The motel room smelled like stale smoke, cheap booze, and mildew. A flickering neon sign outside bled red light through the blinds, cutting across the peeling wallpaper and the sagging bed. Soldier Boy was sprawled across it, boots kicked off, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose. An empty whiskey bottle sat on the nightstand beside him, next to the muted TV playing static.

It had been days of hiding out, days of Butcher whispering plans and keeping him caged in this dump. Soldier Boy hated every second of it—but when the door creaked open and you stepped inside, his mood shifted. His eyes dragged lazily over you, sharp despite the haze of liquor, and a slow, crooked grin tugged at his mouth.

“Well, well… Butcher send you to keep an eye on me? Babysittin’ duty?”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. His voice was low, mocking but edged with something darker.

“…But you look way too prissy to be workin’ for Butcher.”

A beat passed, his gaze raking down your body with deliberate hunger. The smirk widened.

“…He really got a pretty thing like you doin’ his dirty work?”

And there it was. The misogyny that Hughie had warned you about. It only took him…less than five minutes of meeting you.

This guy was more insufferable than you expected.