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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ: ʟɪɢʜᴛs
❝ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇs ᴀs ᴏғ ʟᴀᴛᴇ. ❞

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"HEY, HEY, HEY, EASY!"

Stumbling forward after his teammates, Ambrose grumbled under his breath as his hands worked on readjusting his t-shirt, which Brendon had used as leverage to shove him into the armory only seconds ago.

Sharing a quick look with his two friends – who were just as ticked off and confused as he was, standing in line next to him – the Lunatic addressed the fuming agent who had cornered them in the room.

"What the hell-"

Brendon silenced him with a single, furious glare. The agent stabbed a finger in the general direction of his colleagues, the vein in his neck protuding as he addressed them.

"You had one job," Brendon thundered, "One fucking job!"

The Hounds stared back at the fuming agent in front of them with blank expressions, none of them taking the liberty of delivering a response. Eventually, a few seconds into the intense staredown, Ambrose broke the silence, holding out his hands as he did so.

"You gonna elaborate on that, or..."

Jutting his chin out, Brendon shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Mason!" he seethed, "You were supposed to make sure he went off the grid! You were supposed to handle it!"

Rollins tilted his head, narrowed eyes looking between his teammates and the lead agent. "We did. Loaded him off at the bottom of the southern hemisphere."

"Where?!"

"Cape Town," Reigns answered, folding his arms across his broad chest, "In a quaint suburb just off the coast."

Brendon's right eye twitched. "So you're telling me..." Swallowing harshly, he looked down at the ground while raising one clenched fist. "That your idea of handling things... meant dropping that asshole... in one of the world's capital cities?"

Realising their screw-up, the three agents groaned lowly, rubbing their hands over their faces.

"It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time," Rollins defended, shrugging lightly, "Syndicate levels and underground activity is practically non-existent over there."

"Yeah but he'd have access to a shit-ton of resources!" Brendon countered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

Another hush fell over the group of men but as usual, it was eliminated by a certain Lunatic.

"Well maaaayyybe if you had handled the situation the way it should have been handled, we wouldn't have had to 'handle' it the way we did."

In the blink of an eye, Brendon had rushed forward and grabbed the front of Ambrose's shirt, and was looming over him menacingly.

"Say that again-"

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Rollins and Reigns pulled the two apart before the situation could escalate any further.

"Calm down, alright?" the Architect placed a calming hand on his aggravated colleague's shoulder, "Tell us what's goin' on, 'cause we're kinda running in circles, here."

"He's here," Brendon answered irritatedly, turning his head sharply and looking the Hound up and down, "In Vegas. He's been to visit our mom."

"Shit."

Shrugging the hand off of his shoulder, Brendon stepped back and pointed at the three Hounds once again. "As of now, you're off the mission. Your new one is to find him. We can't have him roaming the streets. Especially not when..."

There was no need to voice the rest of his thought; the guys knew precisely what he was referring to. If Mason was in town, that meant that there was a possibility that he would run into you, and that particular interaction would not bode well for anyone involved.

"Don't worry, uce." Reigns slapped Brendon's back in reassurance, giving a curt nod. "We'll get him."

"You better. Or else we're all fucked."

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That evening, 4:59pm. Bellagio Hotel and Casino.

Through the window of your Uber, you peered up at the towering building you'd just arrived at, one brow arched dubiously.

"Very inconspicious," you chided, sliding out of the car as Brendon held the door open for you, "I'm sure a five-star hotel is the perfect hunting ground for a group of criminal kidnappers."

Turning to the left, you watched as Brendon shut the door and gathered your luggage before rolling his shoulders and giving you a once over.

"All this time," he spoke, starting up the path to the entrance, "and you still question me."

Following his trail, you stuck your hand in the back pocket of your jeans and arched your brows. "In my defense, you've made some pretty questionable choices as of late." A bellhop approached with a trolley, and the three of you shared a brief greeting before he began loading your bags. "And I mean seriouslyquestionable."

"Well," Brendon took a step forward, reaching out to brush his fingers along your cheek before continuing, "This isn't one of them."

You were shocked by the agent's sudden bout of PDA but before you could question him on it, you caught the slight dart of his eyes in the direction of the bellhop, who watched you with a small smile.

Right. Pretences.

Taking the performance a step further, Brendon placed a gentle kiss to your forehead and linked his hand with yours, before following the bellhop as he led the two of you inside.

Once in the reception area, you let the agent head over to check you two in at the desk, while you hung back and surveyed your surroundings. The gold status, the white leather couches, the extraordinary cleanliness, and the distinct air of luxury that these places always seemed to have – it was things you'd experienced a million times previously, but never before had it done such a marvelous job of making you feel out of place.

Those trivialities were reminiesceint of your old life, before things had changed so drastically. Now, it was meaningless. Fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt, you stifled a laugh as you imagined how odd you must've looked to passers-by – combat boots, leather jacket and jeans in a five-star hotel. How classy.

Gazing over at Brendon, forearms rested on the front desk as he waited for the receptionist to finish typing, you noticed that he was the exact opposite.

Despite the fact that he was dressed almost precisely the same as you were, he exuded confidence and regality. He'd never had a problem with appearances – that you understood from the moment you'd met him; he could walk into a room and own it, capture everyone's attention without ever even saying anything. You'd always assumed he'd become that way over time, evolving from a shy boy into a confident man as he got older; but now, you realised that it was simply who he was, it was engrained in his very being, and it always had been.

As he took the key cards from the receptionist and thanked her, you smiled to yourself and watched as he made his way over to you. Even his walk was insolent.

He was a Vegas boy.

"You good?"

Shaking away your thoughts, you nodded. "Mhmm."

"Great." He laced his fingers around yours. Butterflies. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the receptionist observing you two. "Room's on the third floor."

Looking up at him as you started for the elevator, you smirked tauntingly. "Balcony with a view?" you joked, mocking the extravagant nature of the trip that was supposed to be mission-based.

Brendon looked to you with a smirk of his own. "Only the best for you, sweetheart."

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"Have a lovely stay, sir."

"Thank you." After handing the bellhop a couple bills, Brendon shut the door of your hotel suite.

The agent made sure that it was locked securely, then pulled out his cell to text Dallon and The Hounds that all was well so far. He walked as he typed, feet instinctively moving toward where he would find you.

Out on the balcony, you rested your hands on the spiral gold railing as your eyes drank in the magical sight of Las Vegas in the nighttime. The bright lights stretched on for what seemed like thousands of miles – a colouful expanse of unending high-rolling and bad decisions – reflecting off the dark pupils of your eyes as tiny glowing specks. Staring out, you saw Sin City at its finest, and it was juxtaposingly beautiful.

Sensing his presence behind you, you spoke out.

"It's so beautiful."

"What is?" Letting out a deep breath, he rested his forearms on the railing right next to your hands, and hunched forward a little.

"The Vegas lights," you marvelled, looking up and around.

"Where villains spend the weekends," he muttured, nodding slowly.

Tearing your gaze away from the faraway gorgeous sights, you turned to look at the one standing next to you. Arching one brow, you gave him a bemused smile.

"What's that mean?"

Scoffing lightly, he brushed it off. "Nothing. You know, there's much better things to see in Vegas than the night lights."

"Yeah? You gonna take me to them?"

With a wheeze, he looked across the vast expanse of lights himself, then turned to you and tilted his head to one side.

"Yeah. Sometime. But for now," he pushed himself away from the railing and nodded in the direction of the hotel, "How about we see how good your poker face is?"

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Thank you for reading x