A Fatal Accomplice

6.

Later, I was introduced to the team. Jay gestured toward the group as though they were old friends, his casual demeanor doing nothing to hide the underlying tension still hanging in the air.

First, there was Carl, the man with the scar I'd spoken to earlier. He stood a bit apart from the others, exuding a quiet but intense energy. His eyes, hard and calculating, never seemed to rest, always scanning the room like a predator. There was something cold about him—something that suggested he'd been through a lot and walked away from it all with more scars than he cared to count.

Next to him was Mike. He was a surprise, a contrast to Carl's hardened presence. Mike was Asian, his face sharp but friendly, with a warm smile that didn't quite fit the hardened world he moved in. His arms were covered in tattoos, intricate designs that stretched from his shoulders to his hands, each one telling a story. Despite the ink and the imposing look of them, Mike exuded an air of surprising kindness. There was a gentleness in his eyes, something you wouldn't expect from someone who was clearly well-versed in danger. Maybe it was that contrast that made him so intriguing.

Then there was Kelly. He was a boy, but the kind of boy who carried himself like a man already—tough, with a no-nonsense attitude. I wasn't entirely sure of his background—he could've been Indian, maybe mixed—but his features were sharp and striking. His eyes had a subtle intensity, constantly scanning, calculating. He didn't speak much, but when he did, his words always carried weight. There was something to him that suggested he was someone you didn't want on the other side of a fight. Quiet and observant, Kelly didn't seem to mind staying in the background, but there was no doubt he'd spring into action if need be.

Then there was Olegra. She was the only other woman in the group, and she certainly made an impression. She was stunning—tall, with long, platinum blonde hair streaked with fiery red highlights. Her beauty wasn't the kind that begged for attention, though; it was more like the kind that demanded it without effort. There was a cool elegance to her, something calculated and poised in the way she carried herself. Her eyes, a pale shade of blue, were watchful but unreadable, giving nothing away. Despite the sharpness in her gaze, there was a hint of something soft about her—maybe vulnerability, maybe something darker.

And then there was Jay. He stood apart from the rest, and it was almost impossible to ignore him. He was far more beautiful than the rest, a striking presence that outshone everyone else in the room. It wasn't just his looks—though he was undeniably handsome, with sharp features and eyes that could burn through you—it was something about the way he carried himself. He was composed, calculated, a man who knew exactly how to wield his charm. But behind that beauty, there was a dangerous edge, something sharp and unpredictable. He was the kind of person who made you feel like you were walking on a tightrope, unsure if you'd fall—or if he'd pull you down himself.

Each of them stood like they were waiting for something, all of them carrying an air of readiness, as if they could snap into action at a moment's notice. But in the moment, they were just... people. Strangers, really. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that they all had their own stories to tell—stories I didn't know if I was ready to hear.

A few hours later, Lupe walked in, his footsteps hesitant, like he was bracing himself for something. By then, I had already spoken with Jay and the rest of the team, the decision made. I'd agreed to join them. It was a choice I'd been fighting with, but now that it was done, it felt strangely final.

When Lupe caught sight of me, he froze, his body tensing as if I'd slapped him. His eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw the flicker of fear in them—the same fear he used to wear whenever he thought I might explode on him. His voice cracked a little when he spoke, tentative and unsure. "I thought you left," he said, almost as if he was bracing for an argument, or worse, another outburst. The tension in his posture was impossible to ignore—he was waiting for me to shout, to pull away, to dismiss him entirely.