Tristan smirked, admiring how that dress hugged Ira's curves, trying hard not to think about how those thighs pressed him down against the couch.
She didn't want to own a bakery or chocolate shop.
She just wanted to take care of him.
She just wanted him.
God knows he wanted her.
He reluctantly took his eyes off of her to catch the TV, resting his chin on his hand as he waited. He gave a little yawn, his eyes beginning to lose focus until he noticed that the TV had a familiar looking face its screen. He sat up a little straighter, leaning forward. Not just the face, but those eyes; a bright pair of violet eyes, belonging to a blonde man speaking into the microphone.
Tristan's' eyes narrowed as he took in the headline.
A man was found dead at a motel near the warehouse district. He leaned forward, facing the screen as it grabbed his full attention. His hand moved to cover his mouth, eyes widening, seeing two photos appearing now on the screen.
These two men were the ones who caused so much hassle at the flower shop. The smaller one, named Daniel Prost, was murdered.
The larger man, Eric Mackie, was missing.
"It can’t be..." He flinched, seeing the photo Eric with both brown eyes staring back. He pursed his lips tightly, almost gagging as the screams from that day began to echo in his mind. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to forget the blood on his hands, the feeling of the glass digging into his palm as he gored out that familiar brown eye. He turned away, panting. His chest began to tighten. Cold sweat dripped down his chin to the table, his elbows digging into wood as he hid his face in his hands.
He needed to shake away another annoying...disturbing memory.
He didn't jump when he heard the sound of one glass being set on the table, quickly followed by another. He released a shuddering sigh as he felt that warm, familiar body press against him. Ira's lips pressed against the side of his forehead, kissing it gently before she softly spoke, "Babe, what's wrong?"
He laughed softly, trying to use that laugh to calm him, "It-it's nothing, babe. It's really nothing."
"You said that before. You can tell me."
He stiffened, feeling her hand stroking his arm, before slowly relaxing at her touch. He lifted his head, his eyes a bit wet and red, "I'm stressing out over nothing. Please don't worry."
Her lips pursed together again, her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, "Tristan, tell me." She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, "I want to take care of you, remember?"
He sighed, giving a little smile, one hand moving to rub his eyes, "I know. I just don't like thinking about the past too much." He lifted his free hand to the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair, "R-remember the assholes who made me late for our date?"
She looked up at him, nodding, "Yes...?"
He bit his lip, sighing before he motioned towards the TV, "Apparently...they killed each other. Or-or one killed the other. The guy who I-" He paused, taking a sharp intake of breath, "One of them is missing."
As Ira looked over to the screen, he reached out to grab his cocktail, trying to stop his hands from trembling. He turned, hearing her snort, watching her as she picked up her glass, taking a sip of her whiskey old fashioned, savoring the sweet and smoky flavor. She seemed so relaxed, so unnerved.
Of course, she was.
This had nothing to do with her.
As she set the glass down, she gave him a slight smirk, "Why is this an issue, babe? Two lowlife dick bags finally ran out of luck." She shrugged, twirling her index finger around the rim of the glass, "Considering that you're still cut up from them, I really don't have sympathy to spare."
He chewed the inside of his cheek, hearing her dismissive words, that slight scoff, "The guy, Daniel, he didn't need to die. Ye-yeah, he was a prick, but..." His eyes clouded over, "He didn't deserve that. An-and I-I...his friend..." He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to face that gaping hole, "I fought him and t-took it too far. He didn't deserve that, either."
"That's bullshit."
He blinked, hearing those words, his cloudy, midnight eyes gazing into Ira's burning ones. Those red orbs had a spark in them, and she lifted her glass, using it to point to him. He swallowed heavily, "It's wrong...No one deserves this."
Another snort, "They held up a flower shop and they hurt you. I bet they had hurt a lot of other people, stolen from a lot of other shops. And for what? Some cash? Some shot at fame?" She gave a derisive laugh, looking down at her cocktail, "Karma certainly thought Daniel deserved it. I doubt his partner-turned-killer will be on the loose for long, either."
She wasn't wrong. They were violent; they were scumbags. They were also stupid, tossing around the name of the most prominent crime family in the city. The same family that his mentor failed to cow, to even touch with her raids.
Even if Eric and Daniel were not bad enough to deserve death, they were stupid.
Somehow, he felt his trembling stop. His mentor wouldn't agree. Of course, she wouldn't, but...maybe he shouldn't torment himself so much. He didn't need to carve out Erics' eye, but it ended the fight and took out the more dangerous criminal. The elderly woman from the flower shop, Marie; she pulled out a gun and almost shot Daniel.
What if she did?
Would it be wrong?
Wouldn't that be karmic?
Soft, warm lips pressed against his cheek, bringing him back from his thoughts. He gave a weak smile at that attention, eyes back on her again, gazing at through low lashes. She was still angry that he had been hurt. She was protective of him even now.
It made him feel needed.
He lifted his glass, finally taking a Dark and Stormy sip, sighing softly, "I don't know if I can fully agree with you, but...maybe you're right."
"Of course, I'm right." She chuckled, her voice low as she lifted her glass, holding it up towards his, "I propose a toast even."
He blinked, before he smiled, his eyes clearing up, "To what, Babe?"
"To Karma."
His lips parted a bit, his brow furrowing, before he laughed, his voice light and airy. Their glasses pressed together, the sound echoing as he softly repeated, "To Karma."
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