Day 1 - 23:39

Erik squinted into the lens of the telescopic sight, adjusting the angle of the barrel to coincide with his target.

Any moment now and he would be half a million dollars richer.

His target darted past a row of cars, looking anxiously over his shoulder as he moved hastily. Funnily enough, it was though the man knew he was being hunted.

Unfortunately for the stout portly man, Erik never missed.

The feel of the Blaser R93 Tactical in his hands was familiar and a welcome weight. Where others in his line of work preferred hand-to-hand combat or the thrill of a fight or the kill, he would rather be away from the potential of blood splatter.

Blood, of course, was almost impossible to get rid off on clothes.

That being said, he could kill as well as any other if needed be.

Erik shifted his jaw, his index finger hovering over the trigger as he waited for his target to get into his car.

Come on now, he huffed out. His legs were getting cramped from being in the same position for far too long and it was cold up there on the building.

And finally, the man was finally in his car.

Without a single moment of hesitation, he fired a single shot, and watched as his target jerked once before stilling permanently.

Job accomplished.

Erik exhaled, rolling his shoulders, hoping that the blood in his body began to circulate at a faster rate before he slowly moved into a crouching position.

The silencer attached to his sniper rifle would do its job, ensuring that he was far enough before anyone would notice something was amiss and called the cops.

Regardless, he quickened his pace and in no time at all, his beloved sniper rifle was packed into a nondescript bag and he exited the building he'd camped on and stalked silently through the nearby alleyway.

Seventy-eight kills and yet, he was no closer to finding the person responsible for his parents' murder two decades ago.

Bitterness ate at him and he muttered a string of curses under his breath before tossing the bag into the boot of his car.

In these past years where he worked as a government operative, there were very few occasions where he felt burdened by his job and the promise of vengeance he'd sworn on behalf of his parents.

Did he feel guilty about the people he'd assassinated?

No.

He should, but he didn't.

There were reasons why the US government wanted all those people dead and who was he to question them? Maybe he would've pitched a fight but fortunately, he was given a rather long leash and as long he left no evidence, he was pretty much free to do what he wanted as long he got the job done. 

But tonight was one of those nights where something wasn't sitting right in his being.

Numbly, he drove aimlessly, barely taking in the lights and the bright neon coloured signs. After six months, he was finally back in the States and well, frankly, he wasn't missing much of his birth country.

Regardless, all he needed now was a drink to chase away the unsettling feeling in his gut. It didn't take him long to find a small bar that was far enough from his former target.

Jackson's was the typical American bar that anyone would expect. Dim lighting, small, the usual crowd and yet it was nondescript enough that no one would remember him.

He trudged into the bar, the scent of alcohol filling in his senses and automatically, he scanned the occupants and noted the entrances and exits before heading towards the counter.

It was quiet considering it was a Friday night.

But that was what he needed and wanted—total anonymity.

Deciding that it was safe, he slid onto the stool and hunched over slightly before he ran a hand through his hair.

"What would you like?"

Erik looked up and did a double take at the woman in front of him.

"What?" he frowned.

She couldn't be working here, he thought pensively as he shifted his jaw, studying her.

Her features were too delicate, too soft—sheltered. Her brown eyes were big and framed by thick dark lashes, her nose was pert and her lips small and full. Her hair was styled in such a way that the shoulder-length style framed her face, highlighting her countenance.

Erik ran his gaze over her, noting in wry disbelief that she was short—tiny, even. She could be five feet and one inch? Or perhaps two. No matter, she was nothing compared to his height of six feet.

She looked like easy prey for anyone on the streets.

The woman who didn't look like any bartender he'd seen in his life stared at him and wrinkled her nose before repeating her question.

"Whisky," he finally said when his brain started working once more.

"On the rocks?" she queried, cocking her head before pursing her lips.

"Yes."

Through half-lidded eyes, he took her in further. Yes, she was attractive in an unassuming way but that wasn't what stood out to him.

The way she moved about behind the counter had a certain grace and elegance—she seemed too refined to be a mere bartender. He had also noted the crisp upperclass English accent that she had and narrowed his eyes.

Women like her didn't just go out and become bartenders in a small bar.

"Here you go," she announced, lips offering him a smile as she set his glass in front of him.

Erik grunted and took the proffered glass. But instead of taking a sip, he just stared at the amber liquid in the glass and the condensation that had formed around its circumference.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

He raised his eyes without moving his head and met her gaze. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear before squinting at him. "You don't sound American, nor do you sound like you're from the U.K. either."

He scoffed slightly and arched his brows. "You would know wouldn't you? You're not from here either. Your accent is too polished for someone working here. London, was it?"

The bartender blinked and pursed her lips as though she hadn't been expecting to be caught.

Naïve, he thought a tad sardonically.

"There's nothing polished or refined about me," she began crossing her arms over her chest. "I just had a scholarship in one of the more prestigious boarding schools since I was young. That's all."

He scanned her face, noting the nervous twitch of her smile and the uneasiness in her eyes.

"Fair enough," he gave in, deciding to allow her to keep her secrets.

Whoever she was, she was someone. But far be it for him to discredit her. It wasn't any of his business and he would be a hypocrite, considering his own hoard of secrets.

Erik lowered his head and drained his glass in one shot, revelling in the fiery trail the whiskey left that scorched his throat before setting the tumbler down.

"Rough day at work?" she asked.

She was still there?

He paused and flicked his glance upwards at her. She was watching him with ill-concealed curiosity in those large brown eyes of hers.

And then he remembered the question she had just gave and thought about his former target's blood splattered all over the car window.

"You can say that," he answered wryly and handed the glass back to her for a refill. "And it's blatantly obvious that you're the curious sort, aren't you...?"

The bartender offered a tiny sheepish smile in his direction as she poured his drink and he blinked. When was the last time anyone had actually smiled at him with actual meaning?

"It's Clara and yes, unfortunately," she said as she handed him back his glass.

Erik arched a brow. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'Curiosity kills the cat'?"

The bartender—Clara rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "Yes. But I like to think there's nothing wrong being curious with situations that are harmless." 

He resisted scoffing but was unable to prevent himself from grimacing.

How could he not? The world wasn't a nice place. It was cruel and unyielding and it would crush anyone if they weren't strong enough.

"So you're the pessimistic sort, then," Clara observed.

Erik shifted his jaw and took a sip from his glass. "Whatever gave it away?"

In return, she sent him what seemed like reproachful look before she narrowed her eyes teasingly. "If you're that suspicious of everything and everyone, what makes you think that I didn't poison your drinks?"

He snorted and raised his brows. "Confident, are we?"

"Oh yes." She nodded solemnly, but the tiny corner of her mouth tilted upwards.

Erik couldn't help himself but rise to the challenge and leaned closer. He observed that they were just a few inches apart and in fact, he was now close enough to see that her eyes weren't a dark brown like he'd initially thought, but a lighter colour.

"If you were anyone else, I would have taken it as a threat," he murmured lowly, content with watching her eyes go impossibly round.

Her lips parted and she blinked owlishly before her brows creased. "The way you said that almost makes me wonder if there are people who actually want to kill you."

Erik thought back to two months ago where he almost fell off a building when a particular target had two times the number of bodyguards and he wasn't informed.

Or the other time, where he got shot thrice and had barely survived. Or about the other time when he got knifed in the back. Or how he had his right knee bashed in five years ago and on some bad days, it didn't work right.

If only she knew, he mused sardonically and drained the glass dry before leaning backwards.

"Hmm," he hummed, hoping that it was the end of the topic.

"Anyway," she began. "What brings you to town? And I know you're not a local, you can't fool me."

He glanced away and ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth. "Business trip."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He was back in the States for a string of jobs and he'd heard through the grapevines that certain members of the crime syndicate from Germany would be in town.

"Oh, what do you do?"

"Don't you have other customers to serve?"

She shrugged. "I would if I had any but it's rather slow tonight."

He stared at her for a moment before he gave in.

"Human Resource," he replied smoothly, trying not to smirk. Fuck. It wasn't exactly a lie either. It was just a stretch of the the truth—a really far stretch, especially if one squinted or didn't look at the fine print.

And it was time he changed the subject and diverted the conversation away from him. Much to his utter surprise, he wasn't actually annoyed by interacting with someone else for once.

In other situations, he would've brooded alone without anyone to bother him. But tonight, well, the company that Clara was providing him was entertaining and it—she was like a breath of fresh air.

Despite her naïvety and her blatant belief about the state of the world and people, he was intrigued. A part of him would admit that he was curious about her, whereas another part of him wanted to know what life was like being normal.

Normal referring to having a career that didn't involve conducting assassinations or having the risk of being killed any time. Of being able to enjoy life to the fullest, having a home, a partner, friends, a social life, all without having to look over his shoulder.

What would it be like to have that?

"Enough about me," he interjected. "What about you? Where are you from?"

Clara blinked as she licked her bottom lip before averting her eyes. "There's nothing much to say. I'm not very interesting and you know what? I just realised that you know my name, but I don't even know yours."

He stilled.

"My name?"

"Yeah."

Erik hesitated, fingers freezing over the rim of his glass. Here was his dilemma. He could lie and give the unofficial name he'd chosen for himself as an American citizen, or he could give his birth name—his real one. Erik.

Of course, the wise choice would be to lie and give his alias, Marcus Dain. It was normal enough that it wouldn't stand out and it was easy to forget. To add on, if anyone tried to search him up, he had all the proof.

All he had to do was create social media profiles, slap some random pictures and details and he was set. And if the cops came calling, he had a passport under that name.

But.

He clenched his jaw, eyes on Clara.

He didn't want to lie. Not tonight. He'd spent the most of his life lying and having secrets and it was starting to weigh him down. Hell, even his job required him to lie to everyone except his handler.

One inconsequential truth wouldn't do any harm, he figured. The chances of Clara remembering who he was was close to nil. And even if she did, he doubted they would even cross paths again.

"Erik," he finally said, head lifting so that their eyes met.

Clara blinked once and then twice more in quick succession before a broad beam made its way across her face. "Erik."

His heart began to pound.

His name on her tongue did strange things to him, he frowned. Perhaps it was the first time in a really long time that anyone actually addressed him with his given name.

"Yeah," he muttered and quickly averted his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Alright then, Erik. Would you like another drink?"

"Yes."

He watched as her smile widened and it suddenly hit him that she was actually quite...attractive—more so than he'd initially thought.

The light from the bar shone on her hair, bringing out the different shades of brown and copper, while the shoulder-length style framed her face, highlighting the apples of her cheeks, her pert nose and very full lips.

Erik stared at her mouth, transfixed by the way she chewed on her plump lower lip as she began pouring another round for him.

"You know that I can feel you staring," she said, glancing up at him for the briefest of moments before she turned back to the glass.

If he were anyone else, he would've given some one-liner that would've guaranteed him a quick lay. However, he was Erik Dietrich and that itself explained everything.

"Of course I was staring, I was making sure you weren't poisoning my drink," he remarked, quirking up a brow.

Clara snorted as she shook her head before handing the cup back to him. "Funny," she deadpanned.

His mouth twitched at her response. She reminded him of an angry kitten and no matter how hard she tried, he couldn't take her seriously.

Shrugging, he turned his attention to the tumbler of whiskey in his hands.

It really was late and he should go back to his apartment and send in his report. However, the idea of the cold silent penthouse he called home wasn't the least bit attractive.

If he had the energy, he ought to be digging up the past to avenge his parents, but the thought of failing again after chasing too many false leads made him want to lash out and tonight, well...he wasn't entirely in the mood of facing defeat.

However, there was something bothering him; something that Clara had said.

"Earlier," he started haltingly as he jerked his gaze up. "You said there wasn't anything wrong about being curious. Why?"

Clara stopped and frowned. "Well, I...it's just a personal opinion and it's okay if you don't agree—"

"No, just tell me why you feel that way," he interrupted.

"I suppose the idea of it is because it's part of life and—I mean...I just guess that without it and hope and positivity and trust—what's life without all of these? Sometimes I feel that it's these optimism that makes us...human—people," she said, biting hard on her lower lip. "I know it sounds really ignorant and stupid—"

He lowered his eyes. "No."

He could feel her studying him, scrutinising with those eyes of hers.

Erik clenched his jaw, feeling the muscles tick from the strain. But did that matter? Trust? Optimism in life? Hope?

He didn't have any. Maybe once a long time ago. But not any more.

Although he knew he shouldn't, Erik looked up. Clara was giving him a softer smile, her eyes were warm and gentle and—

The image she represented—all good and hopeful and full of dreams—made him pause and turn his eyes away as something like a fist curled around his gut. Chest tightening, he cleared his throat and set more than enough money onto the counter.

"Thank you," he murmured and gave a sharp jerk with his head. With that, he walked out of the bar and not once did he turn back. 

* * *

A/N: SO. Here this is. My latest spin and well, i'm kinda excited for this! You could say this would be like the R21 version of LAC with a hopefully more realistic twist. I would love your feedback and thoughts, truly, i would.

also, the chapter titles would make a full sentence when combined with the story title. so 'something wicked...came to a bar' and so on. lmao, im having way too much fun with this. this whole story should be 25 chapters? around there but we'll see, please share your thoughts, loves! <3 i would totally adore what you think of erik :') he represents my inner snark lmao

P7/5/19