Possessed - Bucky Barnes x OC

Part 54

James' brows twitched. He didn't expect Steve to give up so easily. It felt almost like reverse psychology to him. Worst part was— it might've been working. Trust James to be the kind of man to do something just because he was told he shouldn't.

After Steve left, James continued getting ready. Combing through his damp, tangled hair until it dried and tying his favorite Stefano Ricci obsidian tie around his neck. Then shoving a few wide rings onto his fingers, before leaving his bedroom. Just in case, he thought to himself.

He hadn't worn them in years. Sporting them nearly everyday when he was with Hydra— something to make his powerful punches a bit more murderous, if he needed them to be.

He moved down to his garage, swearing to god he nearly started drooling when he saw his prized Aston Martin waiting for him. Slipping inside, he groaned in relief. Huge, inked hands rubbing over the steering wheel. The silver rings gliding over the sleek leather. Damn it felt good to be free.

Whipping around his neighborhood, deep into midtown Manhattan. Afternoon traffic was heavy. Cabs were smushed on every side of him. A sea of yellow with a single, shiny black spot. The sun was setting slowly. Not a single cloud in the sky, but it somehow made it feel colder without the coverage.

Bursting his way through the traffic, he parallel parked in front of the bar he knew so well. The one he would frequent during the dark time of his life. The one Alexander Pierce owned.

His first step inside and his tie felt much too snug on his overheated neck. It was dim. A few neon lights rested on the back wall beside the bar top. There were only a handful of men inside, sitting alone in the booths, clutching half empty beers.

Making his way straight to the bartender, he didn't recognize anymore. "What can I get you, sir?"

James leaned forward, resting his hand on the sticky counter, saying a single word. "Hive."

The bartenders brows pinched for a millisecond, before he gave him an efficient nod. "Follow me."

He led James to the poorly lit back hall. Walking in the path he had so many times before. The man hit a smart rap of knocks on the door at the end of the hallway. A gruff voice came from inside and he slowly pushed the door open. "Boss, you have a visitor."

"No, I don't." He stated coldly.

The bartender nervously looked at his feet. "Hive." He muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"I said Hive."

There was a long pause. "Bring him in."

He gestured for James to move inside.

The second he stepped into the back office, memories came rushing back to him. A hundred nights spent in this exact room. Planning moves, hits, and violence. Groups of men pulling guns on each other over meeting discrepancies. Bravado and hatred fueling the energy. Soaked into the walls.

In the center of the room held a wooden desk, Alexander Pierce sat casually behind it. Leaned back comfortably in his seat. James strode towards him, then plopped down in one of his leather chairs.

The door clicked shut, encasing them in a thick blanket of silence.

"Surprised you showed up." Pierce stated, digging through his side drawer.

"Why's that?"

He extended out a cigarette and lighter in his fingers. James grabbed them from him, lighting the stick between his teeth. "I didn't think you'd make it out so soon."