"Ahhh,... should I just kill you?"
Ryan's voice cut through the silence.
Kane froze, his face went pale, the gun in Ryan's hand lifted slightly, pointing at Kane, Ryan's face was cold, too real to be a bluff.
"Boss, please," Kane's voice cracked, he dropped to his knees without thinking. "I didn't mean any disrespect..… I'm sorry boss please..."
Matt was standing beside him, his eyes narrowed slightly but his face stayed calm like always. "Ryan," he said quietly. "He didn't mean it like that."
Ryan's gaze didn't move from Kane, his hand didn't lower either.
Kane looked terrified, he should be.
Ryan sighed through his nose, the sound was low and tired, then he set the gun back down on the table, it made a quiet clink against the wood.
"Stupid," he muttered.
No one moved.
The sitting room fell silent again, the chandelier light above them buzzed faintly, it was the only sound.
Ryan leaned back against the sofa, he rested one arm on the armrest, his eyes were half closed, tired but sharp.
Kane was still kneeling, Ryan gave him a look and Kane stood slowly, his head stayed bowed.
"You said the rebel isn't talking?" Ryan asked, his voice was flat.
"Yes, sir," Kane replied. "We've tried since morning, nothing."
Ryan frowned. "So you thought I should do it myself?"
Kane swallowed hard. "I, I just thought maybe he'd break if you were there, if you…"
Ryan cut him off with a look, he didn't raise his voice, he didn't need to.
Matt stepped forward slightly. "I'll handle it," he said, his tone was respectful but firm. "You've had a long day, I'll take care of it tonight."
Ryan said nothing for a moment, then he nodded once. "Hmmn."
Matt inclined his head. "Understood."
He gestured for Kane to leave, Kane bowed quickly and almost ran out of the room.
When the door shut behind them, silence settled in.
Ryan dragged a hand through his hair and leaned forward, his elbows rested on his knees, his body felt heavy, like he'd been carrying something too long.
He hadn't meant to snap like that.
He never did.
But today had been different.
He'd been angry since morning, angry at himself, angry at how easily a voice message had gotten under his skin, angry that he couldn't stop thinking about it no matter how hard he tried.
He'd woken up to it, Marcus's voice, quiet and sweet, those words had followed him everywhere.
Ryan, you've been on my mind, I'm going crazy.
All day at the casino with Matt, through talking and watching, through the constant noise of men waiting for his orders, and now here, in his own home, in the one place that should have felt safe.
He'd told himself not to think about it, not to let it matter.
But it did.
He hated how much it did.
Ryan stood and walked to the window, the curtains were half drawn, the night outside was still and dark, no cars, no lights, just empty space stretching out forever.
Ryan wasn't calm, he was unraveling.
Marcus was not supposed to mean anything, at least not this much.
He was supposed to be a passing interest at best, something simple that Ryan could control.
Instead, Marcus had become a weakness.
A dangerous one.
Matt had warned him, don't get attached, don't let this become a problem, and here Ryan was, already thinking of ways to make it work instead of ways to end it.
It made him angry, at himself, at the situation, at Marcus for making him feel this way without even trying.
He wanted to blame someone, but there was no one to blame, this was his own fault, his own choice.
So he took it out on his men.
And now, one of them had been on his knees begging for his life because Ryan couldn't control his temper.
He let out a slow, shaky breath, the weight in his chest didn't ease.
He went to the table and poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirled against the glass as he lifted it, he took a sip, the burn helped briefly.
He lived in a world that ran on fear and precision and control, a world where hesitation could cost lives, where emotion had no place, where showing weakness meant death.
And yet, here he was, losing focus because of one man.
He hated it.
But more than that, he hated that a part of him didn't want to stop, he wanted to see Marcus again, wanted to hear him speak, wanted to know if the message had meant something, even if it shouldn't have.
That was what scared him most.
Because the truth was simple, if Marcus ever saw this side of him, this world, he'd never look at Ryan the same way again.
And maybe that was for the best.
Maybe it would be easier if Marcus hated him, if he walked away and never came back, then Ryan could go back to what he knew, back to the mission, back to the life that made sense.
But the thought of Marcus walking away made his chest ache in a way he didn't want to examine.
The door opened softly, Matt walked back in.
"I'm taking care of it," he said.
Ryan didn't ask for details, he didn't need to. "Good."
Matt studied him quietly for a moment, his eyes were careful, assessing. "You were harder on them than usual."
Ryan looked up. "They deserved it."
Matt didn't argue, but his silence said enough, he didn't agree, he just wasn't going to say it out loud.
Matt hesitated at the door, his hand rested on the frame. "You should rest, Ryan."
"I will."
Matt nodded and left, the door closed behind him with a soft click.
Ryan finished the drink and set the glass down, he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion finally sink in, it settled into his bones, heavy and impossible to shake.
He surprised himself tonight.
He's normally a calm person and he didn't like it that his men saw him as a cruel person, but tonight he'd almost shot one of his own men for saying the wrong thing. Wasn't that him proving them right?
He'd never done something like this before.
He stood, unbuttoned his jacket, let it hang loose, then he walked upstairs.
This was all Marcus's fault.
When he reached his room, he pulled out his phone.
No new message from Marcus.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb scrolling over the message box, he wanted to send something, anything, just to break the silence.
But he didn't.
He locked the screen and set the phone on the nightstand, then he stood there, staring at it like it might do something on its own.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
He'd scared his men tonight.
He'd scared himself too.
And all because of a message he couldn't stop thinking about.
He sighed quietly, ran a hand through his hair again, it didn't help.
Maybe tomorrow he'd stop feeling this way, maybe tomorrow he'd think straight, maybe tomorrow he'd remember who he was supposed to be.
But deep down, he knew he wouldn't.
Because Marcus was already under his skin, already part of him in a way that couldn't be undone.
And that terrified him more than anything else.