Beretta (MC#1)

Chapter 10- Her

"Who the fuck are you?", A gravelly voice snarls in my ear. I feel the breath on my ear and the presence of a huge body behind mine as I stand in the clubhouse kitchen making myself a sandwich. Now, this person wasn't a brainless motherfucker like most of the men here, this one had a gun to my neck and a dagger to my abdomen. Smart. Too smart to have been able to creep up on an assassin with such a large build. Definitely a man.

"I'm an invited guest', I said gulping. "Why don't we talk without such hostility?", I motioned towards the gun. He tensed at the movement, dug the weapons firmer into my flesh and I got the memo. He's leading this conversation.

"Where is your patch?", He asked

"Don't have one"

"Identification?"

"Don't have it on me. Look, let's just sit and talk. I'm really not the enemy here. If I was, I wouldn't be making a sandwich in the fucking kitchen with no weapons on me", I gathered all my courage because that's how much I needed for admitting "And I'm visibly injured. Won't be able to take anyone down", my chest hurt physically along with my pride.

The man stepped away and I turned around but only after completing making my sandwich. Even the sandy hair in a bun at the nape of his neck looked aggressive and tense as if waiting to coil around my neck and choke me to death. A clearly intense man he was. Everything about him was a threat. 

"I made one for you too. A peace offering of sorts", I held up the second plate with a freshly made sandwich on it. The man just looked on, not an inch of his overly muscular body moving. A predatory stillness I had always been incapable of. This man was a Predator- vicious and bold. I was an assassin; discretion was in my blood and swiftness too. At the times I wasn't particularly vengeful, at least. My last target hadn't had the mercy of swiftness.

"Oh, I'm Rose", I said putting out my good hand for a shake. He didn't take it, so I held it there all the while looking him in the eyes. They glowed in the dark of the night. Hazel- gentle and warmth. That's what it was associated with. In his eyes a monster lurked beneath that Hazel. A monster hard to keep track of. Hard to control. A predator.

"Psycho", he finally took my hand in his overly large and bruised one, gave it a firm shake then pulled away awkwardly.

"You're telling me your name is Psycho. Like literally 'Psycho'.", I tried, I swear I tried. I wasn't supposed to be laughing at the people I'm trying to convince not to kill me. But in the next moment I burst out laughing. Slapping my hands on the counter, snorting and all the beauty of a duck flapping in the pond. Charming

"Oh my god. I'm-," another choked sound left me before I thought of my truck crashed and broken, the gold ripped out of it. "I'm so sorry", I instantly sobered.

"So, what's your business at the clubhouse?", he asked. I noticed he hadn't touched his sandwich. Probably thinking I'd drugged it or something. Smart man

"I saved your President. All I know was he was being targeted by a sniper. I've had encounters with enough of 'em to know a paid assassination when I see one. So, I jumped in front, got a bullet to the fucking shoulder. Which, by the way, hurts like a bitch. I was free to go, so I left. Your brothers followed me around town like idiot. Then had a clash with a rival gang from what I understand. This-," I waved a hand at myself with the half-eaten sandwich in my hand. "-is the result of their poor choices"

I'd expected all sorts of responses at my sob story. Gratitude, suspicion, maybe even anger. All I got was a nod. But the next second he bit into his sandwich and I did a little happy dance in my mind. Trust. I think I just got a little of it.