𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐼𝐸𝑀 - M.R.

[REVENGE]

(Please let me know if you enjoy this chapter because I had so much fun writing it.Warnings for death and blood and all that fun stuff.)

Mitch goes to sleep to the sound of ringing in his ears and it settles into the crashing of waves as he slips under.

He dreams of sand turning to ash and seas bleeding red, crumbling cliffs and cries for help. 

He wakes to the sound of rapid gunfire and the shattering of glass.  

Within sixty seconds he's rounding the stairs with his Glock in hand and a Blackhawk CQD knife in the pocket of his sweats - the knife from under his pillow. 

It's his favourite, and for good reason. 

He stops on the bottom step, hidden from view from the front room, where he hears another bullet embed itself in the walls.

Melissa is crouched down on the floor adjacent to him, in the entrance to the kitchen whispering frantically into her phone, she hasn't noticed him yet, and he can't hear her from where he's stood, but he'd place any money on it being Scott on the other end of the line.

Which is not only reckless but ridiculous too, because this isn't a supernatural threat. What's her little werewolf boy going to do when he comes face to face with a wall of bullets? Die. That's what he'll do.

He'll die.

If Melissa's out of sight, it means his fathers being shot at, and that just won't do, so he paces forward, back against the wall until he reaches the open living room door. He peers in as inconspicuously as he can to see the front-facing window smashed open, jagged glass garnishing the floor. 

He scowls, if you're going to break into someone's home to try to kill them, you could at least have the courtesy to use the front door.

Leaning in a little further, he catches sight of at least two men in all-black tactical gear, they've got masks covering the lower half of their faces and each of them have an assault rifle in hand, but they aren't firing, which means there's someone else in the room.

"Come on Sheriff, I'm not here for you, where is he? You don't have to die today," the voice is deep and cocksure but unmistakably female, he's heard it before, he knows he has. 

Mitch grits his teeth, flexing his fingers around his handgun, of course they're here for him. Probably, someone he's pissed off in the past.

There's a limited list; the people he pisses off don't usually come out of their encounters alive. He runs through it in his head and comes up empty.

He's missing someone, he must me.

"I've already told you," he hears Noah spit, is sounds strained - fuck - "I don't know any Mitch, and I certainly don't know any CIA agents," his breaths come out short and biting, shit.

The mystery woman fires another bullet, just one of warning, he hopes, "I wonder if he's got you lying for him, or if he's the one lying to you," she hums, though it's more mocking than considering, "but you're not stupid, Sheriff, surely you've figured it out, isn't that supposed to be your job?"  

At once, Mitch slams his shoulder into the door, letting it clatter against the wall as he storms the room, fires one shot, then another. Two bodies hit the floor. 

He levels his gun on the woman the same time she turns to face him, and he'll blame the shock of recognising her for how close the bullet gets to shattering his skull before he ducks out of the way.