James hadn’t expected to find someone peacefully asleep in the kitchen, especially after all the commotion from earlier. How had he managed to sleep through it? As James stepped closer, he noticed the man had a headset plugged into his ears, and the faint sound of loud music could be heard even from a distance. That explained why he hadn’t reacted to the noise before.
Curious, James tapped the man’s shoulder a few times, but each time he did, the man absentmindedly brushed him off, as if swatting away a pesky insect. Annoyance built in James’ chest. He wasn’t in the mood for this. With a smirk, he let a large pot drop beside the sleeping man, the loud clang reverberating through the kitchen.
That got his attention. The man jolted awake and immediately stood, his reflexes surprisingly sharp despite his groggy state. Now that they were face to face, James realized they were about the same height and looked to be around the same age. The man wore well-fitted jeans and a blue polo shirt, looking entirely out of place in the chaotic setting.
Before James could say anything, the man spoke, but the words were foreign. That confirmed it—he wasn’t from around here. Before James could attempt to communicate, a sudden burst of gunfire echoed through the building, making both of them instinctively duck behind the counter.
The man mumbled something under his breath, and despite the situation, James almost laughed. I don’t want to die yet, the stranger had muttered. He wasn’t the only one, but hearing it said so plainly amused him. Deciding to test him, James asked if he spoke Tagalog.
To his surprise, the man nodded. “I do.”
Under different circumstances, James might have teased him for asking such a ridiculous question in the middle of a life-threatening situation. But there was no time for that. The gunfire outside had ceased, but they could hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.
James pulled the gun from the holster strapped to his thigh and, for some inexplicable reason, considered handing it to the other man. He barely knew him, yet something about him made James feel he could trust him—at least enough to fight back.
“Do you know how to use this?” James asked, keeping his voice low.
The man nodded. “I do.”
But instead of accepting the gun, he reached for a nearby drawer and pulled it open, revealing a neatly arranged collection of knives. James’ eyebrows rose. The blades gleamed under the dim light, sharp and unused.
“These are gifts,” the man said, as if explaining why they were so pristine. “I don’t use them.”
James was about to question his logic—because now was definitely the time to use them—when the door behind them swung open. A large man stormed in, his eyes scanning the room for targets. James reacted immediately, raising his gun, but before he could even pull the trigger, the intruder staggered forward and collapsed. A knife protruded from his chest.
James’ head snapped toward the stranger, who merely shrugged and motioned for him to move toward the bar.
They crouched low and made their way behind the counter, moving carefully to avoid broken glass and debris. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice rang out—Mauricio.
“You just don’t learn, do you?” James muttered under his breath.
He knew Mauricio wouldn’t be alone. That bastard always had his men with him, lurking in the shadows like scavengers.
Then, Mauricio called out. “Come out while I’m still feeling generous.”
James smirked. Generous? That was rich coming from someone who had just tried to kill him. He almost chuckled when his new companion muttered a complaint under his breath. But there was no escaping now. The stranger had been seen, and worse, he had already killed one of Mauricio’s men. There was no way they would let him leave unscathed.
The young man tried to move in another direction, perhaps looking for an escape route, but before he could get far, one of Mauricio’s men grabbed him by the collar and hurled him over the counter.
James reacted instantly, moving to defend him. The brute loomed over the fallen stranger, reaching down to grab him again—only for James to bring a heavy glass bottle crashing over his head. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
James had a brief moment of satisfaction before realization struck—he had just shattered his Dalmore 62, a rare and extremely expensive whiskey. His eye twitched. That bottle had been a gift from an affluent couple who frequented his bar.
Mauricio is going to pay for that, James thought bitterly.
He reached down and helped the stranger to his feet. But just as they stood, Mauricio and his remaining men appeared, guns drawn and aimed at them.
“Kill them,” Mauricio ordered.
James didn’t hesitate. He fired first, managing to take down a few of Mauricio’s men. They were outnumbered, but he refused to go down without a fight.
What he hadn’t anticipated was the sheer efficiency of the man beside him. Within seconds, two more of Mauricio’s men were writhing on the floor, knives embedded in their hands and legs.
The last standing henchman, who had been prepared to shoot, suddenly froze, fear evident in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered his weapon. Mauricio, meanwhile, had turned on his heels and was making a break for the exit.
Coward, James thought.
Then, Mauricio let out a pained scream. A knife had struck his hand just as he reached for the door. Slowly, he turned back, his face contorted in agony. At the stranger’s command, Mauricio began walking toward them, visibly shaken.
James couldn’t blame the man for being furious. He had just been caught in the crossfire of a fight that had nothing to do with him. What if he had died here? All because he had the misfortune of crossing paths with James?
Then, Mauricio spoke, and his words made James’ eye twitch in frustration.
“You did this to me,” Mauricio spat, clutching his injured hand. “All because of you! My girlfriend left me, and it’s your fault!”
James almost lost it right then and there. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned. “You attacked me over that? I didn’t steal your girlfriend, you moron! She told me she dumped you!”
The stranger beside him gave James a blank stare. “You mean to tell me I almost got shot because of your love drama?”
James sighed. “It’s not like I planned this.”
Shaking his head, the young man turned toward the exit. He had done his part. It wasn’t his fight.
Before he could leave, James called out. “Wait. What’s your name?”
The man hesitated before replying, “Clyde. Clyde Louie.”
James didn’t know why, but something about that name made him pause. It left an odd feeling in his chest, something he couldn’t quite place.
Mauricio, seeing James distracted, tried to make a final move. But before he could act, his body jerked. Blood trickled down his forehead, and his eyes rolled back before he collapsed.