"Holy shit!"
The couple on the bed froze, their startled gasps filling the air as they scrambled to clutch the duvet, shielding their exposed bodies. In the split second before the covers hid them, Jason’s sharp eyes caught every detail—the woman’s porcelain skin, her curvaceous figure, lips so full they practically begged to be kissed. It was Annie, Wesley’s wife, her beauty undeniable even in her panic. But the man beside her? No glasses, no scholarly air. Instead, a rugged figure with brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a black mamba tattoo coiling up his muscular arm. Definitely not James Wesley.
Jason’s mind buzzed, a chaotic whirl of disbelief and dark amusement. ’What the actual fuck?’ He stood in the doorway, Glock in hand, the suppressor’s cold metal glinting in the soft bedroom light. The scene had shifted from a clandestine interrogation to a full-blown affair bust, and the absurdity of it left him momentarily speechless.
"Jason! It’s you!" Annie’s voice trembled as she clutched the duvet tighter, her wide eyes locking onto him, a mix of fear and recognition.
He didn’t respond, his emotions a tangled mess—part irritation, part grim satisfaction. Sneaking into a villa to eavesdrop on secrets was one thing, but stumbling into a live infidelity drama? ’This is too damn much,’ he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching. The air was thick with the scent of lavender candles and sweat, the room’s warmth a stark contrast to the cold night outside.
Annie tried again, her voice desperate. "Jason, you’ve got it wrong. He’s—"
"Save it," Jason cut her off, his tone flat. There was no explaining this. They were tangled in bed, naked as the day they were born. Any half-blind fool could see what was going on. Adults didn’t need diagrams for this shit.
He exhaled heavily, his gaze hardening. "Let’s see what Wesley thinks about this. We’ve been brothers-in-arms for years. Can’t let some asshole put a green hat on him while he’s clueless."
"Jason, you can’t!" Annie’s voice cracked as she crawled to the edge of the bed, still clutching the duvet, her knees sinking into the mattress. "I love Wesley. I don’t want to lose him. I swear, this is the last time. Please, keep this between us."
"Shut it, you lying bitch," Jason snapped, his patience fraying. "You don’t give a damn about him. You’re just clinging to the house, the status, the cushy life."
Her words churned his stomach, a sickening echo of the hypocrisy he’d seen too often in this world. Annie’s face flushed, her eyes brimming with tears, but she pressed on. "Fine, no more talk. Let’s make a deal. Let me go, and I’ll give you money—lots of it."
Jason’s Glock swung up, the suppressor aimed at her forehead. "That’s Wesley’s money, not yours. Call him. Now."
"No way," Annie said, her voice defiant despite the tears, her head shaking stubbornly. "If you want to kill me, pull the trigger."
"Fine, I’ll do it myself." Jason reached for his burner phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.
In that moment, the man on the bed moved, his hand slipping under the pillow, fingers closing around a hidden M1911. Jason’s enhanced senses caught the subtle shift, his reflexes kicking in.
Bang!
A 10mm round from his Glock tore through the man’s hand, blood spraying across the white duvet, staining it crimson. The man screamed, clutching the mangled limb, pain twisting his face.
[Ding! Injured fitness coach. Gained 50 Villain Points. Current progress: 515/3000.]
Bang!
Jason fired again, the bullet punching into the mattress inches from the man’s head. The scream cut off, replaced by terrified silence. "Shh," Jason said, his voice ice-cold. "I’m on the phone."
Annie’s glare was venomous, her eyes blazing as if she could burn him alive. Jason ignored her, dialing Wesley’s number. The line connected after a few rings.
"Hello?" Wesley’s voice was cautious, clipped.
"Hey, it’s me," Jason said, a grin creeping into his tone.
"Who?"
"Come on, you don’t recognize my voice anymore?"
"Shit! Jason!" Wesley’s shock was palpable, even through the phone.
"Heh, got it in one. Guess where I’m calling from."
Silence.
"Bullseye again. You’re still at the office, right? Get your ass home in fifteen minutes. I’ve got a gift for you." Jason hung up, turning to the pair on the bed. "Sit tight. Wesley’s on his way."
"Jason!" Annie’s hands loosened, the duvet slipping to reveal her bare skin. She stepped off the bed, her movements slow, deliberate, her eyes locked on his. "Let me go, and I’ll be yours. I’ll take care of you."
She flashed a seductive smile, swaying her hips, her body a calculated weapon. "That first time we met, you wanted me, didn’t you? You thought you hid it, but I saw it in your eyes."
Jason’s expression didn’t flicker as he pressed the Glock’s suppressor against her forehead. "You’re mistaken."
"Are you sure? ’Jason, the wife-stealer’—that’s what they call you in the underworld, right? Or is that a misunderstanding too?" Annie’s smile was sly, her tongue darting out to brush the suppressor’s barrel, a bold, provocative move.
Jason’s finger twitched, but he pulled it off the trigger, resisting the urge to end her right there. Annie’s eyes gleamed, sensing a crack. "Picture it: a man breaks into my room, tries to assault me. You show up, hero of the night, and shoot his hand. You save me."
Jason laughed, a cold, sharp sound, as he reset his finger on the trigger.
Click.
The faint sound made Annie flinch, stumbling back. "Here’s why they call me that," He said, his voice low, dangerous. "It’s not about wanting someone else’s woman. It’s about taking what’s theirs because it tastes better when it’s stolen. I came from nothing, Annie. Everything I have—money, power, respect—I took from someone else."
Annie tilted her head, her long hair falling over one shoulder. "I’m Wesley’s wife. Don’t you want to take me?"
"That’s where you’re wrong," Jason said, his eyes narrowing. "I’m a predator, not a scavenger. I don’t touch garbage."
"FUCK YOU!" Annie’s face twisted with rage, her composure shattering as she stormed back to the bed, yanking the duvet over herself.
Jason smirked. "Don’t cover up on my account. I don’t eat trash, but I don’t mind a look." He leaned against the doorframe, casual but alert. "And don’t be so glum. Wesley’s a softie. Maybe he’ll forgive you."
Annie’s response was a middle finger, her face dark with fury.
---
Seven or eight minutes later, the low rumble of an engine cut through the night. Jason moved to the bedroom window, peering through the blinds. A black Audi screeched to a stop on the lawn, its tires digging into the grass. Wesley stepped out, his tailored black suit pristine despite the late hour. He glanced at the shattered rooftop camera, his face tightening, and unlocked the front door with a trembling hand.
"Jason, I came alone. Didn’t tell the gang. Please, don’t hurt Annie," Wesley called, his voice echoing up the stairs.
"You wouldn’t dare," Jason replied, his tone calm but edged. "Come on up."
Wesley ascended slowly, hands raised, his polished shoes clicking on the hardwood. Jason leaned against the wall outside the bedroom, Glock lowered but ready, a disarming smile on his face. Wesley opened his mouth to speak, then froze, his eyes landing on Annie, tear-streaked and clutching the duvet.
The air grew heavy, Wesley’s breath hitching, his veins bulging as rage consumed him. "Jason, you son of a bitch! What the hell did you do?" He roared, his voice cracking with betrayal, the weight of Jason’s underworld reputation crashing down on him.
Jason raised his hands, the picture of innocence. "Whoa, easy, Wesley. I didn’t do shit. You need to talk to the guy in there. He’s the one who did everything."
"Guy?" Wesley’s voice trembled as he stepped forward, peering into the bedroom. His eyes widened, taking in the stranger’s bloodied form, the reality hitting like a sledgehammer. His world, so carefully constructed, shattered in an instant.