There was nothing you wouldn’t do for John. He said, “Jump.” You said, “How high?”

But then he asked you to do something you thought would leave you soulless. He asked you to help him with the Impossible Task. You were his Protege, it made sense that he needed you.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? He really didn’t need anyone. Except for the woman he was leaving for.

Imagine it. The kind of woman she must be, to have him eviscerate swaths of men where they stand to escape. To get out. To leave you.

He had 24 hours to do it all. It didn’t matter how, it just had to be done.

He stood before you now, just as calm and stoic as a statue. It made you sick.

The red was dripping from your mouth now with frothing vehemency. You lunged at him, nails digging into the shell of his jacket. He was lucky the fabric was bulletproof, you would have ripped him to shreds.

“Red.” He holds your wrists and resists your weight. The exasperation tears at you and you kick his leg out from under him and sends you both tumbling to the ground.

He let out a sigh, you had him pinned, but with a practiced hitch, he had your legs locked with his, and arms pinned to the ground. He could see her seethe.

“I’ll let you up if you promise to behave.” And you had the nerve to snarl at him.

“Fine, then we’ll do this the hard way.”

He heaves you up and into his lap, still wrapping his legs around you, and your neck cradled in the crook of his elbow, ever so gentle as his bicep flexed around your throat.