"I can't believe my eyes."

As the words were spoken, Luke took another shot before signaling to the bartender to fill up his glass. He didn't bother looking up, having recognized the voice immediately and hoping the speaker would recognize he was NOT in the mood for company. No such luck.

"I would have thought you'd be at home, happily snuggled up to the adorable little wife of yours." Grace said, taking a seat on the bar stool next to him and signaling for her own drink.

Luke didn't respond. He didn't need any reminders of where he should be or how things should be. He needed to forget.

"I walked by earlier and thought I saw her and Marco..." Grace continued, laying it on thick but Luke picked up the empty glass and slammed it down forcefully, causing it to shatter into pieces. Grace stares for a moment, wide eyed and in complete shock. The bartender moved quickly cleaning up and apologizing for a mess he didn't make.

If it had been anyone else, they would have been sent home, either in a cab or kicked out on their ass. Of course, everyone in these parts knew Luke, knew exactly who he was and so, they wouldn't dare. Instead, the bartender replaced the glass with a new one, refilled it and served him another shot. It was obvious that Luke was not in a good mood tonight and he knew better than to stir up trouble.

"If you're going to sit there, I'd thank you not to mention them." Luke muttered, putting a hand through his hair and trying to sort out the thoughts racing through his mind. It burned. Everything burned. He was thinking too many things- too much, too hard and too fast and he hardly had the capacity to process it.

His best friend. The one man he trusted above anyone else because he had spent an entire life with him proving over and over again that deserved that trust. Luke was not a man who trusted words so much as action. He might give you the benefit of the doubt but you couldn't have his trust unless you proved yourself. Marco had been the only person to continuously prove himself over the years. He was as loyal as they come... or so he thought.

And her... just the thought of her made him want to run home and throttle her with his bare hands. How stupidly he'd fallen for her innocence and nuanced charm. He could picture her now, running her hands over her scars, kissing them gently as if to ease the pain that he had carried with him since he got them. Was it all an act? Her fears, her ingenue, he anxiety, the blushing, the awkwardness, the clothes- had every part of her he'd seen been as fabricated as her loyalty? No other man. She's said that to him. He absolute trusted her, his instinct trusted almost from the moment they met in that pool house. How wrong had he been?

If he had seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it even then. He would have rationalized that he'd imagined it, he would have explained it away in confusion, he would have figured out some way to change the story. But Nadia.

Nadia who knew before anyone else, Nadia who knew what had happened, who knew about the scars beneath his skin that he carried all these years. She had seen it and he trusted her. He trusted her eyes.

So now what? He should have them both shot. 

No.

Strangled.

No.

Dropped at the bottom of the lake.

The old Luke wouldn't have hesitated. There was no room for weakness here. They had betrayed him in his own home. The old Luke would have had them picked up by now and would show them that he was not a forgiving man. Had he grown soft?

Had they watched him slowly grow more gentle? Had he given in to her too many times? He knew he gave her concessions no one else had, he had allowed her to take over his world slowly. 

Why her? Out of all the fucking bitches he's never given a shit over, it had to be the one that he wanted the most. Luke felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He felt a knot in his throat, he felt like he was surviving on borrowed air, anxious as to where the next breath would come from- how would he breathe? It was nerve wrenching, it was a feeling of desperation mixed with rage that he could only tamper down with another drink.

Was it a waste? Was all that effort and time wasted? He could kill them... but he couldn't. He couldn't. He would not. He realized that now as he could hear the woman beside him rambling on about one thing or another. He knew there wasn't a force in the world that could push him to hurt her. He would never raise a finger against her but he could also NEVER forgive her. Not her, not him and not ever.

And so he continued to drink, drink so much that he hardly noticed when the bar closed, hardly remembered paying his tab, and didn't bother trying to argue when Grace ushered him out the door and into her car.

It had been so long since he drank as much- in fact he didn't think he'd ever gotten so fucking shitfaced, which would explain why he awoke just a couple of hours later. The sky just barely showing signs of a sunrise, his mouth dry and sour, his head already pounding and a feeling in his stomach like he would be sick for days. He couldn't remember ever having a hangover like that one and so his first idea, to cure a bad night of drinking, was to have a strong drink.

That's when it hit him, as he glanced around the room and noticed how much smaller it was as his own. He hadn't made it home, hadn't made it to the apartment he hadn't used in months either. He looked over, spotting Grace in the bed beside him, beautiful as the first rays of sun began to hit her. Then he slowly, cautiously, lifted the sheet, afraid of what he might see.

They were both undressed.

Quickly and quietly, Luke left the bed and began to dress, silently cursing himself. Had he really been so drunk the night before? She stirred suddenly, sitting up and stretching her long arms up in the air, her perfectly formed breasts now exposed as the sheet fell to her waist. He watched her for a second, almost surprised to find that despite her perfect beauty, there was not a single part of him that was moved. He was absolutely indifferent. Maybe nothing had happened...

"Luke, baby..." she said with a playful smile as she spread herself across the bed and arched her back, "come back to bed."

She rolled to her side, resting her head on her arm.

"I missed you so much." She said after a few more moments.

Fuck. He shook his head, looking for his shoes. It was obvious that he had hoped for too much. It was obvious that everything HAD happened.

"I gotta go." He said coldly, leaving the room before she even had a chance to reply.

—-

"You wanted to see me?"

Marco poked his head through the office door, much like he always did but this time Luke didn't say anything. He didn't wave him in, he didn't signal for him to sit. 

"Knock." He muttered, still looking down a the stack of papers in front of him. Marco stared for a second, part of him thinking he had to be joking, another part of him wondering if he was actually serious. In all the years he'd known Luke, he hadn't once told him to go back out and knock. Still, he closed the door, tapping it gently. No answer. 

Marco shifted uncomfortably outside the door as people walked by, obviously wondering what he was doing just standing there. He waited, wondering whether or not he had knocked loud enough. Then, he lifted his hand again.

"Come in." Luke finally said, before Marco could bother knocking. 

"Hey." Marco said, walking through. 

"Close the door." Luke said, looking up at him, his eyes cold and dark. Marco nodded, shutting the door behind him and wondering what was bothering him. Could it be he heard something that Marco hadn't?

"What can I do for you?" Marco said, moving towards the chair he usually occupied. 

"Don't, this won't take long." Luke said, standing and walking around the desk. Marco frowned. Don't? As in don't sit? What in the world was going on with Luke?

"You're acting strange. What's going on?" Marco asked. He'd found throughout the years that he best way to get through to Luke was to be direct, and Luke generally appreciated that. He hated how some men went on and on in circles, instead of just saying what they had to say. That was one of the reasons he used to like having Marco around, he wasn't afraid of him. 

"Here." Luke said, handing him an envelope. 

"What's this?" Marco asked, opening it. 

"It's everything you need. I want you in New York on the 24th." He said, walking back around the desk. "Get this mess sorted out. I don't want you back until you do."

Marco stared incredulously. Did Luke really just ask him to walk right into the lion's den?

"I thought we decided to wait until we could..." Marco began but Luke shook his head. 

"I'VE decided that YOU are going to go take care of this mess, NOW. I'm tired of fucking waiting around for something to happen." Luke said, surprising Marco with his tone. 

"But what about security? I thought you wanted me around to keep an eye on Echo." Marco said. it wasn't like Luke to just switch things up, to take action so impulsively. 

"I will take care of my wife." Luke angrily, "And you'll fucking do what I say. Damn it, or did you forget who's in charge?"

Marco stared blankly.  Could it be that Luke knew how he felt about Echo? He could see how worked up he was, he could tell that he was seething...

"Luke... I..." Marco began but Luke had enough. He rushed over to Marco, pushing him as hard as he could against the wall and pinning him into place, his arm across his neck and shoulders. Marco was stunned, unable to react. 

"Don't fucking say another word. Consider yourself lucky you're walking away." Luke said, practically spitting the words out at him. 

"Get out." Luke said, loosening his grip and turning back to the desk. Marco didn't need to be told again, he was gone, leaving the door open behind him .

"What in the world is going on?" At the sound of her voice, Luke snapped his head up and away from the new dent he'd created in the wall. Echo walked in, looking a little like a lost puppy. She'd never been to the office before, having never had a reason to but here she was, looking ridiculous in the same type of jeans and shirt she would have worn when they met. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He said, shaking his head and walking back to the desk. Echo stared in confusion. She'd seen Marco storming down the hall angrily, something was wrong. "What the fuck are doing dressed like that?"

"I'm looking for you." She said angrily, walking up to the desk and facing him directly. Echo had never been one to cower before Luke, and she wasn't about to start now. "You didn't come home last night, didn't call, didn't text. Won't answer your fucking phone- where the hell have you been?"

"Busy." Was all Luke replied, going back to his papers. "Never EVER fucking walking out of the house dressed like that again."

"Luke... what the hell is going on?" She said, moving around the desk towards him. "If I'm dressed like this it's because I'm too tired to think. I didn't sleep last night, worrying over you."

"Don't." He said, turning to keep her at arm's length when she would have reach towards him. Echo stared. "I think you forget too easily who I am. I'll make this clear- I do what I want, whenever the fuck I want. You don't question it, you don't to say a goddamned thing."

Echo stepped back. There was steal in his voice. It was cold. She thought about that first night she'd met him, the way the gun clicked as he pointed it at her. Even then, not knowing him like she knew him now, she had never been scared of him. 

"Get the fuck out, and go home before someone else sees you." He said, turning back to the desk.  Echo moved quickly, trying not to run as she reached for the door. "Oh and Echo? From now on, you don't go anywhere unless you run it by me first."