"I told you to stay away," Jason snapped as quietly as he possibly could. The two were in a cramped closet, surrounded by goons. Alone, he would've figured something out already, but with someone else—a civilian, no less—he had to be much more careful. "I don't care how big a scoop you think you're chasing, or how bad you want a story. This isn't your 'big break' or whatever. This is dangerous, and if you get yourself hurt, or killed, it's on you."

This journalist had been trailing him for a while now, and honestly, he was sick of it. He'd told the reporter to back off, that the story wasn't worth getting killed over, but he was being ignored. So far, Jason had been able to keep the would-be intrepid journalist from harm, but he was getting really f*cking tired of being a babysitter. Plus, the last thing he needed was someone in the press finding out who he was—which, thankfully, hadn't happened yet.

Today, Jason had a big mafia operation to bust up, and he'd told the idiot to stay away. Naturally, this stupid reporter hadn't listened, and now here they were, stuck in a closet while the goons wandered around, searching for them.

He shifted uncomfortably—the space was far too small for two people, and they were practically smushed against each other. "If we get out of here alive," he whispered in annoyance, "I'm going to kick your a** out of orbit. I'm so f*cking done with you. Do you hear me? Also, stop poking me with your elbow, dammit."