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Summary
The hitman was staring at him. The two locked eyes. 81’s face changed imperceptibly, his eyebrow lifting in what felt like a challenge. Lando looked away quickly.
“Fuck.” He muttered, staring down at his rum and coke, hands gripping the glass. From his periphery he saw a figure approach, agonisingly slow.
“Lan? What’s wrong?” Alex called worriedly in his ear.
The hitman sat down beside him. Facing forward, his knee came to rest against Lando’s. The touch sent a jolt through Lando, who bit his lip in an attempt to calm himself.
“Whisky.” The hitman said to the worker. He was Australian? That was certainly valuable information. If he could leave this bar alive to tell it.
Or, Oscar is a powerful and thus far anonymous hitman working for a corrupt government. Lando is a political vigilante trying to stop him. All Oscar sees is a pretty boy sitting alone at the bar.