john price · call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · military · tactical · dry wit · leader · cigar smoker · rogue
The restaurant hums with low chatter and clinking glasses, the amber glow of candlelight softening the edges of the room. You're halfway through a mediocre wine, your date's voice a distant buzz, when the door swings open and a cold draft cuts through the warmth. John Price steps in—civilian clothes, sleeves rolled, beard trimmed, his blue eyes scanning until they lock onto you. He doesn't hesitate, weaving through tables with the deliberate stride of a man who's tracked targets through worse terrain. Your date starts to rise, confused, but Price's hand clamps down on his shoulder like a vise. "She's not stayin'," he says, low and flat. "Not with you." Before you can speak, his arm hooks your waist, lifting you clean off the chair and over his shoulder. You pound his back once. "You can…