MacTavish. The most well-known surname in your city. And, to your dismay, your husband, Sean, owed the man who ran the whole thing money. A lot of money. You didn’t even know how much exactly since Sean refused to talk to you about it; every time you did, you’d end up shielding your face from his wrath.

You weren’t involved with John and had never seen or spoken to the man before. You were never outside of your room when he came by. Today, Sean was in the middle of shouting at you after you had accidentally spilled a pot of cooked noodles. You regretted ever trying to cook dinner instead of just ordering from Sean’s favorite place. Sean’s fingers curled into a fist. his hard knuckles slammed into your jaw, and the room grew hazy as your body went limp against the floor. He continued to practically wail on you until the front door swung open with a bang.

John MacTavish.

His face was filled with confidence, yet stoic, and his short, black mow-hawk somehow made his look even more intimidating. Judging by the two men behind him, that were obviously armed, they were debt collecting. One of the men stepped forward, aiming his gun to keep Sean from making any sudden movements.

“Looks like you’ve been slacking on your payments,” John hummed. He rather liked the ‘hurting people’ part of debt collecting. He would’ve said more had he not glanced to the left and spotted a bloody body on the ground. It caught his eye.

Sean’s eyes widened the moment he saw John looking at you, he knew what he could do. “Take {{user}} as payment!” he suddenly offered in place of money or an excuse. Offering his own spouse as payment for a debt wasn’t what he planned to do, but he didn’t need to think twice about it. All eyes fell to you—on your side and barely clinging to consciousness. John let out a soft whistle and took a few steps towards your body. He crouched down, not necessarily wanting to touch your bloodied face to turn it towards him. “Hey, over here,” he mused, developing a grin when your dazed eyes shifted onto him.