Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jade picked him out easily, eyes sharp despite the layers of cigarette haze and darkness between them. A hard-looking man, one who was raised on the streets. His voice was low, his hands were rough, and his blue eyes were cold and closed.

Jade smiled to himself, murmuring, “Mr. Carson, what on earth are you doing here?” The hunter settled back, choosing a small, secluded table, and watched his prey carefully. He’d been looking for the harsh man for weeks, now; searching the clubs he frequented, questioning whores along Carson’s usual alleys. Now that he’d finally cornered the man, the last thing Jade could afford to do was screw up.

He knew he looked good, too good to pass up, which helped. He fumbled with his cigarette nervously, hoping his eyeliner wasn’t smudged. His high cheekbones, dusted with freckles, gave him a proud but boyish face; his perpetually swollen lips made him alluring. His eyes were big and dark, hidden behind blackened lashes, and his hair was just long enough to rake his fingers through. He was wearing all black, jeans so tight he had to lay down to get them on and knew better than to breathe too much, let alone eat, while wearing and a t-shirt that hugged each rib tight as his skin. He thought jewelry might be overkill and only chose a thin black choker and small hoops through his ears. He knew how he looked, and it was right. Up until his feet—they were the only things that didn’t fit with the rest, nestled in his favorite Sambas, soft black sneakers with white stripes. He couldn’t afford more than one pair of shoes, not right now, and they were perfect—they kept his footfalls silent and let him run freely, no blisters or discomfort and just the right amount of support. Not the type of shoes a man dressed like him should wear, but he knew that a quick and silent getaway was every bit as important as his noose-like budget.

Exhaling a lungful of smoke shakily, Jade watched a slim brunette join Carson’s table. The girl would be pretty with less make-up, if she looked less frightened. Jade took these things in stride, careful not to let his Marlboro Red quiver with his hand and focusing instead on the immaculate curls of smoke.

His eyes wouldn’t focus. It was foolish to stare, but his eyes wouldn’t stay off the girl. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, straining to hear Carson’s cool, measured words over the music. The look of terror on her classic face, followed by the discreet exchange of a grubby roll of bills, answered every question Jade might have thought he had.

Carson was his man.

Shortly after the girl left, Carson finished his drink and headed for the door, contact made and money collected. Jade got up silently, shadowed Carson to the door, slipping out into the cool nighttime moments later. He hung back, following Carson a block or so behind, never letting the broad man leave his sight.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the club, Carson veered unexpectedly down an alleyway. Quickening his pace, Jade paused a moment in the last flickering streetlight before plunging into darkness.