Helping Jeanny [1]

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The pub is as crowded as always. I push through the throng of bodies, making my way toward Andy. As usual, he's chosen a more isolated corner, where it's quieter and dimly lit.

I set my bottle on the table before lowering myself into the chair beside him.

"Everything's good?" he asks, sipping his cocktail.

I nod, reaching into my leather jacket and pulling out a white envelope. I slide it across the table. Andy picks it up quickly, opening it under the table. His eyebrows rise as he flips through the contents.

"Why is there more than usual? Do I get a raise?" he jokes.

I chuckle. "Nah... just a bonus for some extra work. Helping me teach that bastard a lesson."

Andy snorts. "I'm more than happy to do that for free. That racist bastard deserved it."

I raise my bottle, waiting for Andy to clink his glass against it. A silent agreement.

We both know we're talking about Ferguson's bodyguard—who, by now, is probably being interrogated for his own boss's murder. I don't usually frame people for my crimes. But once in a while, some assholes make me break my own rules.

"Thanks for the bonus," Andy finally says, tucking the envelope into his shirt. "I'm heading to Paris next week for fashion week."

I glance at him. "They invited you?"

He chuckles. "Who do you think I am? I wish."

I laugh, but my amusement fades when I catch something out of the corner of my eye—a silhouette slipping through the crowd. Something about them seems... familiar. But I can't be sure.

"Excuse me for a minute," I say, pushing back my chair.

Andy barely reacts as I leave the table and weave my way toward the back of the pub, following the figure.

I step outside through the pub's back door just as a woman's scream pierces the night.

"Let go of me!!"

Laughter follows—mocking, taunting.

In the dimly lit alley, I see a woman pinned against the wall, surrounded by four men. Their hands are grabbing at her, trapping her. She thrashes against them, but they hold on tighter.

I let out a lazy sigh.

"Hey... hey, guys," I call out, deliberately indifferent. "Why don't you let her go?"

As expected, all four heads snap toward me.

"Who the hell are you?" one sneers.

"Mind your own business!" another barks.

"What do you care?" the third growls.

I smile goofily, playing dumb. "Come on... if you don't have money to pay for sluts, I'll treat you."

That gets their attention. Their grip on her loosens as they shift toward me, two of them pulling knives from their pockets.

"This guy wants to die," one mutters.

"Let's teach him a les—ARRGH!!"

He doesn't finish.

In a blink, I twist his wrist, forcing his knife downward, while I kick his friend with a double roundhouse.

His body flies backward, colliding with another man.

The second guy lunges at me, aiming his knife at my stomach.

Before the blade even touches my jacket, I slam my foot into his gut. He staggers.

I duck, dodging a punch, then swing the first guy's body into the last attacker, knocking them both over.

The two I kicked struggle back to their feet. Before they can fully regain their balance, I punch one in the eye and smash my elbow into the other's jaw.

The fourth man groans, trying to rise—only to be whacked across the head by the woman's bag.

I blink. Well, that was unexpected.

She glares at the downed man before slinging her bag over her shoulder like nothing happened.

"Nice move," I comment.

"Are you alright?"

She smirks. "Sure." She shrugs off the concern, then kicks one of the men for good measure.

"You didn't have to help me. I could've handled them," she adds, smug.

Then, without another word, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving me standing there—stunned.

A loud noise from the apartment above mine yanks me awake.

"What the fuck?!" I groan.

I roll onto my side, closing my eyes again. But then—another crash, followed by a muffled scream.

Then—a heavy thud. Like something being thrown.

I frown.

There should be a regulation against arguing after midnight, I think bitterly.

But then I hear it.

Rushing footsteps.

They start above me... then move toward the front door of my apartment.

Something's wrong.

I sit up, rubbing my face, debating whether I should ignore it. But less than a minute later, I hear desperate knocking on a neighbor's door.

"Help… help… please, help!"

A woman's voice. Panicked.

But I already know—that apartment is empty.

There are only two renters on this floor. Me and a guy who works night shifts.

Which means... I'm the only one who can help her.

I grab my gun from the coffee table and stand.

With my gun held close to my chest, I step beside my door, waiting.

The knocking moves to my door.

"Help… please let me in, please…"

I pull the door open—gun raised.

She freezes.

My heart stops.

Her.

"YOU!!"

We both exclaim.