Seeing Janie hurry off with her husband, Ethan reached into the pocket of his shirt, looking for something. At that moment, footsteps sounded, and a pack of cigarettes flew in his direction.
Ethan raised his hand and caught it. Soon, a man dressed in a peculiar way appeared, walking toward him in black leather pants and boots. He wore a white shirt with a black sash around his waist. His makeup included striking eyeshadow, and a mohawk crowned his head.
Ethan pulled out a lighter to light a cigarette and, as a gesture of thanks, helped the man in front of him light his as well.
—Wow, quite a scene you caused this time —the stranger said, his expression indifferent.
Ethan flicked his cigarette with his finger, but the freshly lit tip didn't drop any ash.
—I remember you. I arrested you a while back—you were riding a motorcycle, right?
—I remember you, too. Just call me Job —the man replied, looking Ethan up and down— How do you keep your skin looking so good? What kind of cosmetics do you use?
Ethan was left speechless, not expecting that question. Ever since he had taken the regeneration potion, he had noticed his skin improving day by day. Siobhan had asked him the same thing several times, a hint of envy in her eyes. But this was the first time a man had asked him something like that.
Ethan cleared his throat and muttered under his breath:
—I'm straight.
—Screw you. Who cares? You're not my type.
—What happened to your hair? —Ethan quickly changed the subject, pointing at the top of his head. The last time he'd seen him, Job had been bald.
—Don't you know what wigs are? Or do they not exist in this place that smells like cow shit?
Ethan choked, not knowing what to say. Job said nothing more, watching Hood in the distance in silence, then shifting his gaze toward Carrie Hopewell, farther away. His cigarette trembled, and his eyes held a murderous look. The Hopewells were embracing Deva, completely unaware of Job's stare.
Job cursed under his breath and tossed the cigarette to the ground. Ethan pretended not to notice and smoked quietly. He knew the situation and why Job was so angry with Carrie—she had betrayed them by leaving Hood in prison.
Hood finally finished dealing with the FBI agent, Dean Xavier, and upon seeing Ethan and Job together, he approached with a tired expression.
—Ethan, this is my friend Job. Job, this is Ethan —Hood said, gesturing casually to introduce them.
Ethan narrowed his eyes when he noticed the ring of purple scars around Hood's wrists, identical on both hands. From his experience, this kind of injury was usually caused by being handcuffed and struggling to break free—something common among inmates with drug addictions.
—We met a while ago —Ethan commented.
—Can you tell me what happened to your hand? —Ethan asked, raising his own to point.
Hood's eyes flickered as he searched for an excuse. But Job pressed his lips together and couldn't help answering:
—What else would it be? That bitch Anas—
—Job, shut up! —Hood snapped in a low voice, and the atmosphere grew tense.
Job had no choice but to clench his teeth, cross his arms, and glare angrily in Carrie's direction.
—I'm heading out. I've had enough of the FBI's bullshit—and Agent Xavier —Hood said, not bothering to offer any excuse. He waved a hand, turned around, and left.
—Hey, Job, thanks for the cigarettes. I'll buy you a drink next time —Ethan called out. As Job walked away, he lifted his hand in acknowledgement.
Hood and Job got into a light yellow classic convertible. Job patted the car before Hood started the engine. At that moment, Carrie, along with Deva, feared that if she let go, she might lose her.
When she saw Job, her steps suddenly halted.
Job looked at her with a mocking expression, then raised his middle finger, whispering, "fuck you, bitch." Hood pressed the accelerator without even glancing her way.
The next day…
Ethan unexpectedly received a phone call. Janie Kendall invited him to dinner at her house that night. After several attempts to decline, Ethan had no choice but to accept—the woman wouldn't take no for an answer.
After a relatively quiet day at work for once, Ethan finished his shift. Cases involving pursuits, murder, or kidnapping weren't common in Banshee. After all, it was a small town, and outside of it, most major cases were handled by the County Police. Today, it had only been a couple of traffic tickets.
That night, he drove to the Kendalls' house in his Challenger.
Ethan walked up to the door with a bottle of wine in his hand. It was customary not to arrive empty-handed to dinners or gatherings.
—Ethan, welcome to my home —said Dan Kendall, smiling with a perfect grin.
—Thank you, that's very kind of you —Ethan replied as he approached. Kendall shook his hand and invited him inside.
Hearing the noise, Janie came out of the kitchen, tucking her hair behind her ears as she greeted Ethan cheerfully. Seeing she was in a good mood, Ethan smiled and handed her the red wine he had brought.
After some polite greetings, Kendall led Ethan to the living room to sit while Janie returned to the kitchen to finish dinner.
—Come try this. A friend brought it back from a trip. It's an authentic Cuban cigar —Kendall offered, taking one from the humidor on the table and handing it to Ethan.
After going through a tedious explanation of how to enjoy it, Ethan accepted the cigar but thought about crushing it in the ashtray. These things were meant to be enjoyed slowly, but perhaps the young mayor was eager to show off. He decided he would save it for later at his cabin.
After listening to Kendall talk about Banshee's policies and how to implement them for more than ten minutes, Ethan, growing restless, finally heard Janie's voice announcing that dinner was ready.
Outside, the sky had already darkened, and a large crystal chandelier brightly illuminated the Kendall family dining room. On the marble table sat three beef ribs and a large dish of Italian pasta, all looking delicious.
Once Ethan sat down, Janie placed a small plate of macaroni in front of him. Kendall also opened the red wine Ethan had brought. He raised his glass and said with a smile:
—Ethan, Janie, and I want to thank you for what you did yesterday. It was very brave of you.
—Thank you. I just did what I had to—it's my job. The food looks amazing, thank you, Mrs Kendall —Ethan replied, not wanting to prolong the politeness. He took a sip of red wine, picked up his fork, twirled the macaroni, and took a bite.
After chewing a few times, Ethan's eyes lit up. Janie's cooking was unexpectedly delicious.
During dinner, Kendall kept talking, but the conversation shifted from politics to Proctor. Ethan listened as Kendall spoke enthusiastically about the evidence against Proctor, yet how no crime had ever been proven. Ethan could only smile occasionally, never stopping eating.
Janie glanced at Ethan from time to time, and the atmosphere remained peaceful.
After dinner, Ethan said goodbye to the Kendalls and drove home.
He changed into casual clothes and headed to the Savoy Gentlemen's Club. Since returning from San Francisco, he hadn't had time to hang out there. After paying the entrance fee, he walked straight to the side of the stage and found a place to sit. It seemed he had arrived just in time before the main show began.
Soon, music filled the place—"Earned It" by The Weeknd played through the speakers as a blonde woman emerged from the shadows. Her golden hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes shone with a mix of confidence and sensuality. A waiter soon noticed Ethan and, without much fuss, brought him a glass of whiskey on the rocks.
The woman wore a tight black outfit that highlighted every curve of her body, made of lace and leather that shimmered under the stage lights. The steel pole rose beside her, but she moved with almost supernatural ease, as if the metal were an extension of her own body.
The music picked up, and she approached the pole, brushing it softly with her fingertips before casting a seductive glance at the audience. Ethan, watching from his seat near the stage, felt his heart beat a little faster.
With an elegant spin, the blonde leapt onto the pole, wrapping one leg around it as she leaned back, letting her hair brush the floor. The audience was mesmerised as she rose slowly, her body sliding along the pole with a grace that defied the strength required to hold herself up, gradually shedding her clothing and revealing her figure.
Every movement was perfectly synchronised with the music. When the melody reached its climax, she spun around the pole, her legs extending into a perfect split before descending again, her body moving like a predator stalking its prey. Sweat began to glisten on her skin as the performance intensified, yet she never lost control for even a second.
Ethan couldn't help but smile as he pulled out a wad of small bills and tossed them into the air over the stage. The dollars fluttered down, some sticking to the woman's damp skin as she flashed him a smile.
The performance ended with the blonde sliding down the pole in one final spin, her feet touching the ground with the elegance of a dancer.
After a couple of hours of fun and a few drinks, Ethan was about to leave the club when a tall blonde—the same one who had started the show—walked past him. Ethan glanced at her, and his memory immediately clicked—he recognised that body unmistakably. She was the girl he had seen when he ran into Kai Proctor before.
The blonde noticed Ethan's gaze and smiled, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him along. Ethan quickly tried to refuse, but his body didn't obey—he took a step forward and followed her.
—Well, I've never been able to turn down a beautiful woman —Ethan sighed.
They reached a covered corner, where several booths lined a narrow hallway. The blonde's passionate erotic dance greatly expanded Ethan's experience.
Usually, unless someone was a regular or a VIP, they only received standard dances. He had no intention of sleeping with her—she was beautiful, yes, but not his type. Ethan stood up, opened the half-covered curtain, and stepped out. After taking a few steps, he stopped.
Brock was smoking a cigarette with a look of enjoyment, leaning back in a corner with a glass of wine in hand, while a red-haired girl danced slowly over him. This was what you'd call a regular customer.
The two exchanged looks, and Ethan gave his partner a thumbs-up with a grin. As the girl's slim waist swayed gracefully over Brock's protruding belly, something about it irritated him. He grabbed a handful of nuts from a small plate beside him and tossed them. Seeing this, the redhead quickly got up and walked over. As she closed the curtain, she even winked at Ethan.
Ethan laughed and left the Savoy Gentlemen's Club amid Brock's curses.
Still stirred by what had happened, Ethan got into his car and drove to Miles's restaurant. He didn't know if Daria was working, but just watching hadn't been enough—maybe her cousin was still in town.
Parking outside, he could see Daria sitting at the bar through the large glass window. It was late, and only one or two people were still dining. She was enjoying a rare quiet moment, leaning on one hand as she flipped through magazines on the counter, smiling occasionally. The atmosphere felt especially calm.
Seeing the scene, Ethan's restless mood eased. He opened the glass door and walked in with a smile. Daria stood up at the sound and greeted him cheerfully when she saw it was him.
—What are you doing here?
—Couldn't sleep, so I went out for a drive to clear my head.
Ethan sat on the stool across from her and ordered a bottle of beer. They both leaned on the bar, chatting about magazine gossip and laughing from time to time.
As they talked, someone opened the door and walked in. Daria quickly got off her stool and went to greet the newcomer. Ethan ignored it and kept reading.
—Coffee and a slice of cake—do you have any?
—Of course, I'll prepare it myself —Daria offered—. We have pecan and chocolate.
She presented the cakes under glass covers on the counter.
—I'll take a slice of chocolate —a deep voice said, with a strong accent that reminded Ethan of the Ukrainian girl from earlier.
Daria smiled, lifted the glass cover, cut a slice, and placed it on a plate.
—I can tell you're not from around here, right? —she said, sliding the plate forward—. Everyone in town has been to my restaurant. I've never seen you before.
The man in the suit smiled but said nothing.
—From your accent, I wonder where you're from —she asked curiously.
He didn't answer. Instead, after tapping the cake with a stainless steel fork, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.
—This covers the service. Keep the rest as a tip —he said in a thick Eastern European accent, placing it on the counter and sliding it toward her—. I want to ask you something, if you don't mind.
—Of course. What do you want to know? —Daria smiled as she tucked the money into her apron.
The man nodded, satisfied, and tapped his fingers on the counter.
—For example, do you know the chief of the Banshee Police Department?
Ethan stopped turning the page and glanced sideways, his eyes sharpening. The man had short hair and a solid build. His suit was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a fierce black spider tattoo on his neck.
The man noticed Ethan's movement and turned slightly to look at him.
Daria laughed cheerfully at the easy money and generous tip.
—That's Ethan. He works for the Banshee Police Department. If you want to know something, ask him.
—I'll make you a milkshake. On the house.
Afraid Ethan might get upset, Daria laughed and hurried to the back to prepare it.
But she didn't notice that both Ethan and the man remained completely still, not blinking. After she left, the only sound was the ceiling fan spinning overhead.
The last customer finished his meal, opened the glass door, and left. The door slammed shut behind him.
With his hand on the counter and his weapon ready under his clothes, Ethan didn't have time to draw it. The moment he heard the door, he sprang forward violently, lunging at the man in the suit.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Tension filled the air as the man moved with lethal speed, the fork in his hand flashing like a deadly weapon, striking with the precision of a venomous snake.
Ethan, his reflexes sharpened by his enhanced close-combat experience, dodged the first strike, tilting his head at the last second. The fork passed so close to his neck he could feel the cold metal graze his skin. There was no time to think—only to act. The man gave him no breathing room, spinning with unexpected speed and throwing a punch straight at Ethan's jaw.
Ethan blocked it with his forearm, deflecting the blow smoothly while using the momentum to drive his knee toward the man's abdomen. But his opponent reacted quickly, catching Ethan's knee mid-air with both hands. The impact echoed through the room, dampened only by the man's strength.
Sweat began to glisten on the man's forehead under the restaurant lights. He clearly hadn't expected Ethan to be this strong—but Ethan wasn't about to give him time to recover. Taking advantage of the opening, he freed his leg, stepped back half a step, and launched a rapid combination of strikes.
A jab to the head, followed by a powerful hook to the ribs. The man blocked the jab, but the hook landed solidly, forcing a grunt of pain from him.
Ethan didn't stop. He pivoted, loading his elbow like a blade, and drove it into the man's ribs. The man tried to block, but the strike was too fast, too precise. A numbing shock ran through his arm, as if the nerves had been cut off.
The fork slipped from his fingers—but before it could hit the floor, Ethan caught it midair.
The man's eyes widened as he saw the cold flash of metal coming toward him. For a moment, time seemed to freeze—then, with a decisive motion, Ethan drove the fork into his chest.
A dull sound followed, metal meeting flesh, accompanied by a muffled cry.
The man staggered back, pain and shock in his eyes. Blood began to seep from the wound as he clutched it. It hadn't struck a vital point, and he remained standing, staining his expensive suit. Ethan yanked the fork out in one swift motion, leaving a trail of blood behind.
The fight wasn't over—but the air was thick with tension, both men knowing the next move could be the last. Ethan, still holding the bloodied fork, was ready to finish what he had started.