"That's the place," said Dark, nodding at the photos on Host's phone.

    Host had left only an hour ago to scope out Celine's supposed base—Actor Mark's old manor—and once they had the location confirmed, Host, Dark, and Wilford sat around the desk in the study room.

    Wilford leaned back in his seat and kicked his feet up on the desk. "Did you find any sign of them?" he said, gazing at Host through half-lidded eyes.

    Host shook his head. "None," he said. "It looks like it hasn't been touched in years."

    "It's a smart place to have a base," said Dark, his suit shifting as he crossed his legs. Wilford's gaze burned into his skin, and he tried to keep his eyes on Host. "One look at the place, and you're convinced there's no one there."

    Host nodded, and he and Dark glanced at Wilford; the mafia boss kept his eyes on Dark's, giving him a very obvious onceover.  Heat built between them at an alarming rate, and Host spoke, giving Dark something to focus on other than the fact Wilford kept eyeing him like that.

    Thrills raced over his skin.

    "Now that we know where Celine's base is," said Host, "what do you plan to do next?"

    Wilford hummed, and his gaze drifted onto Host's.

    "As much as I'd like to burn it down to the ground and get it over with," he said, "we'll have to go with a more careful approach." He sighed, closing his eyes. "You never know... if I fail to kill that woman, she'll make it a whole spectacle to pick at my reputation again."

    "She doesn't have Freddie Lounds anymore," reasoned Host.

    "That won't stop her," said Wilford.

    Host quieted, and he ghosted a hand over the pocket in his trench coat, mulling over a thought. He carefully glanced up, copper eye glinting.

    "Unless we make a few of our own lies..." trailed Host.

    Dark rose a brow, and Wilford made a motion with his hand for the eyepatched man to continue.

    "You gave me Freddie's phone," said Host. "As far as I know, her death hasn't been reported, so if we still have access to all of her accounts..."

    Wilford ran a hand over his moustache in thought. "We could pose as her..." he said under his breath.

    Host nodded, and Wilford's eyes glimmered with satisfaction. "If you're sure everything's clear, go ahead with the idea," said Wilford. "You'd be in charge of her identity."

    Dark pulled his gaze from Host and glanced at Wilford. "You'd be playing fire with fire," he said. "I may not know Celine, but she's done enough to bring us both into this mess." He rose a brow at the mafia boss. "What if this is just her getting started?"

    "You never know with that woman," said Wilford, waving a hand. "Hell, she could have a goddamn sniper around this place for all I know."

    "Don't say that," chided Host.

    Wilford dramatically shrugged. "I'm just saying..."

    Dark's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, gazing down at it. The screen lit up with endless notifications—messages and missed calls from Mark (on the night he'd been 'kidnapped'); fellow CEOs sending their concerns; and most recently, a flood of bank statements.

    Dark took a deep breath and huffed, running a hand over his mouth as he opened up the notification. A screen full of numbers pulled up, displaying the current status of his business. Nearly everything was plummeting.

    Damn it, he thought, closing his eyes and sighing. He had to find a way out of this mess before his empire ran itself to the ground.

    "What's wrong?" slurred Wilford, shifting upright in his seat.

    Dark waved a dismissive hand. "Since I'm not in the office anymore, I..." He stopped himself, then huffed, eyes flicking up onto Wil's. The mafia boss held his gaze. "Look, Wil." He shifted in his seat.

"I have a business to run," he said. "The longer I stay 'kidnapped,' the worse my situation gets." He motioned to his phone. "I understand our situation, but if this isn't dealt with soon, I have nothing."

    Wilford smirked. "I was wondering where the businessman in you went," joked the mafia boss. Dark sent him a glare, and Wilford rose his hands in mock defense. "Trust me, Mr. Edwards," he said. "Once I kill Celine, this will be all over."

    "Or," said Dark, "you could let me get back to my work."

    Host quietly watched the conversation unfold, crossing his legs.

Wilford rose a brow at the businessman. "You know that's too dangerous," he said.

"I don't have any other use to you here," said Dark, putting his phone away. "Every time you go out, you expect me to just sit here." He gave a sour smile. "Let's just say that's hard to do when your business is up in flames all around you."

Wilford considered the businessman a moment, then glanced at Host. He made a shooing motion.

    "Give us a moment, will you?" he muttered.

    Host's eye glittered with amusement, but he nodded, standing wordlessly and leaving the room. Once his footsteps faded, Wilford pulled his chair closer to Dark and leaned forward, gazing at him.

    "What are you asking me right now, Dark?" said Wilford.

    "You know what I'm asking you."

    "And I already said it's too dangerous."

    Dark nodded, and he glanced away a moment, mulling over an idea. Wilford's gaze burned into him the whole time, waiting for a response. The heat in the room returned, coiling between them the way it always did when they were alone together.

    Dark lifted his gaze and glanced back at Wilford, meeting his eyes.

    "This all started because of Fifth Street," said Dark, leaning back in his seat. He set his hands over his crossed legs and tilted his head. "Have your new Freddie Lounds tell the world I gave up the property."

    Wilford narrowed his eyes, and he leaned against the desk. "What are you getting at?"

    Dark softly smiled and tipped his head, a look that had Wilford's collar go hot.

    "That's what you wanted before Celine came into the picture, right? That property," said Dark. "It's not the building itself but the fact that I, allegedly, stole it from your territory lines."

    Wilford chuckled under his breath. "That's the last of my worries now," he said.

    "Still, the place is empty," said Dark. "I'd set up a few offices before the party. Functioning offices." He held Wilford's gaze. "Let me do my work there."

    Wilford hummed, and he ran his eyes over Dark's figure, considering him. After a moment, he rose from his chair and circled behind Dark's seat, heels clicking on the floor.

    "Alright," he said. He slid his hands over Dark's shoulders and leaned over, catching the man's gaze from the corner of his eye. He could hear Dark's breath catch from this close, and satisfaction simmered in his chest.

    "But first," said Wilford, pressing his thumbs into Dark's shoulders, "I need to teach you how to defend yourself."

    Dark kept his legs crossed, his face flaring with heat when Wilford shifted to his side, face so close to his. He could feel the heat of his body, his breath, his hand as it rested on Dark's knee. Shudders ran up his spine, and Wilford smiled, gazing at Dark through his lashes.

    "We don't have any idea what Celine is planning," breathed Wil, resisting the urge to run his hand up Dark's thigh, "so let's call it a night."

    Dark's gaze flicked up onto Wilford's, lashes fluttering, and the look had the mafia boss swooning. He bit his lip and flexed his fingers over the businessman's knee, gaze burning through him. Dark's face went noticeably red at the gesture, and Wilford couldn't get enough of it; daydreamed of how red it'd get when they—

    Wil snapped out of his thoughts and carefully pulled away, leaving Dark wanting.

    "Let's get some rest tonight," said Wil, smirking. He lingered a moment, ran his eyes down Dark's figure, and added quietly, "My door's open."

    It was a clear invitation, and Dark swallowed as the mafia boss exited the room and left him there to deal with the heat alone.

———

Later that night, Dark got ready for bed, donning himself in a loose black button up and slacks. He hadn't had enough time to get proper pijamas, so he sufficed with what he had.

    As he turned off the lights, sleep on his shoulders, his mind drifted onto the thought of Wil. He found himself glancing at the closed door, tempted to get out and walk to Wil's room.

    "My door's open," rang his words in his head.

    Heat coiled under Dark's skin, and he turned away from the door and slid under the covers. As tempting as it was to find himself alone in a room with Wilford—truly alone, without the possibility of a distraction—he decided against it. Even if they were to just have a conversation, Dark couldn't trust himself to keep anything from happening.

    He swallowed at the more enticing thoughts rising in the back of his head—how he felt when he and Wilford had slow-danced the night of the party; the heat, the energy, the feel of their bodies pressed close, and how he wanted more of that.

    Dark sucked in a deep breath, and he laid down, willing the thoughts away.

    As much as he enjoyed the thought of holding Wilford close, he had to remind himself of the consequences to the high. People were too unreliable. If he got too close, he'd get hurt.

    His chest tightened, and he sighed, closing his eyes as his head settled into the pillow.

    Just like with Mark, it was better to keep people at a distance than too close.

———

Blank glanced down at his black watch, the glassy surface glinting under the moonlight.

    He stood a few blocks away from Wilford Warfstache's mansion, counting down the minutes to midnight. A group of fifteen women, clothed in stealth black, waited behind him, quiet, tense, at the ready.

    Tick... tick... tick...

    Blank glanced over his shoulder, meeting eyes with three women in front of the others. Keda, blue-haired; Sonya, silver-haired; Ora, with an orange-streak. Celine had assigned them as leaders of the other women, with orders to split into three groups.

No matter how this ambush went, they would infest the place at all angles like flies.

Blank pulled his gun out of his holster and clicked off the safety, glancing at the three leaders expectantly. They understood the memo and brought out their own guns, turning towards the other women to relay the silent message.

Blank glanced down at his watch, and it struck midnight.

Now.

Blank made a 'let's go' gesture, and he walked along the stone hedges, keeping his body close. The golden gate to Wilford's mansion glinted up ahead, and through the bars, he caught a body of black. A guard.

Blank's eyes flicked down to the guard's waist, catching a glimpse of gold.

Keys.

Blank held up a hand, and soft steps stilled behind him. He snuck in front of the gate, slipped a knife out of his holster, and lingered in the shadows, watching, waiting.

The guard looked around with glazed eyes, hands in his pockets. Then, just as Blank predicted, the guard leaned against the gate and yawned.

Now.

Blank jumped up and shot his hands through the bars. Pulled the man's face back. Knife across his neck.

Blood arched in the air, and Blank kept a hand over the man's mouth, his breaths calm, calculated. The guard thrashed and struggled, hands clawing at Blank's arms, and with a final, lurching jerk, the man slumped in Blank's hold and sagged to the floor in a pool of blood.

Blank breathed in through his nose and carefully knelt down, reaching through the bars and plucking the keys from the guard's dead body. He stood, unlocked the gates, and pushed them open.

When he glanced to the side and met the womens' eyes, they sprung into action.

    Now.

———

Wilford tipped his head into a half-opened door, knocking on the wood.

    "Settling well?" he asked softly, eyes landing on Deja Dumont's figure.

    The woman jumped, and she whirled around, a hand over her chest. She huffed when she saw it was just the mafia boss—if that was any consolation, anyway.

    "It's just you..." she huffed, managing a smile. "I'm doing alright, thank you." She ran her hands down the pajamas a female guard had lended her. "You know, when you brought me here, I'd expected you to torture me."

    Wilford's gaze slackened. "That's because you haven't given me a reason to," he said.

    Deja's brows rose at the statement, and Wilford smiled, patting the doorframe.

    "Goodnight, Deja," he said, turning away from the door.

    Deja swallowed, replying with a feeble 'night.'

———

The three leaders split up into their groups—one in the front, the side, the back.

    Keda, the front leader, snapped a guard's neck, and they crumpled to the floor, dead. She swiped their keys, slipped it into the front doors, and with a careful breath, she pushed them open.

    Not a creak.

    Darkness stretched on in the halls, and with a nod to her group, they filed inside.

    From afar, Blank watched as the women disappeared inside, standing guard by the gate. He lifted a finger to his ear, clicking his earpiece, and said softly, "We're in."

    Celine didn't have to respond for him to know she was listening.

———

Wilford slipped into a loose v-neck and pants, and as he settled into bed, he slid a hand under his pillow, hand over the cold metal of his revolver.

    His fingers flexed over the weapon at the sound of a door, a pair of footsteps, but once they faded, he brushed it aside, closing his eyes with a sigh. As darkness graced his vision, and the warmth of sleep met him, he thought of Dark.

———

Keda crouched by a closed door, signaling for the group to spread out among the other doors. They met eyes, waited, waited, and Keda nodded.

    Now.

    Every woman cracked open the doors and slipped inside, weapons at the ready. The only restrictions: keep Dark and Wilford alive.

    Keda circled around a large bed, eyes pinned on a single man, and grabbed a pillow. She stood over the man's sleeping figure, let quiet wash through her, and adjusted the pistol in her grip.

    In a swift motion, she crammed the pillow over the man's face, shoved her gun in it, and pulled the trigger.

    Quiet.

———

Sonya, the second leader, led her women through the garage, their footsteps quiet, muffled.

    They crouched alongside the cars, eyes sharp, guns pointed, legs sprung.

A door creaked up ahead, and a man walked into the garage, a phone at his ear.

Sonya rose a hand. The women stopped, the collective thunk of their boots scuffling through the enclosure.

"Yeah, yeah, miss you too..." the man was saying with a smile.

    Sonya narrowed her eyes, and she carefully continued forward, the other women following after her. Moments later, and they were all near the door, eyes sharp on the man blocking it.

    "How about tomorrow?" the man chuckled, rocking on his feet.

    Sonya ducked behind the last car, crouching closer to the man, bringing her gun up, and stopped at the very edge of the car.

    The man caught her eye.

    He dropped his phone, and he whipped out his gun.

    Sonya tackled him, and when they hit the ground, a gunshot exploded with noise.

———

Wilford shot out of bed, swinging his gun around.

    He sucked in a deep breath, and he ran a hand over his face, lowering his gun. Another nightmare? he thought, feeling damp with sweat.

    He was just about to go back to bed when another gunshot rang out. Louder. Closer.

    Wilford jumped out of bed and tore open his door, glancing down both sides of the hall.

    Another gunshot. Shouting.

    Wilford's heart picked up in his chest, and he checked his ammo before racing towards the noise.

———

Ora, the third leader, whipped around the corner.

    She caught sight of Wilford running down the hall.

    "There," she hissed, chasing after him.

    The other women followed.

———

When another gunshot exploded, the mansion woke with chaos.

    Lights burst on, guards flooded the halls. Guns pointed. Breaths fast.

    Wilford skidded into another hall, and his guards rushed towards him, making sure he was alright.

    "What's going on?" they were saying. "What's happening?"

    Host burst from another hallway and panted, his eyepatch hanging around his neck.

    "It's an ambush," he said, gun at his side. "I can't tell how many, but it's a lot. They've killed five already."

    Wilford cursed under his breath, and he grabbed the nearest guard by the arm.

    "Get everyone out of here," he ordered. The guard nodded, and Wilford turned towards the others. "Get out through the back. Go, go!"

    The guards rushed past him and fled down the hall, and Wilford nodded at Host.

    "Get Jim and a car," he said. "I need to find Dark."

    "What about you?"

    Gunfire came closer, glass shattered, and Wilford waved his gun.

    "Forget about me, just go!" he snapped.

    Host rushed down the hall, and Wilford ran towards Dark's room.

...

MWAHAHAHAH MY EVIL PLAN

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day >:)))

Love, Vic xoxo