He has killed so many people in his life, it feels a lot like water under the bridge. Or more adequately, a river of blood, maybe even a small ocean at this point. And out of all those dead bodies, he only regrets one.
(That is a lie.)
John Casey only feels that pang of regret after he learns that the dead Bryce Larkin isn’t so dead after all. And it takes everything for him not to just shoot the damn man the moment he sees him again. No, that is a lie too, his fingers are pretty fast to pull the trigger the second he sees Bryce standing, breathing, in his apartment.
If only the man isn’t wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his clothes.
He watches as Bryce sits up, gasping for breath.
(Next time, Casey isn’t above aiming for Larkin’s head.)
“You like him.” Bryce says with that infuriating smirk on his face as he sits, reclined in John's chair with his leather jacket, not a single hair out of place even though he has been shot twice now by the same man. “You like Chuck.”
Casey has loved three things in his life, his car, his guns, and a woman who thought he was an energy consultant. He doesn’t love easily, and to trivialize that love into like? Well, John Casey doesn’t do like either.
“I want to shoot him.”
John doesn't humour anyone when he answers, each word being taken apart between his teeth like he could do his sweet SIG P229.
“You shot me.” Bryce echoes, half a beat slower like it is a matter of fact, making a scandalized face as he does. “Should I be worried about my virtues here, Casey?”
Casey feels like he could grind his teeth into fine dust.
He really is supposed to be the good guy here. In a rational part of his head that doesn't supply him with a simple kill order, he can admit to himself that Chuck's not such a bad-- He cuts himself off before he can go any further. He hates this so much.
Bryce never misses a thing, and goddamn, does Casey’s trigger happy fingers ache.