and his anger -towards both her and the situation that had seen her make the decisions she had- simmering just below the surface.

He’s teetering on the edge of sleep when he feels her stir; the slight shifting of the mattress under her tiny body, the absence of the weight of her head upon his arm as she changes positions. Rolling over under her side and sliding closer to him; a hand coming to rest on his stomach as she nuzzles his ear with the tip of her before pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“Why are you awake?”

He lays a palm on the back of her head; fingertips pushing through her hair to lightly and affectionately knead at her scalp. “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

“I had the weirdest yet mostly satisfying dream. About taking you and Millie to Colorado to meet the fam. My mom picked us up at the airport, called you Crocodile Dundee and insulted your haircut.”

“That’s oddly specific. What happened next?”

“You gave her very detailed instructions on how to fuck off and stay fucked off. I didn’t get right to the end, but I like to think you wrapped things up by slapping the shit out of her.”

“I don’t hit women.”

“Never? Ever? You’ve never hit a woman?”

“What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

“I don’t mean in your personal life. I know you’re not the type. I mean on the job. You’ve never had to resort to it?”

“Just once.”

“Was she a mark or…?”

“Another merc. Working FOR the mark. We got into it. Blood was shed. Only one of us walked away.”

“Well, I obviously don’t need to ask WHO.”

“Yaz got his ass handed to him by one. In Vienna. She absolutely wrecked him. And he’s tough; for such a small guy. But believe me; he couldn’t walk or piss right for a month afterwards.”

“You like to keep up with your friends’ urinating habits, do you?”

“Anyone ever tell you? That you’re a smart ass?”

“You used to tell me ALL the time. Makes me happy to hear it again; means we're getting back to the basics. The good ol’ days. And as for your future monster in law…”

He arches a brow.

“You wouldn��t even backhand her in dreamland? The Wicked Witch of the Midwest? The one who said you kidnapped her only girl and…I quote…’kept her captive in your den of blood and danger and kinky sex’?”

“I mean, she WAS right. About the sex thing.”

“She also called you Ty.”

“Now THAT’S a fighting word. Because of that? I suppose I could make an exception. Knock her out.”

“And here I was, thinking the selling point would be the decades spent making my life a living hell. I thought for sure you’d want to defend my honour. Seriously though…” She lightly runs her fingernails across his stomach. “....why ARE you awake?”

“It’s two thirty in the morning. Why are YOU so chatty?”

“It’s a gift. Answer my question.”

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Even back in Dhaka. And especially when we were living together. Come to think of it, I’m starting to see a pattern. The one thing all these places have in common.”

“Maybe it’s better you don’t sleep. Because I might kill you. Smother you with your pillow.”

Chuckling, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her tightly into his side. Lips meeting her brow before resting his chin on the top of her head. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“When it comes to the job?”

“Are we even calling it that anymore?”

“I mean, you WERE hired. You did show up. And you ARE doing what I employed you for.”

“But? I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

“Well, there’s nothing really ‘normal’ about it. And Millie and I are definitely not ‘normal’ customers.”

“Everything about this is as far from normal as you can get. It’s personal. Way too close to home. I’m never THIS attached to who I’m looking out for.”

“You looked out for Mia’s sister and her kids. That’s pretty personal.”

“She was my ex-sister-in-law. And it was a job out of pure fucking guilt. Because I felt I owed it to Mia. After everything I had done to hurt her, I figured it was the least I could do.”

“What if you’d died doing it? Was giving up your life the ‘least’ of it, or…”

“At that time? Without you around? I didn’t give a fuck if I was alive or dead. So it wouldn’t have mattered much.”

“It would have mattered to me; if Nik or Yaz or even Alcott got a hold of me and said something happened to you. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that. The fact that I never got to say I was sorry or tell you that I still loved you or to bring Millie to you. So for what it’s worth, I’m glad that never happened. Because I may not have been in the picture, but I would have missed you for the rest of my life.”

Emotion chokes at him, and he places a hand on her hip and gives a tight, affectionate squeeze.

“I was going to come and see you. In Austria. At the prison.”

“Alcott told you I was there?”

Esme nods.

“Why didn’t you show up?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I guess I was scared. About how you’d react. It had been almost three years since I’d just disappeared. And you would have had every right to be pissed off enough to have me thrown out of there.”

“I was never THAT pissed off.”

“I also didn’t want it to happen there; the first time we saw each other again. Not exactly the ideal place for a reunion. I don’t think you would have wanted to find out about Millie while you were locked up. Me showing up would have been enough of a shock, never mind THAT.”

“It would have been a hell of a surprise. But I wouldn’t have been pissed off. I would have been relieved more than anything; to see that you were okay and to know that you even gave a shit what was going on with me.”

“I never stopped ‘giving a shit’ about you, Tyler. I worried about you all the time; practically every second of every day. But had I shown up there…”

“You could have been convinced to be a repeat visitor. I could have talked my way into conjugal visits.”

“I probably would have gone along with it. I bet you looked hot in that orange jumpsuit.”

“There is something seriously wrong with you.”

He remains quiet for several minutes, knuckles repeatedly grazing up and down and her spine, her nose pressed against the side of his neck.

“I wrote to you,” she confesses. “Every week for about a year.”

He frowns. “I never got anything.”

“I never sent any of the letters. I just sat down and poured my heart out and then got cold feet about mailing them. So I just put them in a box and tucked them away. They’re actually still in the back of my closet.”

“You kept them all this time?”

“Everything I wish I’d said and everything I should have done differently is in those letters. Even every apology I wish I’d made. There was always unfinished business. An open chapter. And if I got rid of the letters, it meant I was also getting rid of you. And I know I left, and it seemed like I didn’t want you anymore, but I wasn’t ready for it…for US…to be done. I don’t think I ever would have been.”

“Come here,” he beckons and wraps her in both of his arms; enjoying the scent that clings to skin and hair and the warmth that radiates from her naked body.

God, he’d missed it. He’d missed HER. The touch of her hands and the taste of her kiss. The sound of her voice and her laugh. And that smile that’s reserved solely for him; curving her lips and further softening her features and causing her eyes to sparkle and dance. And for several minutes, they lay in silence; the tension and the sadness eased by the familiar weight of her head upon his chest as a large, callused palm continuously strokes her hair.

“Maybe one day you’ll let me read them. You might have chickened out sending them when you wrote them, but…”

“Whenever you’re ready to see them, they’ll be there. And I think it might be good for both of us; if you look at them. Kinda like shutting the door on that part of our lives. Permanently.”

“I don’t think I’m ready right now. I don’t think I’m quite there yet.”

“Take your time. They’re not going anywhere. There’s no rush. I know there’s a lot going on right now; I’ve dumped enough on you in the past four days to last a lifetime. And I never intended to. I never…”

“You haven’t ‘dumped’ anything on me. Using that word makes it something there’s been nothing good. And believe me, Millie is worth more than any of the bad shit. I’d take a bullet to the neck a thousand times over if it meant she’d exist.”

“I just wish things had been different. When it comes to how I handled things. I had the best of intentions. I REALLY did. I panicked; I knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against The High Table, and I had to protect you. If anything had happened to you…”

“I can wrap my head around THAT. What I can’t get past is afterwards. When things went back to normal and they weren’t a threat anymore. That’s what I’m having a hard time getting past.”

“I already explained. I already…”

“I don’t want to be angry.”

“At me?”

He nods.

“You have every right to be, Tyler. I did a horrible thing to you. More than one, actually. And I can justify leaving; I feel I did the right thing when it came to protecting you. But staying under the radar for years and not telling you about Millie…”

“It’s the entire situation I want to be angry at. That I NEED to be angry at. If The High Table never showed up, everything else wouldn’t have happened. You didn’t know they were going to come for you. You thought you were in the free and clear and done with them. And when they came looking for you, you weren’t given much of a choice. It’s them I should be pissed with. Not you.”

“But…”

Firmly gripping the back of her head, he presses a kiss to her temple and then begins to uncoil her from his embrace; hating the absence of contact when he sits up against and leans against the headboard. One leg bent at the knee, he sighs heavily and rakes a hand through his hair and then runs both palms over his weary face.

“Do you think we can actually TALK about this? Without hurting feelings?”

Gathering the quilt around her naked body, Esme sits up as well. “I think feelings are already hurt, don’t you?”

“Without hurting them even more, then? Because I don’t want to fight, Esme. That’s the last thing I want. There’s enough bullshit going on without adding that to the list.”

“I don’t want that either. And I don’t want to fight about this, especially. But if talking is what you want to do…”

“Like rational, reasonable adults.”

She nods in agreement.

“First thing’s first. I need to ask you something. And you gotta promise me it won’t piss you off.”

“How bad is what you’re going to ask that you need a promise like that?”

“It’s not that it’s bad. It’s just…I don’t know…you might think I’m stupid for even thinking about it, let alone asking.”

“And you accuse me of being that one that talks in riddles? What…?”

“Did you and Alcott have something going?”

She can’t help but laugh. “What?”

“Did you ever have anything going with him? Relationship wise?”

“No. No. Omg, no. Never.”

“I mean, a relationship of ANY kind. Maybe you never boyfriend and girlfriend thing, but…”

“There’s no ‘but’. There has NEVER been anything between us other than friendship.”

“Did he ever want there to be?”

“Not that he’s ever told me. Or acted on. Colleagues and buddies, that’s it.”

“What about you? Anything YOU wanted? Or acted on? Or…”

“Tyler, men and women ARE capable of being just friends.”

“You and I weren’t.”

“You and I are in an entirely different league. We always have been. From pretty much the second we met. You never denied it; feeling ‘something’ right away.”

“Lust. It’s called lust. You know how there’s ‘love at first sight’? Well, that was lust at first sight.”

“Yeah, there was a lot of lust. But it was more than that and you know it.”

“Did you feel anything like that for him or…?”

“I have never felt anything for Russell. Other than platonic love. And maybe wanting to smack the shit out of him from time to time.”

Tyler smirks. “Russell. That’s kinda personal, don’t you think?”

“It’s his first name. What else am I supposed to call him?”

“Everyone calls him Alcott. EVERYONE.”

“Probably because they don’t know his actual name IS Russell. I like to call people by their first names. Especially my friends. You’ve always been a little uptight about these kinds of things; you’ve always hated the idea of anyone else being in my life. You don’t even like the fact I was married before we met.”

“What I hate is WHO you were married to. And the shit he did. That’s what I hate.”

“Admit it, you can’t handle the thought of me with anyone else. I bet you stressed about it constantly during the last five years.”

“No.”

She stares at him pointedly.

“Sometimes.”

“I have a history. I have exes. So do you. You were married before me. You don’t see me obsessing over it. I mean, I don’t particularly like the idea of hearing about your slutty bachelor days, but I realize back then you had commitment issues. You’re a red-blooded male with needs and…”

“And you’re a red-blooded female. With needs.”

“Needs I was more than happy to tend to on my own. You’re the type that prefers having a participant with those things. Me…”

“I am more than capable of handling things on my own. Figuratively AND literally…”

“...I don’t need sex. I have gone YEARS without it. I’m capable of surviving without it.”

“That makes me feel great. Thanks for that.”

“If it’s already not glaringly obvious, I enjoy sex with you. I love having it with you. I could have sex with you all day, every day. For the rest of my life. But the fact is, I never gave a shit about it until YOU. It wasn’t a necessity. I’d never been with someone who could get the job done, know what I mean? I always relied on myself for getting there.”

“You have dated some real fucking winners, haven’t you.”

“I may not need sex, but I WANT sex. And I want it with you. Only you. No one else. And seeing as we haven’t seen each other in five years…”

“What about Alessio? You slept with him. You were going to marry the guy.”

“This isn’t about Alessio. Who was a job.”

“I’ve never had a job that required me to fuck someone.”

“I was his fiancee. I was playing a part. If I didn’t do THAT? He would have known something was up. And maybe it was drastic; going to those extremes. But I did. I allowed myself to feel beautiful. And wanted.”

“I wanted you.”

“And I fucked that up. I know that. But other than him? And this playing pretend? There’s never been anyone else. I haven’t wanted to be with anyone but you. And I tried. Not the sex thing, but the dating and the relationship stuff. I met people. Men, women. I went out a few times. And you know what? Every time they tried to take things further? All I did was compare them to you.”

Tyler blinks at her honesty.

“I have never wanted anyone else. I’m not afraid to admit that. And there’s never been a damn thing between Russell and I. He kept me updated on things you were doing; he contacted me about Georgia and Mia and her sister and all of that. And told me about you going to prison. Other than Millie, he was the strongest connection I had to you.”

“And Nik. And Yaz. All these people that knew you were okay.”

“All people I swore to secrecy and hated every second of it. They didn’t want to lie to you. I especially didn’t want to. And I don’t get your hang-up with Russell and me. You don’t ever question my friendship with Yaz.”

“That’s because he’s Yaz. He may have a huge hard-on for you…”

“He has a hard-on for me? What? He told you that?”

“...but I know you wouldn’t give him the time of day. Not like that. I know you see him like a little brother. But Alcott..”

“It’s because Alcott’s like you, right? He reminds you of yourself. And because I lusted you immediately and fell in love with you so quickly, it must mean it happened with him too.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know why it bothers me. How close the two of you are.”

“All I can do is tell you the truth. And reassure you. As many times as you need it. There has never been anything between us. On either of our parts. Nothing has even come remotely close to crossing a line. I know I hurt you and I betrayed you and you don’t exactly trust me right now…”

“I trust you. With my life. With my daughter’s life.” ‘ “...but I wouldn’t lie about this. I don’t see him in that way. I don’t see anyone in that way. It’s just you, Tyler. That I’ve wanted. It’s always been you. It will always be ONLY you.”

“You’d tell me, yeah? If there’d been anyone else? During the last five years? OTHER than that dick head, Alessio.”

“You were honest with me; about sowing your wild oats all over Australia and many parts of Europe. Why would I not tell you the truth? There hasn’t been anyone else. And there especially hasn’t been anything with Alcott. And there never will be.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words.

“On a side note, he’s banging your ex-wife, you know.”

“I don’t care what he’s doing to my ex. She’s my ex for a reason. She stopped being any of my concern a long time ago.”

“You were concerned enough to help her. To take the job. Put your life on the line to get her sister and her kids the hell out of Georgia.”

“It was a job. I was being paid.”

“Maybe. But there’s a history there. You were married to the woman. You had a child with her. I know the kind of guilt and regret you carry around. You can’t tell me those didn’t play a part.”

“How did we go from talking about us to talking about her? How…?”

“You want to talk. So let’s talk. Let’s get it all out there. Say the things we need to say. You’re not the only one who’s been holding onto some shit.”

“And now who’s worried about someone else’s history?”

“I don’t care about your history. I care about YOU. And when I heard about that job…”

“You left. I wasn’t the one who took off. You were. So I stopped being of any concern to you. Second you walk out that door…”

“No. It never stopped. I never stopped worrying about you. I didn’t leave because of something you did. Or didn’t do. I never took off because I didn’t love you. I took off because I did.”

“You know how you always say ‘opposites attract’? When it comes to us? Maybe most of the time, that’s true. But it’s not with this. You left, Esme. You left ME. Just like I left my boy. So we have THAT in common, don’t we.”

“I never blamed you for leaving your son. I said it was a stupid thing to do. I still think it was. But I also told you I understood why you did it. I sympathized with you. I still do. It was a horrible, horrible thing to go through; seeing your child sick and wasting away. And you’d never been taught coping skills and you had all that toxic masculinity and you…”

“Why did you leave?”

“I told you. I left to protect you”

“We could have found a way. To fight back. So tell me, why didn’t you stay?”

“I was scared and I was worried and I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I…”

“Esme…” His voice becomes more forceful. Demanding. “Why didn’t you stay?”

“Because I fucked up. Because I brought them to you. And I didn’t know what else to do. So I left. Because I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Silence descends on the room. An eerily still quiet that remains until she sniffles loudly; wiping at errant tears with the back of her hand.

“I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t fucking fix it”

“Why do you think I left my boy?”

“It’s not the same thing. It’s not…”

“It is. It IS the same thing. We left for the same reasons. And what happened because of it? We took off. And we hurt the only person that ever really gave a fuck about us.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know how to get away from them. I didn’t want them coming back. Not when you were there. I didn’t want them hurting you. Or worse.”

“We would have had time. To get the fuck out of there. We could have found a place to hide out. We could have flown under the radar and let Nik and John and even Alcott deal with The High Table. You didn’t have to leave.”

“I didn’t think of that. I was scared. You were still healing from Dhaka. And even if you’d been a hundred percent, you’re not invincible. You wouldn’t have beaten them, Tyler. Not on your own. Not even with a small army. They would have found us. No matter where we were hiding.”

“Don’t underestimate Nik. She would have put us far underground. No one would have been able to track us.”

“I didn’t even consider it. It didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Like you said; you were scared and you were worried. Kinda hard to think right under those circumstances. But Nik? She has no excuse for not coming up with a solution like that.”

“I’m sorry, Tyler. That I didn’t think of those. That I didn’t stay. I wanted to. I wanted to be with you. I never wanted to leave.”

Reaching out, calloused fingertips push strands of hair off her forehead and tuck others behind her ears. “I know you didn’t.”

“We both fucked up. In the past. Only my fuck up lasted five years. And I not only hurt you, but I hurt Millie, too.”

“You didn’t hurt her. Not in the slightest.”

“I kept her away from her dad. For selfish fucking reasons. All because I was worried about rejection. Because I was scared you’d turn me away. That you’d turn US away.”

“I wouldn’t have. I’ve spent the last five years wondering where you were. HOW you were. Wanting you.”

“I’m a horrible person.”

“No. You’re not. You’re a good person who made a bad decision.”

“I remember saying those exact words to you. In Dhaka.”

“And you didn’t hurt Millie. Look how amazing she is. She’s healthy and happy and she’s so fucking smart, Me. And she’s beautiful and she’s perfect and she’s everything that’s great inside both of us all into one. You didn’t hurt her. And you definitely didn’t fail her. You’ve done an awesome job with her. And I’m lucky. Of all the people that are the mother to my kid, it’s you. Because a lot of other women never would have gone through with having her.”

“There was no way I was giving her up. Not while I was pregnant and definitely not after. And I needed to hear that from you. That I haven’t fucked her up. That I’ve done good with her. And BY her.”

“You’ve done more than good, believe me.”

“I am so sorry. That I screwed up so badly. That I left instead of trying to fix things. I really did do it because I didn’t think I had another choice. Because I was scared and worried and wanted to keep you safe.”

“I can accept that. I HAVE accepted it. But when everything was gone and you still stayed away? That’s what I’m having a hard time with. That I just can’t get past. And I want to; get past it.”

“Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what I need to say. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to make this better. To make it right.”

“There’s nothing you can say. Or do. You’ve already done it all. It’s just me. It’s me needing time to process and accept it and move on from it.”

“So what does that mean for us? You don’t want there to be an us? Until you’ve done all that?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. At all. Of course, I want there to be an us. Did you not ask me to marry you?”

“Not in so many words, but…”

“And did I not say okay?”

She nods.

“I want you. I want US. I want to raise our daughter together. I want to get married and have more kids. I mean, if that’s what you want. More.”

She manages a weak, shaly smile. “A couple more wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m actually looking forward to; finding out we’re having another one and seeing you pregnant. That’s one of the things I AM pissed about; that I didn’t get to see you like that. All cute and round, and the baby…MY baby…just growing and thriving in there.”

“I carried HUGE with Milile. People were always asking if there was more than one because of just how huge I was. I told them, ‘This is what happens when you procreate with a giant.’”

“I hope you know I’m going to be one of those insanely protective dads-to-be.”

“More protective than you already are with me? Is that even possible?”

“Don’t challenge me, Esme. You’d be surprised how far I can go with it. And I’ll deal with my shit; all the issues I’ve got going on because of what happened. But I’ll do it WHILE we’re together. I’m not worried about that; it causing problems between us or with our family. I just thought you needed to know that I AM still struggling with all of this; you staying away and keeping Millie from me. And I don’t know how long I’ll actually fight with it, but I will get over it. Eventually.”

“And you’ll still love me? Even when things seem extra hard?”

“I love you no matter what. I never stopped. Not once in those five years. I’ve always loved you. I always will.”

As he leans in to peck his lips, her fingers aggressively push through his hair. A long, trembling sigh escaping her when the hand on the nape of her neck tightens its grip; holding her firmly against him as he prolongs and deepens the kiss. Long, sinuous movements of lips and tongue, accompanied by naked limbs that glide and rub against each other as they once more sprawl out across the bed. And when air becomes a necessity, he pulls away and braces himself on both arms above her; a smile curving her lips as she reaches up to trace the line of his jaw.

“Can I ask YOU something now?”

“As long it’s not about my ex-wife, what happened between you and me five years ago, or what’s going to happen in less thirty-six hours.”

“It’s not about any of those things.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“Is it true? That Yaz has a hard-on for me?”

Chuckling, Tyler leans down and nips at the side of her neck. “You’re a brat.”

“Did he actually tell you that? That he’s packing a woody for me?”

“I can’t give away all his secrets. I’ve said enough.”

“Did you threaten to rip from limb to limb if he even tried anything?”

“No.” He presses a series of warm, soft kisses across her collarbone, his beard scraping the pale, delicate skin. “I told him YOU would.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fanfic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fan fic #Extraction fan fiction #Extraction/John Wick cross over #Tyler Rake x OFC #Chris Hemsworth #Rake Lives #Esme Drummond #Esme Rake

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