Death's Breath

Jack chuckled awkwardly and raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, everyone."

The waitress walked off resuming her duties.

Soon the restaurant had begun to quiet down as the night stretched on. The once-busy tables were now mostly empty, save for a few lingering guests nursing their drinks. The soft hum of ambient jazz played in the background, blending seamlessly with the faint clinking of cutlery against porcelain.

Jack leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering towards the kitchen doors. Just as promised, the waitress had returned, this time out of uniform, dressed in a simple yet elegant black evening dress.

"Didn't think you'd actually wait," she teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

Jack smirked. "What can I say, I'm a man of my word." He raised the empty glass slightly in a mock toast. "Besides, after today's chaos, I could use some decent company."

She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, here I am. What else apart from dinner?"

Jack studied her for a moment, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "You tell me. You've been serving me drinks and watching me make bets all night. What's your take on me?"

She tilted her head, pretending to give it serious thought. "Reckless, mildly arrogant, definitely hiding something… but not boring."

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Not boring, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."

They talked, the conversation flowing with surprising ease. She told him about her long shifts, the strange customers she had to deal with, and her dream of opening a bakery someday. Jack, in turn, shared just enough about himself—his failed job hunt, his recent streak of bad luck, and his general disdain for the district's elite.

Minutes rolled by, and before either of them realized, the restaurant was preparing to close.

Jack leaned back, stretching slightly. "Well, looks like they're kicking us out soon." He turned to her with a small smirk. "By the way, I never really got your name."

She arched a brow. "You never asked."

Jack chuckled. "True. So, what should I call you?"

She hesitated for a moment before finally answering. "Arielle."

"Arielle," Jack repeated. "Has a nice ring to it."

Arielle rolled her eyes playfully. "And you are?"

"Jack." He responded.

"Just Jack?", Arielle replied raising her brows.

"For now," he said with a smile.

Arielle shook her head but smiled. As she stood up, Jack did the same, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Listen, I had a good time," he admitted. "Wouldn't mind doing this again. Maybe without the whole 'betting' thing next time."

Arielle laughed softly. "I'll think about it."

Jack took out his watch, tapping a few buttons before glancing back at her. "Here, put in your contact info. Just in case I need a bakery recommendation… or, you know, a reason to show up here again."

She smirked but took his watch, entering her contacts before handing it back. "Don't make me regret that, Jack."

He grinned. "No promises."

As they stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around them. A taxi pulled up just as Jack turned to her. "Mind if I book one for you?"

Arielle shook her head, smiling. "Don't worry, Mr. Big Shot, I got this one." Tapping his shoulders lightly, she opened the door and slipped inside, pausing just long enough to add, "See you around."

Jack stood there for a moment, watching the taillights fade into the distance. Then, glancing at the screen.

Contact saved: Arielle.

For the first time in a while, the night hadn't been a complete disaster.

"Requesting taxi… Estimated arrival: 2 minutes."

Soon an approaching vehicle slowed to a stop, Jack exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk. He stepped inside, the city lights casting dim reflections across the glass as the cab pulled away.

Minutes later, the car pulled up in front of Jack's apartment complex. He stepped out, stretching slightly before making his way toward the entrance.

"I should really start looking into moving out," he muttered, rubbing his neck as he reached for the doorknob.

Jack opened the door and stepped inside, stripping off his clothes as he headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weight of the night.

As he stepped out, a flicker of light caught his eye—a metallic glint just beyond the bathroom doorway.

"Shit, duck—now!" The voice wasn't his own. It was rough. Russian. Urgent. And it echoed in his mind.

Before he could think, his body moved, rolling to the side. A bullet ripped through the air, slamming into the wall where he'd just been standing.

His pulse thundered in his ears. That was too damn close for comfort. "What the hell was that?" Jack muttered, clenching his fist, his breath ragged.

"Tch. Too slow," the voice in his head drawled, thick with a Russian accent. "Hesitate, and you die. Move. Now. Before they take a second shot."

Jack's heart hammered in his chest. "Who... the hell are you?"

"Boris, Boris Karpov." A dark chuckle followed. "Now move. I won't say it again." Jack swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he staggered to his feet.

"Zero awareness," Boris muttered, his tone razor-sharp. "Keep your head down. Stay out of window sight—unless you want a bullet in your skull."

Jack exhaled sharply, forcing his muscles to move. He dropped into a low crouch, glancing at the door, heart hammering as his mind raced.

Who the hell just tried to kill him?

No time for that. Focus.

Boris spoke again, his tone sure. "Exit's no good. If they had a sniper, they'll have ground men waiting."

Jack's eyes turned to the window. "Don't." Boris snapped. "You're not that guy."

Jack gritted his teeth, scanning the room. The emergency fire escape was on the far wall, past his bed. Too exposed. But—the vents.

"Clever," Boris mused, as if reading his thoughts. "Get going."

Jack didn't waste time. He stepped on a slight protrusion on his wardrobe lifting himself onto it, his head slightly under the vent, stretching his hands and yanking off the cover. The metal groaned in protest, but it gave way.

A heavy thud sounded from the hallway. Footsteps. Multiple.

"Move," Boris ordered. "Now."

Jack swung himself inside just as the door burst open.

Through the narrow slits of the vent, he caught a glimpse of two masked figures stepping inside, guns raised.

One of them touched his ears whispering, "Targets escaped, but he shouldn't be that far." Boris scoffed. "Told you."

Jack started crawling, every muscle tensed. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on—but one thing was clear.

Someone wanted him dead.