The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)

Chapter 18: Hunted

There's a moment, in the hunt, when the hunter becomes the prey.

The night felt heavy with anticipation, the air thick with something you couldn't name but could feel in every breath. The warehouse, once a place of twisted tests and preparation, now felt like a waiting game. Time was running out. Everyone knew it. The police were closing in, and while you, John, Amanda, and Hoffman had been careful, it was clear that things were coming to a head.

But it wasn't the police that had you on edge. It wasn't even your father's betrayal, though that still gnawed at you like a festering wound. No, what kept you tense, what twisted your gut into knots, was the feeling that something was coming-a storm that none of you could outrun.

John had been quiet the past few hours, his focus sharp as ever but his eyes distant. You wondered what he was planning, what new step he had in mind. It wasn't just about staying ahead of the police-this was something more. You could see it in the way he moved, the way he spoke in measured tones, as if he were holding something back.

You wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. There was a growing distance between you, one that you couldn't quite place. Maybe it was your own doing, the way you had distanced yourself emotionally, the way you'd let yourself slip deeper into the cold, calculated mindset that John had instilled in you. You weren't the person you used to be. And yet, there were moments-small moments-where you found yourself craving the subtle touches, the warmth in John's eyes when he looked at you. But you buried those feelings. This wasn't the time.

"Any word from our informant?" Hoffman's voice cut through your thoughts, his tone gruff and impatient.

John shook his head, his hands moving deftly over the blueprint of the warehouse laid out on the table. "Not yet. But we'll know soon enough."

Amanda paced in the corner, her movements erratic, like a caged animal itching to be set loose. She hadn't spoken much since the news about your father had broken, but you could see the tension in her body, the way her fingers twitched as if longing for a cigarette. Or perhaps something more violent.

"They'll be here soon," she muttered, her voice low but laced with frustration. "We should have left already."

John didn't look up from the blueprints. "We will. But not yet."

Hoffman shot Amanda a look, his impatience clear. "We can't afford to wait much longer. If they're on to us, we need to move."

John's gaze finally lifted, calm and unwavering. "We move when it's time, not a second before."

You watched the exchange in silence, feeling the tension in the room rise like a tide. Hoffman was right, and you knew it. The police weren't amateurs-they would be closing in faster than anyone anticipated. But John was never one to be rushed. He had a plan, as always. The question was whether you'd all survive long enough to see it through.

............

Somewhere across town...

Detective Gibson had assembled a team, a small but specialized unit prepared to move in on the warehouse. His gut told him this was it-this was their chance to finally put an end to Jigsaw's reign of terror. They had the location, the tip-off from your father, and the resources to make the bust.

But something felt off. The details didn't all add up. It was too easy, too clean. After all these years of chasing Jigsaw, could it really come down to one desperate man's betrayal?

Gibson had seen men like your father before-broken, desperate, clinging to whatever scraps of control they had left. But he also knew the game Jigsaw played. He knew that the real mastermind was always two steps ahead. And that meant something wasn't right.

"We're ready to move in, sir," one of his officers said, breaking him from his thoughts.

Gibson nodded, pushing aside the doubt gnawing at his mind. "Let's go."

...............

Back at the warehouse, the quiet before the storm was growing unbearable. You could feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest, the sense that everything was about to come crashing down around you.

John stood at the center of it all, as composed as ever. But even he couldn't mask the undercurrent of urgency in his movements. The trap was set, the pieces in place. Now, all you could do was wait.

And then, the sound of sirens pierced the night, distant but unmistakable.

"They're coming," Amanda hissed, her eyes wild.

Hoffman was already moving, checking the last of the traps, making sure everything was ready. "We need to split up. If they breach the main entrance, we can funnel them through the north wing."

John didn't respond immediately. His eyes flicked to you, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his gaze-something softer, something almost... protective. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"We'll move to the secondary location," John said, his voice steady. "Everything is in place. All we have to do is wait for them to make the first mistake."

Amanda nodded, but there was a tightness in her jaw, a barely restrained anger that simmered just beneath the surface. She shot a glance at you, and you could feel the weight of her gaze, the unspoken tension between you.

But before you could address it, John's hand brushed lightly against your arm as he passed by, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. It was so subtle, so brief, yet it lingered longer than it should have. You clenched your fists, trying to push the feeling aside, but it stayed with you, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

..................

The police arrived faster than anyone expected.

They moved in quickly, surrounding the warehouse, their guns drawn, flashlights cutting through the darkness like blades. Gibson led the charge, his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins.

The warehouse loomed before them, silent and foreboding, like a predator waiting in the shadows.

"We're going in," Gibson barked, signaling his team to move forward.

The doors to the warehouse creaked open, and the police flooded in, their footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space. But something was wrong. The warehouse was too quiet, too still. It felt like a trap.

And then the first scream rang out.

It was one of the officers-a young rookie who had been too eager to prove himself. He had tripped one of Hoffman's traps, a simple but effective one, and now he was hanging from the ceiling, his leg caught in a snare, blood pooling on the floor beneath him.

"Get him down!" Gibson shouted, his eyes scanning the room, searching for any sign of Jigsaw or his accomplices.

But the warehouse was a maze, and as the police moved deeper into its twisted corridors, they found themselves ensnared in more traps-some deadly, some designed to incapacitate. The air was thick with tension, the sound of grinding gears and ticking clocks echoing through the halls.

And then, in the midst of the chaos, you and John watched from a hidden vantage point, your eyes locked on the unfolding scene below. This was his game, his masterpiece, and you were part of it now.

But as the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong. The tension between you and John had shifted-there was an undeniable pull between you, something you couldn't fully understand but couldn't ignore either.

And then, as the chaos reached its peak, you felt it: John's hand on the small of your back, steady and firm, a silent reminder that you were in this together.

The storm had arrived, and there was no turning back now.