He Wants To Run

He Wants To Run
POV: Felix

When Selina came to me in my bedroom, I assumed she was here for something else and I felt excited as she approached my bed and sat besides me.

I didn’t even wait for her to sit properly, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her passionately, pulling her up to straddle my hips.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” I told her when we stopped to catch our breath.

She initiated the second kiss, granting me access to her tongue, letting me kiss her deeply while she moved her hips against my already hardened cock.

I groaned at the impact, my teeth scraping and bruising her lips, making her moan louder. That one action was enough to jolt her back to reality.

She jumped back immediately, standing up abruptly as if she had been caught stealing cookies from the forbidden jar.

“I’m sorry, Felix, I didn’t mean to lead you on, I’m not ready to jump back into your bed, not now, not when the threat is still out there.” She apologised, sounding guilty.

“You don’t have to apologize, Lina, it’s not just you, it was my fault too. We don’t have to deny ourselves what we obviously and desperately desire. Let’s just forget about Martin’s and everything else, just for tonight, Lina, please...” I begged.

But she was already moving back, trying to put some distance between us as if she truly regrets her actions just now.

“I’m sorry, Felix, I’m just not ready yet. I need some time... No, we need some time to figure this out. We are just not there yet.” She said sternly, opening the door.

“I only came to tell you that it seems we may have someone amongst us that is feeding Martin’s these information.

There is no way he’s always getting away from us on his own, he can’t be that smart. He must have someone in your team, can you look into it?” she asks me innocently, as if we weren’t just sucking each other’s lips a few minutes ago.

“We know already, and we are already fishing out the mole.” I told her, smiling warmly despite the discomfort between my legs.

Her eyes looked down on my hard dick, looking from my face to my dick, feeling guilty about it.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters softly, making me scoff at the irony of it.

“Just go, before I fucking lose it!” I told her, standing up angrily and heading to the bathroom to help myself with my erection.

After we intensified our search for the mole, three of my guards quit and skipped town before we could find them.

We didn’t need to be told that they were the moles, we knew by their actions that they were scared of getting caught.

“Now that we chased the rats out, it’s time to get that bastard!” I told my boys. We did not announce our plans or put it out there that he is wanted.

We arranged a covert operation to secretly fish him out to his hideout. We got several locations where we thought he’ll be hiding and we burst the place unannounced to smoke him out.

Just when we thought we were getting closer to locating him, Ryan called on a Wednesday.

I almost didn't answer. The number was one I recognized but hadn't expected to hear from again Ryan, who had been discharged from the hospital six weeks ago.

He had been living quietly in a city that had collectively decided to forget he existed, which was the arrangement I had made possible in exchange for the information he had given me bleeding on a guardrail in the rain.

I had kept my end of it. His daughters were safe, his brother's shop was untouched. Ryan had his life, which was more than Martin had intended him to keep.

I answered on the third ring...

"He's running," Ryan said. No greeting, no preamble. The voice of a man who had learned, specifically and at significant cost, that preamble was a luxury.

"Tonight. I got word through a contact I still have inside his network. He has a vehicle arranged for eleven, a route out through the northern corridor, and passage booked through a private channel at the border." A pause.

"He's been planning it for two weeks. Since before the last stunt." I sat with that for a moment.

The last stunt had been eleven days ago, a vehicle that had come too close to the car Selina was in, close enough to be deliberate, close enough to make the point that Martin's reach extended to moving vehicles on open streets. She had not been hurt.

She didn't know how close it had been, or that it had been deliberate, or that I had spent eleven days running down the thread of it while maintaining the specific performance of a man whose primary concern was the legal process moving forward on schedule.

She believed Martin was in custody. I had let her believe it because the alternative, telling her that the escape attempt I had anticipated and not told her about had succeeded.

Telling her that Martin had been one step ahead of the facility management team despite my precautions, that the man who had commissioned her death was currently at large and had just arranged for a vehicle to remind me of that, would have undone three months of the breathing and the sleeping and the Tuesday gallery and the sketchbook on the kitchen table.

I had made a decision. It was not the most honest decision I had made. It was the one I had made anyway.

"Where," I said.

Ryan told me. I had wanted to let the law have him. I want to be precise about this because precision matters and because the decision I made on Wednesday night was not one I arrived at carelessly.

When Martin had been in formal custody, when the evidence package was complete and Strack's testimony was on record and the legal process was doing its slow, correct work.

During that period I had genuinely intended the law. I had built toward it, had committed to it, had told myself and Selina and Marco and my own interior accounting that the correct version of this was the system, the record, the formal consequence that couldn't be contested or revised or dismissed as the private action of a man with personal grievance.

I had meant it...

Then Martin had escaped. And in the six weeks since the escape he had not disappeared, had not run, had not done the thing that disappearing was supposed to do.

He had stayed close, he had sent reminders. He had arranged a vehicle on a city street and let it come close enough to make his continued presence felt.

He had operated, from wherever he had positioned himself, with the patient precision of a man who understood that the most effective torture was not the dramatic gesture but the sustained demonstration that he could reach whatever mattered to you, whenever he chose, and that no arrangement you made was sufficient to prevent it.

He had made Selina's city feel like his city. He had made her breathing tentative again. She had not said this. She would not say it, Selina did not offer her fear as information unless offering it served a purpose.

Which was one of the qualities I admired most and found most difficult in equal measure. But I could read it. I had learned to read her the way you learn to read something you are paying attention to, in the small things.

Like the way she sat in the kitchen with her back to the wall now rather than facing the window, the way her eyes moved when we were outside, the quality of her sleep which I knew from the specific sound of her in the room and the way she came downstairs in the mornings.

She was not sleeping through the night anymore. Martin had done that. And now Ryan was telling me he was running, which meant he had concluded that the taunting phase had achieved whatever it was designed to achieve.

The next phase was positioning himself beyond my reach permanently, from which position he could continue the harassment at intervals and distances that made interd
iction impossible.

If he got out of the city tonight, I would not get another chance.

He knew that...

He had planned for that...