No shots went off. That was always a perk of the night when the gangbang never really got the chance to get riled up and they were scared off by the sight of a guy with a gun. That only meant one thing, actually -- they weren’t packing themselves or they would have all ended up full of holes and the night would have ended up a whole different kind of messy. Even though most of the bros that were beginning to circle him like sharks backed off, hands in the air, at the sight of gunmetal, there were two that tried to test his bluff and lunged from behind. Only as soon as Jack wheeled around on his feet and cocked the trigger, his eyes deadpan saucers as he met their piggy, beady little stares as the gun swing from one forehead to the other. His voice was a threatening, guttural rasp underneath his breath. And Jack looked no less menacing with the shiner on his face than without -- more so, maybe. It made him looked that little bit of fucked up that they hesitated, glowering, and swung their hands at their fellow comrades instead of at him.<br/><br/><br/>“Come on, we’re out of here. Pussy isn’t worth getting shot out,” one of them called out, swiping his paw through the air again before turning tail, the rest of the lot filing out after him.<br/><br/><br/>Jack’s finger twitched on that trigger even still, his jaw twitching with tension at the gangbanger’s final statement, but after casting his attention to the side at the bartender, decided against blood spilt. It would only cause them all more trouble in the long run if he shot the fucker, even if it was only to cap him in the knee. Though he didn’t lower the gun until the door had thumped close behind them, and even still he held it firm in his hand as he turned around, grunting, and slid right back onto the bar stool to finish his drink.<br/><br/><br/>“They’ll be back. Idiotic fucks like that don’t like their pride to be hurt, least of all by a woman,” he intoned in a mutter pitched from under his breath, whiskey soaked stare lifting once more to the blonde as she helped the portly owner onto a seat and began the process of calling him a cab. Maybe it was the country they were in, but if this had been the streets of LA, they might have all been dead on the floor instead of a little banged up in a bar. Pub? It served the kind of booze he liked, so he supposed it was all one and the same. “Especially the joker that you sucker punched like that.”<br/><br/><br/>The man seemed unphased by the ordeal. Though a blatant display of violence might be something of a culture shock in a different country, especially the UK, where their cops didn’t even carry around heat. Unless that was a myth? Jack peered down into his empty glass blearily, squinting. Perhaps he should have done more research before he had hopped on a plane and headed on over. Some habits just never died, though, according to the dog tag that kissed his collarbone underneath the tee that fit snugly against his chest, right underneath the jacket that hid what other goodies he had to offer on his person.<br/><br/><br/>What took him by surprise was when she -- Olivia -- offered to take him home with her. His dark head shot back up, squinting at her with a bemused expression on his face. Once more his voice rumbled forth, slurred with the effects of the alcohol. He knew damn well that he didn’t look his prettiest, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the blurred out night they had stumbled back to hers in the dark, “Twice in one month, eh? You’re either a saint or you’ve got a sweet spot for me,” he teased.<br/><br/><br/>It wasn’t like he was going to let her help him. He dragged himself up with every twinge and pain hidden beneath the mask of his face and didn’t even wobble from the waves his vision was creating in the dark room. Something around his chest cavity felt like it was shifting, but again, there was that tingling spreading through his form, keeping him together while his body knitted itself back to new. He knew by morning he would look brand new -- same face, same sour mug, same penance, and same assignment.<br/><br/><br/>“So do you plan on staying in that shithold forever or do you got plans for yourself?” He was making idle conversation, uttered under his breath, as the ground lurched underneath his feet and he tried his best to remain erect as they left the bar behind them and headed down the street. He followed her lead, even though his senses tingled before they turned as memory struggled to recall that fateful last time. In the back of his mind, as his peripheral found her face alongside him, he wondered what it would be like to fuck her sober. Savor her. Maybe feel that sweet little mouth around his cock while his mind was clear enough to enjoy it and not just wanting to release some ill begotten pressure that made his balls throb. Grunting to himself, he turned his attention back on the street, the odd little apartments and houses that they passed, different from where he came from back in the States. “Got any boyfriends? ..Girlfriends?”<br/><br/><br/>OK, that last one was more for his personal interest. He even grinned, lopsided, and was still grinning when she popped the door open to her.. What was it? A flat here? And waited until she stepped inside before he ducked underneath the doorframe himself and glared into the dark. It turned into a series of rapid blinks as the lights came on, his face twisting into a scowl. Stumbling fully this time, he muttered something under his breath and moved to fall heavily onto her couch, hand going to shield his eyes that had turned golden underneath the glare.