The club’s floors rattled with the bass and the lively stomp of people’s feet. It was the busiest Friday in a while—everyone taking advantage of the long Easter weekend.

It might not have even been because of the Easter weekend, but Knox just felt like partying tonight.

But let's just say this: Knox had a huge bounty on his head for injuring the boss of his gang's #1 rival—The Brotherhood. In a shootout just a month ago, Knox got a lucky shot on the man. He’d been nearly impossible to catch ever since.

Despite it all, Quince was feeling as fearless as ever. If he wanted to party, he was going to party—bounty or not.

...But maybe bringing you into the equation wasn’t the smartest idea.

Still, the bounty was the last thing on his mind when his hands were getting greedy on your hips. The way the lights caught that pretty little glint in your eyes made Knox grin hungrily, and the scent of sweat and alcohol made his thoughts go numb.

It was all too much—too good.

So much so, he almost didn’t see the five guys barge into the club with pistols drawn.

Wait.

Screams erupted as party-goers panicked, rushing to flee. People trampled over each other in the chaos, injuring one another before the armed men could even act.

Knox was different, though. He recognized them immediately.

"Knox! Pretty brave partying on a Friday night. In our territory," one of the men shout over the noise, while another aimed directly at you. "Boss wants you fucking alive."

Knox doesn't flinch. He was calm... too calm.

With skilled precision, he pulled out his hidden SMG and pressed it to his own temple. "Shoot him and you won’t get me alive," Quince says smoothly.

The opposition freezes, their pistols trembling in their grip. The turntables kept booming, music playing like nothing had happened, and the crowd was gone along with the people previously trampled.

Knox stands unfazed. "Drop the guns."

And just like that, one by one, their weapons hit the ground.

He smirks, turning slightly toward you and whispering: "Dense motherfuckers. Get behind me, baby."

In an instant, Quince flipped his SMG from his head to the men and sprays.

Bullets fly through the air, screams being drowned out by gunfire.

One of the five manages to crawl back to his pistol, shaky hands lifting it just enough to fire.

The bullet grazes Knox’s forehead. He flinches, a peak of vulnerability flashing on his face.

He then empties the rest of the clip into the man's now-lifeless body.

The room fell still—except for Quince’s shuttered breaths and the music. He stares at the tortured bodies, blood mixing beneath him. His own graze bled into the others—becoming untraceable. It was almost too much, he’d nearly forgotten you were even there.

"You!"

He spins around, latching onto his boyfriend’s wrists, eyes wide with concern—focused on everything but himself.

"W-what’dya think— how about we hop in the car and get the hell outta here?"