Blake was a skilled hitman on a special, bloody mission, undercover as a bodyguard for some sadistic, rich asshole.

“Wow, Blake, take a look,” the man next to him whispered as he elbowed him in the side. “That performer has a perfect ass on him, goddamn. You don’t see that type of perky backside often.” 

The other bodyguard quickly followed the line of vision and gave a low whistle in truth.

Blake groaned internally in frustration because nothing had happened so far and now he was making goddamn small talk with some asshole about someone’s ass.

However...

Blake clicked his tongue and huffed because he was an ass man at the end of the day. Cutthroat dark eyes turned to the guy next to him because, why the hell not?

“Where at?” He asked in a slightly curious tone that curled up at the end. He skimmed the crowd for this so this so-called ‘perfect-ass’ just so he could be the judge of that. Giving such a claim was rather bold because he can only really ever recall a single person to really have what he would deem as the world’s most ‘perfect ass.’

“Black, mesh shirt and tight, little shorts. The one on stage.” Blake trailed his gaze to look for the performer.

But when his eyes sank below his waistline to check out the man, everything spun into slow motion. His stomach knotted, throat felt like it was stuffed with dry cotton and his eyes shot all the way open with a rush of adrenaline.

There’s no fucking way—

All of his senses spiraled into overdrive because he only knew one person with an ass stacked like that.

Within the next millisecond, that look of lethality Blake had repeatedly witnessed that deathly beautiful face.

Fuck.

He was going to fucking kill him.