slade had fucked up. royally, but at least he knew it. he had promised— no contracts, no killing, no work. just you two, away from it all for a week, alone in a lavish hotel and a city full of luxury bars, restaurants, shops and so on.

that hadn't stopped him, though. it was supposed to be a simple job. a quick in and out, resulting in him with some extra spending money in his pocket. he had good intentions; kill his target, return to the hotel, take you out to dinner, bring you back to the hotel for some drinks and, well... the rest would've been history.

would've been. if slade hadn't snuck off onto his contract while you were in the shower. he had covered all his bases, even! a note, left on the bed, stating he went out to retrieve a gift for you and he'd be back shortly.

only, until it was hours later. the sun set. the stars started to twinkle. a good two hours after the reservations he had made passed, did he stumble into the suite; bruised and battered.

"i'm fine, thanks." he grunted out, his tone dry and sarcastic. of course, he would deny the real issue here; he put his work ahead of you, once again. he had lied to you, again.

maybe if he hadn't been so distracted by the thought of you, he wouldn't have been so easily compromised. so not only was he internally kicking himself for misleading your trust again, but the fact he had failed.

ripping off his two-toned mask and tossing it aside, he clenched his jaw and closed his singular eye with a long, heavy exhale parting from his lips. he didn't want to cause an arguement— all he wanted right now was a hot shower and to lose himself in you amongst the sheets and blankets nearby.

of course not, though. his actions had consequences. a little assassination attempt on your honeymoon never hurt anyone; it was just a matter of convincing you of that fact.