Shadows in the Dark

The bar was dimly lit, filled with low murmurs and the scent of cheap whiskey. It was the kind of place where men with secrets drank in silence.

Damien didn't walk straight in. He wasn't reckless.

Instead, he leaned against the sleek black car parked across the street, watching from a distance. His suit, perfectly tailored, made him stand out. But his presence alone was enough to warn people not to approach him.

Inside, Jonas Creed sat at the far end of the room, a beer in one hand, his other gripping his phone like it held the answers to his life.

Damien studied him.

Jonas was restless. His knee bounced. He checked the door every few seconds. He was waiting for someone.

Good.

Damien pulled out his phone and sent a message to Sam.

> DAMIEN: Target's in position. Keep the back exit covered. No interruptions.

Within seconds, his phone buzzed.

> SAM: Got it. Are you sure you don't wanna just break his fingers and be done with it?

Damien smirked.

> DAMIEN: Not yet. I want to know who he's scared of.

Because Jonas was scared.

Damien could see it in his body language, the slight twitch of his fingers, the way he downed his drink too quickly.

Jonas wasn't the mastermind. He was a pawn.

And Damien never wasted time on pawns.

Fifteen minutes later, another man entered the bar.

Damien's eyes locked onto him immediately.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. A scar down his left jaw. He wasn't just some low-level thug, he carried himself like someone used to giving orders.

He slid into the seat across from Jonas.

Damien's instincts sharpened.

This was the man he needed.

Jonas leaned in, speaking in hushed tones. Damien couldn't hear, but he didn't need to. His eyes were trained on body language, the silent exchange of power.

Jonas was pleading.

The scarred man didn't look impressed. He sipped his drink, then shook his head.

Jonas looked panicked.

Then, the scarred man dropped something onto the table.

A photo.

Damien's heartbeat slowed.

Jessica.

His grip on his whiskey glass tightened. Why did Jonas have a photo of Jessica?

Jonas shook his head rapidly as if refusing something. The scarred man leaned forward, saying something sharp.

Jonas hesitated, then nodded.

Damien had seen enough.

He pushed out of the car and strode across the street, his movements calculated. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just enough to make his presence known.

Inside the bar, Jonas looked up and froze.

Damien had that effect on people.

The scarred man turned, his expression darkening.

Damien smiled coldly. "Don't stop on my account."

Jonas visibly paled. The scarred man's gaze turned calculating.

Damien slid into the seat beside Jonas, draping an arm over the back of the booth as if he belonged there.

"Did I interrupt something?" Damien's voice was smooth, but his presence was anything but friendly.

Jonas swallowed hard.

The scarred man leaned back, unimpressed. "And who the hell are you?"

Damien tilted his head slightly.

Ah. So he didn't know.

Even better.

He let a slow, deliberate smile form on his lips. "Someone who doesn't like when people touch what's mine."

Jonas stiffened.

The scarred man frowned. "The hell are you talking about?"

Damien's fingers drummed against the table. Then, without warning, he reached forward, picked up the photo of Jessica, and studied it.

A heartbeat passed.

Then he looked up, his gaze turning deadly.

"You tell me."

The tension at the table thickened.

Jonas looked ready to faint.

The scarred man leaned forward, his voice lowering. "You're making a mistake, friend."

Damien's lips barely moved. "I don't make mistakes."

Silence.

Then, the scarred man smirked. "I don't know who you are, but you should walk away from this."

Damien leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper.

"You think I don't know what I'm doing?" He slid the photo of Jessica back across the table. "You think I don't know who paid you?"

The scarred man stilled.

Damien let the silence stretch. Then, with deliberate calmness, he pulled something from his pocket, a black card.

He placed it on the table.

"Take it," he said softly. "You'll want to remember my name."

The scarred man didn't move.

Damien's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Because if anything happens to her, if she so much as stubs her toe, I'll make sure no one remembers yours."

Jonas visibly trembled.

The scarred man's smirk faltered.

Damien pushed back his chair, slow and controlled. He gave them both one last look.

Then he turned and walked out, his heartbeat steady.

He wasn't worried.

He had delivered his message.

And if they were smart?

They would listen.

By the time Damien returned to his penthouse, the city was alive with its usual chaos. He loosened his tie and poured himself a drink, but his mind wasn't on business.

It was on her.

Jessica had no idea someone had targeted her.

She had no idea that just hours ago, her photo had been sitting in a bar, passed between men who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Damien downed his drink.

He had protected many assets before. But Jessica wasn't an asset.

She was a complication.

One he should be staying far away from.

His phone buzzed.

> SAM: What's next?

Damien stared at the screen.

Then he typed.

> DAMIEN: Find out who ordered the job. Discreetly.

> SAM: You sure? If they think she's important to you, they'll keep coming.

Damien's jaw tightened.

> DAMIEN: I know. That's why we finish this before they get the chance.