Hurricane

Chapter 2

"No many how lives I will live I will never regret."

Mitch sighed as he looked away from Scott's baby blues and turned back to the four men, gun still poised and ready, not showing the conflict going around in his mind. The four men were terrified, but they knew they had a job to do, and that was to eliminate Mitch Grassi. Yet, they seem to not be able to move, their limbs frozen under the icy glare of the brunette man.

One finally decided he had enough and shot, the bullet whizzing through the air, making Scott's ears ring. Mitch was used to the sound though, and shot down, the bullet missing him and hitting the man across from him, killing him as it shot through the head. Mitch looked down at the ground, taking a breath that Scott could faintly see through the mans fringe. He stood back up, his expression cool, not guarded at all, it seemed, for there were no emotions to guard.

"None of your tricks are going to work on me. I've seen them all before," He stated, holding the gun steady. "So don't think you can put anything pass me." He shot quickly up to his right, and a thump was heard.

"I knew there was a sniper aimed at me. I know you have knives in your shoes and poison on them as well, if the smell coming off you says anything. You can try every damn thing you can possibly think of, but it won't work, because I've seen it. I've done it." Mitch cocked his gun again. Suddenly, one guy behind Mitch dropped his gun and tackled him to the floor, him landing on his back as they wrestled. Mitch kneed him in the crouch then when he bent down over him in pain he slammed his fist into the man's jaw, popping it out of place. He then reached for the gun that had fallen out of his hands when he fell, knocking the hilt on the back of his head, thoroughly knocking him out.

Scott watched all this in shock and confusion. Mainly because this was his sweet Mitch, but also because him fighting and completely exterminating these bad guys may or may not be turning him on. Just a bit.

The last bad guy stared straight at the tenor, completely terrified that he would meet the same fate as his fellow teammates. Mitch had a better idea, though.

"Since I'm always the one for having the moral high ground, I'm going to let you scurry off with your tail between your legs. But," Mitch said sharply, "tell your boss that he's going to try a lot harder to try and terminate me. Prince Ghiaccio is back."

The man nodded shakily, and scurried off, running as fast as he could to relay the message. Mitch waited until he was out of sight before slumping, getting out of survival form and back into regular him. He ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly exhausted.

"Do you mind explaining what the hell just happened?"

Mitch winced, turning to his shocked, confused, and now angry best friend, who was standing up and out of his hiding place. His eyes were as ice cold as Mitch's was not a few seconds ago, and honestly, nothing is more terrifying than an angry Scott, because he rarely gets mad, and when he does, well, Mitch would rather take twenty rounds with ten kickboxing champions.

He sighed, not looking into the Medusa-cursing eyes of Scott, putting his gun back in his pants. "I guess I do owe a lot of explaining, don't I?"

"Like hell you do. What even was that? When did you learn how to fight? I thought you hated any kind of physical activity, how'd you get so fast? Why do you have a gun? When did you learn how to even use one?! How-"

"Scott!" Mitch cut off sharply, very very annoyed with all of his friend's questions. "I'll answer your questions, I promise. Right now, Mommy is exhausted and sore and wants to have a good night with the crisp sheets of her bed." He did look completely wiped, and he was slightly caressing his ribs, showing signs of pain there. Scott frowned, feeling guilty for throwing all these questions at him like the bullet he dodged not long ago.