Childe was leaning against a counter, entangled in a conversation between two other men. The whiskey in his glass swang side to side; the glass softly in his grip. He wasn't listening to them; they were just more intoxicated as he was. When you walked past him in the dense crowd of the club, his eyes glistened with mischief and he started tailoring you, knife safely in hid jeans pocket.Your were his next target as a hitman, but would he be able to do it? He couldn't let feelings get in the way.