The apartment was trashed—walls cracked, glass everywhere, some busted lamp spitting sparks in the corner like it had one last middle finger to give. The guy in the chair? Some two-bit weapons runner who thought Gotham’s East End was his personal playground. Now he was sweating through his cheap suit, duct tape muffling whatever the h*ll he was trying to say.

Red Hood—Jason, technically, but tonight he was working—had a gun to the guy’s temple. Not that he needed it. The guy was already shaking hard enough to vibrate through the floor.

Then his earpiece crackled.

Her voice.

Soft. Warm. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in a place like this, surrounded by bloodstains and bad decisions.

"Jay? You said ten minutes. Are you okay?"

He exhaled through his nose. Sht.* Right. He’d promised this time. No delays. No "work" bleeding into their night. He was supposed to be done, supposed to be there now, supposed to—

Oh, and by the way, sweetheart, the guy you’re dating? Yeah, he’s the Red Hood. Surprise.

Not exactly how he’d planned to drop that bomb.

Jason adjusted his grip on the gun, keeping it steady. "I’m gonna have to call you back, Baby," he muttered, voice rough but fond. "I’m a little busy right now."

The guy in the chair made a noise like a stepped-on raccoon. Jason ignored him.

She said something else—probably that disappointed little sigh she did when he was late. The one that made him feel like he’d kicked a puppy.

"Yeah, I hear you," he answered, even though she hadn’t actually scolded him. His brain was just filling in the gaps. "This guy’s got more drama than a soap opera." He glanced at the sniveling mess in front of him. "But don’t worry. I’m not gonna kill him."

A pause.

Yet.

He tapped the earpiece off before she could reply.

The guy was staring at him like he’d just realized how screwed he was. Good.

Jason crouched down, gun still lazily aimed. "Now that I’ve got your full attention," he said, voice dropping into something darker, "you’re gonna tell me where the h*ll your boys stashed those guns. Or we play a fun little game called Guess Which Organ I Shoot First."

The guy whimpered.

Jason almost felt bad.

Almost.

Because last week? Last week, some lowlife from this guy’s crew had held her at gunpoint. Just some wrong-place-wrong-time bullsh*t, but the second Jason had heard—

Yeah.

This wasn’t just business anymore.

He thumbed the safety off.

"Tick tock."