The sputter of automatic fire echoed in the halls, and Dark opened his eyes, searching the darkness around him. Footsteps and muffled shouts came just outside his door, and wrong bled in his chest.

    Dark carefully sat up, trying to even his breathing.

    Gunshots. A scream.

    Dark's heart shot in his throat. His door creaked, and he rushed into the closet.

    The door opened, and Dark slammed the closet door shut.

    Fuck, he cursed, his breaths speeding up.

    Footsteps crossed into the room, and the closet handle slowly turned. Dark stared at it with wide eyes, breath held in his throat, and when the door opened, and a woman stared him down with a gun, he did the only thing he could think of doing.

    Dark lunged at the woman and tackled her to the ground, pushing the gun out of the way. She growled, thrashing, and swung the gun across Dark's face.

    Dark knocked to the side and grasped the floor. The woman hit him again, the metal of her gun cutting his face.

    "IN HERE!" the woman shouted. "SECOND TARGET IN HERE!"

Blood dripped into Dark's eye, and he cursed, grabbing her gun. They struggled, a tossle of limbs, and another woman came through the door. A gunshot rang out, and Dark's body jerked to the side from the impact.

    His eyes widened.

An arm wrapped around his throat and yanked him up, dragging him out of the room. He gasped for breath, clawing at nothing, feet scuffing the floor. Pain tore up his side, and he choked on a cry, vision splitting when he saw the trail of blood on the floor.

His blood.

———

Jim stumbled into the garage, followed by Host.

    He shuddered as he stepped over a guard's body, racing towards the fastest car they had. A black BMW—the only modern car they owned. Reserved for emergencies like this.

    Jim jumped into the driver seat and pulled the keys out of the visor and started the car.

    The headlights burst on, and the engine roared throughout the garage, shuddering the car to life. Host rushed towards the nearest wall, pushed a button, and opened the garage door. As it slid open, three women stood there with their guns pointed.

    Host jumped for cover just as they emptied their rounds.

———

The woman dragged Dark through the halls, and two others joined her side, guns pointed.

    Wilford skidded at the end of the hall and caught sight of Dark, breath catching.

    The women spotted him.

    They aimed and shot at him, and Wilford jumped into a nearby room. Footsteps rushed towards him, and he peered past the door, gun leading his gaze.

    He shot the nearest woman, and she crumpled to the floor.

    The second woman shot through the door, and Wilford jumped out into the open and swung his gun across her face. She shouted and knocked into the wall, and Wilford pulled the trigger, her brains spraying the walls.

    Wilford turned his head, and the final woman stood her ground, keeping Dark tight in her chokehold. He sagged in her grip, head bowed, and when Wilford glanced down and spotted the blood dripping from his side, his heart rate spiked.

    His eyes flicked onto the woman's.

    "Make this easy for me, yeah?" panted Ora, the woman with an orange-streak in her afro. She pulled Dark up with an arm and used her other hand to pull out a glock.

    She pressed the weapon against Dark's temple and pushed his head to the side, showing the wide cut in his forehead.

    "Just put down your gun..." she said slowly, "walk towards me... and surrender." She pressed the gun into Dark's cut, and he hissed, clutching her arm. "No one else has to get hurt."

    Wilford's fingers flexed over his gun, and after a long, tense moment, he exhaled.

    "Okay," he breathed. "Okay."

    Ora tugged Dark closer, grip tightening over her gun, and Wilford rose his hands to the side of his head as he sank down to a knee. He carefully set his gun down on the ground, eyes never once leaving the woman's.

    "Slide it towards me," she ordered.

    Wilford obeyed, and he slid the gun across the floor. Ora caught it with her foot.

    Wilford eyed the gun a moment, studied her figure, then carefully stood back up, arms still at the sides of his head. He approached her, slowly, surely, and before she could say anything else, he grabbed her hand and forced it towards the ceiling.

    A gunshot rang out, and Wilford pushed Dark away as he tackled Ora to the ground.

    Ora growled, and they struggled for the gun, both their hands on it. Her finger pulled the trigger, and Wilford jerked them to the side.

    The bullet tore through the wall, inches away from Dark's head.

    Wilford seethed and punched Ora across the jaw, stunning her. He tore her gun from her hands, shoved it against her head, and pulled the trigger.

    Her body went limp, and he threw her gun to the side and grabbed his own. He held the hot weapon in his hand and rushed over to Dark, hoisting him up.

    "Stay with me, Dark," said the mafia boss, looping his arm under Dark's. Dark grimaced, clutching his side and limping alongside Wil. His fingers soaked with red in minutes, dripping onto the floor in a trail.

———

Host jumped behind the BMW for cover, shooting over it. A woman caught his bullet and fell back, dead, leaving only two.

    "Goddammit," cursed Host, crawling alongside the car. He grabbed the passenger handle, threw the door open, and ducked into the seat. Jim met his eye, head bowed beneath the window.

    "Jim," said Host, breathless. "You're going to have to drive."

    Jim's eyes widened, and Host shut the door, fixing his eyepatch.

    "Y-you're not really telling me to—"

    "If you don't do it, we die," hissed Host.

    Jim swallowed, and he gripped the gearshift, knuckles going white.

    "O-okay."

    Gunshots clipped the car, and he shouted, ducking. Host peered through the windows, found the two women nearing them, and yelled: "Now!"

    Jim shifted the gear, slammed the gas, and ran into the women. They flew to the sides, and the car sped out of the garage.

    "Oh my fucking god!" yelled Jim, hands gripping the wheel. "I just ran over two people. I just—"

    "Forget that!" shouted Host, looking out the window. He caught sight of Wilford helping Dark out the front doors. And feet across from them, by the golden gates, stood a man that carried himself above a regular guard, gun aimed loosely in one hand.

    Host recognized instantly that it was Celine's right hand man.

———

Blank didn't waste any time with small talk.

    The moment he met eyes with Wilford, and the mafia boss stilled, raising his gun, Blank pulled the trigger.

    There wasn't a noise; just the screech of the tires as Jim whipped the car around, speeding in front of Wil and Dark and acting as a shield.

    Host jumped out of the car, and Wilford staggered forward, gazing down at himself. His hand hovered over his shoulder, and his brows furrowed, but instead of finding blood from a bullet wound, he found a black dart stuck in his skin.

    The world tilted around him, and he clutched onto Dark, blinking away blankets of black. Host huffed with relief and dove into action before Blank could try another attack.

    He grabbed Dark and Wil and flung the back door open, pushing them inside. The moment he jumped into the passenger side, Jim slammed the gas and smoked the tires, speeding towards the gates.

    Host glanced over his shoulder, and Blank slipped out a different gun, aimed through narrowed black eyes, and pulled the trigger.

    The gunshot exploded into a pop and a rush of air, and the car swerved wildly, skidding across the pavement.

    "Fuck!" Jim yelled, clutching the wheel. "Tire's out!"

    "Keep going!" yelled Host, staring out the back. Blank kept shooting at them, walking forward with each round. Bullets clipped the windows, the sides, the mirror—and wedged itself in another tire.

    The BMW swerved again, screeching in protest, and burst out the golden gates, leaving Blank and the mansion behind.

    Jim sped down the road, keeping the car as straight as he could. Thank god they installed run-flats on the vehicle, but even with flat tires, they could only get so far.

    Jim swallowed and glanced at the rear view mirror, meeting Wilford's bleary eyes.

    "Where to, boss?" he muttered, hoping it wouldn't be too far away.

    Wilford plucked the dart out of his shoulder and blinked away unconsciousness, oddly aware of his senses. The sound of his own breathing echoed in his ears.

    "I d...unno yet," he slurred, his eyelids heavy.

    He turned towards Dark, who had his head back against the seat, eyes screwed shut. His hand clutched his side, soaked in blood.

Wilford tried to shake away whatever the hell was in that dart out of his system and clumsily scooted closer to Dark, examining his side. He couldn't see anything in the darkness, and because Dark was wearing black.

"How badly are you hurt?" said Wilford, words slurred as if he were drunk.

Dark's eyes fluttered open, and he gazed at Wilford, chest heaving. Pain flared through him when Jim swerved, and he bared his teeth, clutching his side.

"It's just a graze, I think," he said, sweat beading at his bloodied forehead. "They wanted me alive."

Wilford huffed, and he placed a warm hand over Dark's, helping him apply pressure. With their panting breaths and the closeness of their bodies, heat stuffed up the car at an alarming rate.

Dark sucked in a breath, and he blinked through the pain, coming to a sudden realization.

"Wait..." he breathed. "Deja." His breaths quickened. "We forgot Deja."

Wilford swayed, trying to keep himself steady under the dart's drug. "She'll take care of herself," he said.

"Are you kidding me?" breathed Dark, searching Wil's face, which was so close to his. "They'll kill her. We have to go back."

"Go back?" scoffed Wilford. "In these conditions?" The car swerved again, and Dark winced. "Darling, you're bleeding, I've been drugged with something, we've got a blown out tire, and there's people crawling around the mansion. Armed, might I add." He rose his brows at Dark, his vision splitting the sight of him into three images. He tried blinking it away.

"I know you care for your friend, Dark, but if we go back, we all die." The car swirled around Wilford, and he clutched the seat with his freehand, steadying himself. "We need... to fix ourselves up first."

"If Celine gets a hold of her—"

"There's nothing much we can do, Dark," stressed Wilford, struggling to keep his eyes open. "I'm... sorry, but that's just how things are sometimes."

"Yeah," Dark winced, sarcastic despite his situation. "In the mafia, you mean?"

Wilford sucked in a breath, holding onto the last strings of consciousness. He shifted in his seat, hand firm over Dark's, and met his eyes, intense.

"Exactly," said Wilford, breath hot over Dark's face. "If you're going to be a part of this life, Dark, you have to accept that you're going to lose a few things." He blinked away sleep. "A lot. That you care about."

He sighed and closed his eyes, struggling to keep himself upright.

"I could've lost you tonight..." he breathed.

Dark's breath stilled, and his skin tingled. He swallowed.

"What?" he breathed.

Wilford kept quiet, and he kept his eyes on Dark's, breaths soft. He didn't have to repeat himself; the words hung in the air like a weight.

Wilford's head dipped, blacking out for a minute, and he sucked in a breath, trying to stay conscious.

"Jim," he said, catching the driver's attention. "Go to Xilef's warehouse. Celine won't look that far out the city."

Jim nodded, and Wilford tightened his hand over Dark's, keeping pressure on the wound. Dark's blood on his hands felt almost endearing, in a way; or maybe that was the drug talking.

"Host," said Wilford, swaying. "Call Schneep." His vision split again, hazing around the edges, and this time, he couldn't resist it. As he slurred out the words, "Tell him we need help with a bullet wound," he lost consciousness and slumped against Dark, face buried in his shoulder.

...

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo