Silver-haired

A few hours ago…

The world was a color of black and white, of pleasure and sin, and the blend of gray dispersing in the air like incense.

Faint old rock music bled through the bar, mixed with laughter and screams through the night’s stillness.

However, the silence of the night was louder than the noise, and even louder somewhere parked at the far edge of the lot, gleaming under harsh yellow lights.

It was like a beast at rest but never asleep. A world of its own.

Its placement was deliberate, far enough to command space, close enough to remind the world it didn’t belong.

Even the blind could tell it was possessed by someone wealthy. Those bloody-rich rouges kept concealed in the dark as they carried out their ruse.

Inside a car buried at one end, sat a cognizant figure. It was eerily silent, not the comfortable kind, the kind that stretched taut and unrelenting, pressing in on everything. The leather interior, black on black, held the chill like a coffin and its tainted glass reflected the aesthetic of a dangerous panther.

No music. No idle conversation. Just the occasional hum of the engine and the barely audible sound of his breath, shallow and synchronized.

There was someone. But was it just someone?

However, in the back seat, there was someone else. At first, it appeared as something, due to its immovable motion, but an intimidating presence turning the temperature down without touching the dial.

He emanated a callous yet perilous aura that even the chilliness from the AC couldn't match.

The man remained unmoving. No sound on whether or not he was breathing, until the intense illumination of his screen blazed through his cold and breathtaking features, and the quick movement of his fingers as he dialed down his screen, indicated he was indeed human.

The clicking of the keyboard sealed the air in its midst of silence only for a few seconds, before the sound of his lock screen reverberated in the ambiance.

And the car was back to its bone-chilling silence.

No one said a word. Not even the figure who sat in the front passenger seat, eyes forward, posture alert, and fingers resting casually on his thigh. Though his entire frame was a coil of readiness, the silence wasn’t awkward. It was absolute.

Suddenly, the vociferous music from a few distance away, blazed through the air, shattering the stillness into pieces and the man seated at the passenger’s seat turned, catching a glimpse of a drunken silver-haired struggling to walk properly.

Hm, silver-haired?

Somehow, her sudden presence cracked the stillness like glass underfoot. The once silent lot was occupied by the weight of her existence.

She weaved across the lot in a chaos of heels, mascara, and misplaced dignity. Coat inside out, hair wild, clutch dangling from her wrist like an afterthought. Her eyes searched for something she didn’t recognize anymore.

Must be her car, especially when her gaze searched through the crowd of cars until her eyes landed on theirs.

And then he looked away.

It wasn't even up to a few seconds when he returned his gaze, watching the woman head toward the Bugatti and his brows knitted.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. However, there was nothing from the figure behind, just a fixed unreadable face carved from ice.

“Boss,” The man finally said quietly as his eyes lingered on the figure approaching. “We’ve got a little problem.”

The silver-haired woman wobbled for a moment, trying so hard to keep her vision stable. It seemed like her mind where already made up.

But there was no answer from the figure behind.

The woman drew closer with her key fob in hand. She clicked as she neared and as expected, didn't respond.

Frowning hard, she clicked again, but still the same result and she pressed on, harder this time.

The man watched her try, in hope she’ll recover her senses, but it seemed the lady wouldn't back down as seconds turned to minutes.

He was about to open the door, when one sentence silenced his action.

“Let her be.”

The intensity in that voice could cause even an adult to shudder in fear, and the car shrank due to its coldness. He relaxed his weight back on his seat, however, his attention was on full alert.

The woman pressed on, clicking, frowning, clicking again like she couldn’t understand why the car didn’t greet her. Then she reached out and tugged at the handle.

Before he could react, a ‘click’ sound shattered the miniature silence within, indicating the door’s automatic lock.

She yanked at the door once more, her drunken frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, and just right on time, a tall figure emerged from the shadows near the bar.

And at that moment, the man relaxed, realising his breath as he watched Lucien handle the drunken lady.

Finally.

It almost seemed like an eternity, and the drunken lady was the source.

His stride was steady, shoulders squared, and presence controlled yet felt. He had this look that could scare someone to pulp. A man who didn’t need to raise his voice or quicken his pace to command a room. But not to the drunken woman lost in the effect.

He approached with the same detachment he used to disarm armed threats or silent alarms— a calm, cold, methodical, then reached her just as she rattled the handle again.

“What are you doing?” Lucien asked, his voice flat but clear. Clear enough to get the woman’s little gasp. Or hiccup.

Great.

And the woman froze for what was supposed to be close to a minute. However, unlike any sane person would do, she ignored him. It seemed she was even trying to… get away?

He almost laughed.

Lucien took a deep breath and faced the woman before speaking, this time, a bit sharp yet concise.

“That’s not yours,”

It seemed like the realization sank deep into her brain as blood drained from her face. The illumination in the lot was bright enough to picture the look of sheer mortification when she realized her mistake.

And the silent interpretation of ‘shit’ before swerving slightly on her heels. Embarrassment singed her skin, but she was caught between pride and panic.

He almost laughed again.

Interesting.

He tilted his head slightly, lips twitching when he said, “Friendly as always.”

However, the figure in the backseat never gave a reaction.

They watched as Lucien spoke to the woman, not harshly, but firmly. That tone he used when reminding someone, without raising a finger, that they were still alive because someone allowed them to be.

And her body language wilted. She looked at the car. Then at Lucien. Back to the car.

She backed away, slowly, a cocktail of shame and tequila weighing down her steps. Lucein offered a brief smile, the kind that made people nervous with a dark promise, then turned and approached the car.

The rear door clicked open, and Lucein slid into the driver’s seat beside the man with brown eyes and the door shut with a soft, expensive ‘thud’.

And silence returned, thicker now, heavy with breath and unspoken questions.

“Care to explain why-the-fuck nothing was done?” he passed a look at the man beside him. “She would’ve broken the god-damned handle for Pete’s sake,” His quiet displeased voice broke the silence in the atmosphere, however the intensity remained, especially from behind. “Do I have to handle everything?”

“Be a good boy and appreciate your job, Lucien. I’ve never seen you work up before,” there was humor at the end of his sentence as they conversed in a whisper.

“Oh yeah?” he retorted. “I just had a terrible night trying to babysit a grown man,” And now he was settled, the stench of blood and flesh oozed from him.

“Oh, you reek,” he made an ugly face, mouth hanging slightly in the air, however, it appeared hilariously, pissing the fuming man beside him. “C’mon, don’t be a whining tot. No one’s better at the job than you, Lulu.”

He glared at him. “Don’t you ever call me that,”

“Yo, chill man,” he whispered back. “Ain’t you such a cutey pie- okay, okay! Fuck man,” his eyes widened as Lucien placed his rifle at his groin.

Lucien frowned, slowly leaning back to his seat, and the silence returned.

He scrutinized the drunken woman earlier whose curse ‘shit’, echoed in the lot, as she tried to regain her stance.

“She tried to open the door,” he said quietly.

“Can’t you see she’s drunk. She thought it was hers. Obviously,” Lucien replied in that same tone.

Then he chuckled, shifting slightly in his seat. “Corolla confidence. That’s a new one.”

“She looked like she was about to cry when I told her,” Lucien added. “Or fight. Hard to tell with those types.”

“Tough one, eh? She scratched the paint?”

“No. Boss locked the doors before she could.”

He lifted a brow, angling a look at the man in the back. “Huh.”

“Why didn't you stop her?”

The brown-eyed glanced into the rearview and smirked. “Boss said I do nothing,” and then he shrugged. “Nice tone out there by the way,” There was satire in his tone causing the man to fume again.

“Did you get it?”

The voice interrupted, returning the deadly glare of the night’s silence.

Lucien fished his hand into his pocket, pulling out a polythene bag wrapped in something that looked like a document before conveying it to the man behind him.

The recipient said nothing in return, as the unraveling action instigated the quietness until it went silent again.

“What now, Kiel? Can we leave now?” Lucien asked, looking through the rear mirror that reflected the darkness behind.

The man behind didn't respond immediately. But when he did, “Not yet,” Just two words. He didn’t move or speak again as his eyes were still on the parking lot.

***