Jason's words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the haze of whisky and betrayal. "For your precious crime stats, what's New York paid?" He said, standing, his voice low but heavy with contempt. "Black-market guns flooding the streets, drugs turning kids into addicts, casinos bleeding people dry, and the skin trade thriving like never before. Every honest shopkeeper forks over protection money to Kingpin. His rivals? They're fish food at the bottom of the Hudson. His hands are so soaked in blood, they'll never come clean. Need me to go on?"
Wesley's face flushed, his jaw tight, but no rebuttal came. He tried, his voice strained. "At least the innocent don't die as often. That's something."
Jason's laugh was cold, biting. "You're really drinking his Kool-Aid, aren't you? Wake up, Wesley. We're the bad guys. Kingpin's just slapping a noble label on his chaos. I see it clear as day, but you're too busy kissing his ass to notice."
"Enough!" Wesley snapped, his face red, his composure unraveling. He stood, fists clenched, the bar's dim light casting harsh shadows across his features. "I'm done with this. I don't have your answers. Get the hell out of my house."
Jason sank back into his chair, a mocking grin spreading. "Nah, I think I'll stay. Come up with something, or I'm moving in. You'll have to feed me too."
Wesley's laugh was bitter, exasperated. "Why me, Jason? You know half the damn city. Why're you glued to my ass?"
"Because you're Kingpin's golden boy," Jason said, his tone sharp. "You run his empire, sit at the heart of his secrets. If anyone knows how he sniffed out Vanessa and me, it's you. Plus, with a three-million-dollar bounty on my head, every old pal's probably itching to cash me in."
Wesley sighed, his shoulders slumping as he sank onto the staircase, the hardwood creaking under him. The weight of the night—Annie's betrayal, the blood upstairs, Jason's relentless pressure—pressed down like a vice. Jason wasn't leaving without answers, and Wesley knew it.
Minutes ticked by, the silence heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the city outside. Then, Wesley's head lifted, his eyes narrowing as a realization hit. "There's something."
"Spill it," Jason said, leaning forward, his Glock resting casually on the bar.
"After you turned traitor, Kingpin ordered a purge," Wesley said, his voice low. "Your territory? Seized. Your lieutenants? Executed. Even your low-level guys were scattered to outposts beyond New York."
Jason's expression didn't flicker. He'd expected as much—Kingpin's wrath was thorough, his loyalty razor-thin. "Go on."
"But one guy got a pass," Wesley said, looking at Jason's face. "Paul."
Jason's brows furrowed, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Paul?"
"Yeah," Wesley continued, cautious but steady. "Your right-hand man, the one you trusted most. By all rights, he should've been the first to go. But he's alive, thriving even. Kingpin handed him a chunk of your old territory."
The name hit Jason like a gut punch. Paul—his brother-in-arms, the kid he'd pulled from the gutters, molded into a soldier. His fists clenched, rage simmering. "You better not be lying, Wesley, or I swear—"
"I know the stakes," Wesley cut in, his gaze unwavering. "I wouldn't bullshit you."
Jason stared, searching for a crack in Wesley's resolve, a hint of deception. But Wesley's eyes were steady, unflinching. "Shit!" Jason's fist slammed the bar, the impact rattling the empty whisky bottle. 'Paul? How the hell could it be him?' The betrayal stung deeper than he'd expected, a knife twisting in his chest.
He sat in silence, the weight of it sinking in. Finally, he stood, his movements deliberate. "Don't change your number," He said, his voice low, dangerous. "I'll be in touch."
Wesley's face darkened, his voice a growl. "FUCK YOU, Jason! This is the last time I stick my neck out for you."
"Is it?" Jason held up his phone, a video of Annie and her lover flickering on the screen, followed by a snippet of their conversation. "I've got your wife's little show, her bleeding boyfriend, and our chat recorded. You want the NYPD or Kingpin breathing down your neck? You know what to do."
Wesley's eyes blazed, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. He wanted nothing more than to draw his Beretta and turn Jason into a sieve, but he knew better—Jason's reflexes were lethal, his aim unerring. "Three times," He spat, holding up three fingers. "I help you three more times, then you delete every damn file. No copies."
Jason smirked, pocketing the phone. "I've got you for life, pal." With that, he pushed open the door, stepping into the cool night air, leaving Wesley slumped on the floor, a broken man staring at his retreating shadow.
---
Jason moved swiftly through the darkened streets, his mind a storm of betrayal and purpose. Paul's apartment was five blocks away, in a modest but respectable building—nowhere near the luxury of Jason's lost Manhattan penthouse or Wesley's manicured villa, but a cut above what most Americans could afford. The betrayal gnawed at him, each step fueling his anger. Paul, the kid he'd saved, trained, trusted—how could he be the leak?
Half an hour later, he stood beneath the apartment building, its concrete facade looming against the starless sky. The fifth-floor windows were dark, no sign of life. Jason's jaw tightened as he entered the lobby, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly, the air heavy with the scent of cleaning fluid. He took the stairs, his boots silent on the worn carpet, and stopped at Paul's door.
Knock, knock, knock.
He rapped sharply, the sound echoing in the quiet hall. No answer. He knocked again, harder, until an irritated voice barked from inside, "Who the fuck is it?"
"Me," Jason said, his voice low, disguised by the door's thickness.
"Oh, shit!" A flurry of movement—something heavy dropped, footsteps scrambling. The door creaked open, revealing Paul, a young Black man in his early twenties, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and fear. "Boss."
"Hey, Paul," Jason said, his tone deceptively casual, a predator sizing up prey.
They stared at each other for a long moment, the hallway's dim light casting shadows across Paul's tense face. "Come in, quick," Paul said, stepping aside, his voice urgent. He peered into the hall, scanning for threats, then shut the door with a soft click.
The apartment was small but tidy, the kind of clean that screamed a woman's touch—freshly vacuumed carpets, neatly arranged furniture, the faint scent of lavender and lemon polish. Not the chaos of a bachelor pad. Jason sank onto the couch, its cushions soft under his weight, and let his shoulders slump, feigning exhaustion. "I fucked up with Kingpin," He said, his voice heavy. "He's got the whole city hunting me. Nearly got me killed. I had nowhere else to go, so I came here to lay low."
Paul's face relaxed, a grin breaking through. "Boss, you're safe here. Kingpin'll never think to look for you at my place." He thumped his chest, confidence returning.
"Thanks," Jason said, his eyes flicking to Paul's. "Lisa and the kids asleep?"
Paul's grin widened, warmth softening his features. "Yeah, the knocking woke 'em up. Lisa's feeding the baby now. They'll crash soon after a bottle."
"Shit, my bad," Jason said, his tone apologetic but his mind racing, cataloging every word, every gesture. Was Paul's ease genuine, or a mask?
"Nah, don't sweat it," Paul said, waving it off. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead in Hell's Kitchen. You pulled me out, taught me to fight, shoot, survive. Hell, you even covered my mortgage on this place. I owe you everything, boss."
"Enough with the sappy shit," Jason said, forcing a laugh. "You know I hate that."
"Alright, alright," Paul chuckled. "The point is, you can stay as long as you need."
Jason nodded, leaning back. "We'll figure out the long term later. Got any food? I'm starving."
"Got a big-ass beef pizza in the kitchen," Paul said, heading for the fridge. "Lemme heat it up."
As Paul busied himself with the oven, Jason's eyes narrowed, watching his every move. Paul glanced back once, then pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. 'Jason's at my place. Come quick!'
Jason's blood ran cold, his suspicions confirmed. The pizza, the warmth, the loyalty—it was all a lie. Paul was selling him out.