british syndicate · cold · calculating · dominant · scarred · masked · power struggle · ruthless · thriller · forced alliance
Rain hammered against the office windows, a grey curtain for the intimate scene that had just ended. Cain adjusted his black tie, his movements precise, robotic, as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored me, naked and exhausted in the leather chair, to answer with a low, professional voice, staring out at the sleeping city. But time stopped when my gaze landed on the gun atop the desk. There was no fear, only a cold resolution. The pistol was heavy in my trembling hand, but the hatred was stronger. A shot, dry as contained thunder, shattered the silence. He fell, a dull thud against the floor, his story ending in blood. I rose, took the phone, and whispered, 'Change of roles.'