Vigilante ∆ lrh

25. ∆ goodnight

Sweat gathered in the center of his palms, the chilled night air providing no relief; neither had his cigarettes. His stomach churned over itself. He knew he should have told somebody where he was and what he was planning although he knew that he would have been stopped and he couldn't afford that.

The clinking of the fire exit echoed down the alleyway next to him, two casino employees came out and dove straight into conversation over a cigarette, as they did, three times a week, unaware of his presence. With it being a Monday night, the whole city was quiet, especially at two am. Well as quiet as the city got, whaling sirens never ceased; a world in constant pain.

Patting down his jeans one last time to feel his weapon and the second tucked under his shirt, Luke shoved up his hood to sit around his baseball cap and headed for the almost vacant door. Stepping in the shadows, Luke remained hidden. He lunged, fingertips gripping the door before it shut completely. Prying it open, Luke squeezed through and gently rested the door back into its place, the voices of the employees trailing off as they ascended up towards the higher levels of the casino.

After weeks of surveillance, Luke knew the entire layout of the building, every entry point, every camera including blind spots, every employee and their schedule- he even knew the three broom cupboards that were dotted about the building and he knew exactly where to find the owner and his adolescent son. The place was run by Juan and despite being almost a foot smaller than Luke, he made up for it with hard strength. His skin was tattooed and carved with the violence of his lifestyle and his body was covered in gold, chains, earrings, rings and even a few teeth; the fruits of his illicit labor.

Luke composed himself, his chest still as he approached the slightly opened door. It was only when the click of his gun rang through the air, did Juan and his son realize they weren't alone. Swiftly, Luke pressed the barrel to Juan's son's temple, his arms restraining the young adolescent. Juan's son was nothing like his father, arms thin and weak and eyes fearful.

"Meet my demands and I won't shoot," Luke stated, ice dripping from his words.

"Go on," Juan's eyes darted from the barrel wedged into his son's skin and the blonde who seemed vaguely familiar.

"You've got a board, pictures of girls..." Luke began and it caught Juan's attention more than the gun pressed to his whimpering, pathetic excuse of a son.

"One's got a black cross drawn across it," Juan uncrossed his arms and retrieved something from his pocket. His roughened fingers flattened out the crumpled paper, "this beaut?" He snickered, holding the photo up for Luke to see.

His stomach dropped violently and he struggled to maintain his not so cool exterior. His eyes widened at the sight of Demi and Calum dancing at the club.

"Yes," Luke gritted his teeth, "I don't care what fucked up operation you have going here, but leave her, leave them be," henlaid his cards out too early he realized as Juan's eyes seemed to alight at his request. But he couldn't help it, for her he would sell his soul; for his brother he would give his life; for them, he would sacrifice himself.

Juan's half smile shuddered through him, "and what do you know of our operations?"

Luke shrugged.

"Now's not the time to go silent boy, you want me to consider your 'request', you answer when asked," Juan sat back in his seat, legs propped against the table.

"You blackmail young females into your organization and use them to traffic drugs across the border," despite everything, Luke kept a hold of his nerve, his voice again, the perfect picture of calm, confidence and power as he divulged what he had learnt on the excursion Michael and him had taken earlier in the month.