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Summary
In all his years in this line of work, Eddie has never found himself bested. Not like this. And it only goes to cement that he should have told Jason to go fuck himself or find someone else for the job. But he hadn’t done that, because Eddie hadn’t trusted his instincts this one time. This job had never felt right, and he knew that walking into it. But no one ever said Eddie Munson isn’t one of the world’s biggest morons.
He’s definitely starting to feel that way now, back pressed against the cold tile of the floor and the sharp edge of a knife, his knife, pressed to his throat. And worst? He couldn’t even try to get away, considering his wrists are pinned above his head, firm in the grip of the hand not holding the knife.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man pinning Eddie to the floor snarls, leaning so his knee digs into Eddie’s sternum as the knife presses closer. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
OR: The one where Eddie is an assassin for hire who thinks he's good at his job, but is he really?