PART 04 | FICTION

Anti Hero

A beautifully loaded weapon.

Before you begin…

This is the 4th installment in the Anti Hero series, originally written by the brilliant Meta Marvelia and collaboratively continued after she was paired with Sumedh Pimplikar during the January Collaborative Writing Challenge hosted by Wanderer’s Tavern.

Part 01 Part 02 Part 03

Summary of the previous parts —

Keane was once Legion’s most loyal operative until Jasmine became his greatest weakness. After her disappearance from the compound, Legion branded him a traitor and tortured him for her escape.

Months later, he found her alive — dangerous, secretive, and far more powerful than he ever realized. Now reunited inside a city drowning in violence and betrayal, they are pulled back into an obsession neither of them can survive.

And this time, love feels a lot more like war.

The kiss didn’t end softly. Nothing with Jasmine ever did.

One second her mouth was on mine… warm, dangerous, fuckin’ addictive — and the next she pulled away just enough to breathe. Just enough to ruin me slowly.

Rain. Gunpowder. Jasmine.

The room smelled like every bad decision I’d ever made.

My hand stayed locked around her waist. Tight enough to keep her there. Tight enough to convince myself she wouldn’t disappear again.

She stood between my knees now while I sat against the edge of the counter, one of my hands resting too low against her hips.

Fuck.

The waistband of her jeans dipped every time she moved, and my eyes kept dragging there like a sickness I couldn’t kill.

That’s when I saw it.

A thin black tattoo curving above the edge of her jeans before disappearing beneath the denim.

J∀.SVIINE

I didn’t remember seeing it before.

Maybe she had never let me close enough to.

It looked like a name someone had tried to destroy and rewrite halfway through. My thumb brushed against the ink before I could stop myself.

Jasmine noticed immediately.

Of course she fucking did.

“You always brand yourself with broken things?” I asked.

Jasmine smiled slowly.

“Only the ones that survive.”

Jesus Christ, she… she was a good person, supposedly.

Her fingers slid into my hair slowly, nails scratching lightly against my scalp before tugging just enough to force my head back.

Control disguised as affection.

God.

I could kill men without blinking. Could put bullets through skulls like it meant nothing.

But Jasmine? Jasmine only had to touch me and my entire body betrayed me like a weak fuckin’ traitor.

“You’re angry at me,” she whispered.

I laughed quietly against her skin.

“You stabbed me.”

“And you still kissed me.”

My grip tightened instinctively against her hips.

That smile appeared again. Slower this time. Heavier. Like she knew exactly what she did to me.

Every scar on my body has your name hidden inside it, if you see closely enough.

I opened my mouth to answer when her phone vibrated sharply against the kitchen counter behind her.

The sound sliced through the tension instantly.

Jasmine stilled.

Just for a second.

But I caught it.

Something unreadable crossed her face before she stepped away from me.

And fuck, I hated the distance immediately.

I watched her walk toward the counter in silence, barely breathing like some obsessed idiot noticing every sway of her hips.

Jasmine moved like someone born knowing people would watch her.

My leather jacket hung loose off one shoulder now. The low waist of her jeans dipped again as she leaned forward to grab the phone.

The tattoo flashed once more above the curve of her back.

My jaw tightened.

Fuck. VII Who? What? Why?

She answered quietly.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

Then her voice changed completely.

It was cooler, much sharper and very controlled.

The woman holding the phone sounded nothing like the one who’d just kissed me breathless against the counter. This woman sounded dangerous.

“I need everything wiped tonight,” she said calmly. “Accounts, trails, surveillance routes.”

My eyes narrowed slowly.

Jasmine continued like she was discussing the weather.

“Two passports. New IDs. Access codes too.”

Another pause.

Then:

“And prepare the penthouse.”

Silence swallowed the apartment.

I stared at her back while something unfamiliar crawled beneath my skin.

Realization.

Jasmine turned slightly then, city lights and cigarette smoke wrapping around her like she belonged to both.

And suddenly I understood something terrifying.

She had never been powerless.

Not even once.

I didn’t speak while she packed.

Didn’t trust myself to.

I just leaned against the doorway instead, watching her move through the apartment like it had never really belonged to her in the first place.

Drawers opened. False panels slid back. Flash drives disappeared into the pockets of my leather jacket hanging off her body.

Every movement precise. Practiced.

Jesus. Who the hell was this woman?

Jasmine crouched near the kitchen island then, fingers disappearing beneath loose floorboards before she pulled out a black metal case.

A laugh escaped me quietly.

“Jesus Christ.”

She glanced over her shoulder calmly. Not startled. Never startled.

“You sound surprised.”

I pushed off the doorway slowly.

“I think I stopped knowing who you are a long time ago.”

That made her smile faintly.

Then she stood and walked toward me carrying the case. Too close.

The smell of smoke and expensive perfume wrapped around me instantly. The velvet clung to her like it was losing a fight. My eyes dropped before I could stop them.

Mistake.

The jacket shifted slightly off her shoulder again. The waistband of her jeans dipped low against her hips.

That fuckin’ tattoo flashed at me again.

My jaw tightened.

“You still came back to me,” she said quietly.

Yeah.

That landed exactly where she wanted it to.

I grabbed her wrist before she could move away again.

Fast.

The metal case slipped from her hand onto the couch beside us with a dull sound.

“You manipulate everyone this easily?” I asked softly.

Jasmine tilted her head slightly while looking up at me through dark lashes.

“Only the ones worth manipulating.” A loose strand of hair fell across her left eye lightly, just enough for her to peek at me.

Fuck.

My hand slid from her wrist to her waist instinctively, fingers spreading against the warm skin exposed beneath the jacket.

“You enjoy this too much,” I muttered.

She felt delicate right up until she took control again.

“And you enjoy letting me.”

Neither of us moved after that.

Didn’t breathe either.

The tension between us had become something alive now. Something waiting.

I could feel it in the way her pulse jumped beneath my hand. In the way my body kept pulling her closer without permission.

Headlights flashed briefly across the apartment windows then.

Jasmine pulled away first.

Of course she did.

“We need to go.”

And just like that, the room felt cold again.

Rain hit the city hard by the time we reached the underground garage.

Jasmine walked ahead of me through the concrete corridors, heels echoing sharply in the silence while I carried weapons and the metal case behind her.

I watched everything.

The loose swing of her wavy highlighted hair. The stiletto heels she used to hate now sounded lethal against concrete. She looked immaculate, like violence itself had a dress code.

Obsession had turned me into something feral around her.

She unlocked a matte black car without slowing down.

“Passenger seat,” she said casually.

I raised a brow while opening the door.

“You giving me orders now?”

Jasmine slid into the driver’s seat looking entirely unbothered.

“You follow them.”

That smile again.

Confident.

Like she already knew I would.

I shut the passenger door harder than necessary.

Rain blurred the city outside once we pulled onto the streets. Neon signs smeared across the windows in red and gold streaks while music pulsed faintly somewhere below the city noise.

Jasmine drove one-handed.

Cigarette between her fingers. Other hand resting lazily against the steering wheel.

And fuck, I couldn’t stop staring at her.

At the slow way she inhaled smoke. At the chipped black polish on her nails. At the rings catching flashes of streetlight.

“Still trying to figure me out?”

My eyes dragged toward the road slowly.

“Trying to decide if I should trust you.”

Smoke left her lips slowly.

“Too late.”

That answer should’ve warned me. Instead, it dragged me deeper. Silence settled between us after that. Dangerous in all the places we should avoid.

Then suddenly Jasmine reached over and grabbed my jaw, turning my face toward her while we sat at a red light.

My pulse snapped hard in my throat.

“You keep looking at me like that,” she murmured softly, “I’m still me, who are you searching for?”

My heart beat for a second like I recognized the tone. My hand wrapped around her thigh instantly.

“How the fuck do you stab me and disappear?” I said roughly. “What the fuck did you expect?”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly and lips curled. Again.

“Maybe exactly this.”

She held my gaze for one slow second too long.

Jesus. Christ. This. Woman.

The light turned green.

Neither of us moved, when the horns sounded behind us and Jasmine laughed quietly before pulling the car forward again.

I sank deeper into the seat, dragging a hand across my mouth slowly.

Fuck.

She was going to ruin me again.

And the worst part?

I was already letting her.

The penthouse sat above the sleeping city like a secret.

Private elevator. Black marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows drowned in rain and neon light.

I stepped inside first automatically, scanning for threats out of instinct.

But she walked in like she owned the darkness itself. She tossed the keys onto the counter casually before kicking off her heels and crossing the enormous living space barefoot.

Soft music hummed somewhere through hidden speakers.

The city glowed beneath us.

And suddenly something dangerous settled in my chest.

This wasn’t a hiding place.

This is her world.

The penthouse felt too fuckin’ large for the amount of tension trapped inside it.

Rain crawled down the massive glass windows overlooking the city while neon lights bled across black marble floors. Somewhere far below us, music pulsed through streets that never slept.

But up here?

Only silence.

Dangerous silence.

I stood near the windows rolling my sleeves slowly while Jasmine moved through the penthouse like she had memorized every shadow inside it. She disappeared briefly into another room before returning with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

Barefoot now.

God, that somehow made her more dangerous.

My leather jacket still hung loose around her body, slipping lower every few steps until one shoulder stayed exposed completely.

And those fuckin’ jeans.

Too low.

My thumb kept finding the ink like my body was trying to solve her before my mind could.

Jasmine noticed eventually.

Of course she did.

She leaned against the kitchen island before pouring whiskey lazily and sliding one of the glasses toward me.

“You’ve been staring at me all night.”

I picked up the glass without drinking.

“You keep giving me reasons to.”

A slow smile curved across her mouth. She took a sip before speaking again.

“You still don’t trust me.”

“No.”

“Yet you followed me here.”

My jaw tightened slightly.

Bad idea bringing that up.

Jasmine stepped closer slowly.

One step.

Then another.

Until she stood directly between me and the city lights behind me.

I felt her fingers slide beneath the collar of my shirt, tracing one of the scars across my chest.

The room suddenly started feeling too warm.

“Legion did this?”

“Most of it.”

Her expression never changed.

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

“Barely still counts.”

A dark laugh escaped me quietly.

“You say that like I had a choice.”

She felt less like a woman and more like a beautifully loaded weapon.

Something flickered across her face.

Not guilt.

Something worse.

Possession.

Jasmine set her whiskey glass aside before gripping my jaw lightly between her fingers.

“You could’ve killed me,” she whispered.

My hand found her waist instantly, pulling her closer before I could stop myself.

“You know I couldn’t.”

“That was never in question.”

Fuck.

That one word settled straight into my bloodstream.

I lowered my head slowly until my mouth brushed her throat. Not kissing. Just breathing her in.

Smoke. Rain. Jasmine.

My fingers tightened against her hips when I felt her pulse jump beneath my mouth.

“There it is,” I murmured softly.

“What?”

“That reaction you pretend I don’t give you.”

A sharp breath escaped her lips.

I smirked faintly against her skin.

Then suddenly her fingers slid into my hair. Hard enough to pull. My head tilted back instantly.

She fucking touched me like she expected obedience.

She looked down at me calmly, lips slightly parted now.

Even like this, she looked impossible to control.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone standing in my penthouse wearing blood on his knuckles.”

My eyes darkened.

“And you dodge every answer.”

“Not every answer.”

Then she kissed me like she already owned the answer.

Slow at first. Like she was testing whether I’d still lose myself for her.

I did.

Immediately.

My hands slid down her waist automatically, fingers hooking against the exposed skin above her jeans, caressing my prime concern — the tattoo, while her mouth moved against mine with unbearable patience. She kissed like a woman holding a knife behind her back.

Jasmine pulled away barely an inch.

“Did Legion move the weapons already?” she asked softly against my lips.

For a second I just stared at her.

Almost disoriented.

“Dock warehouse,” I answered roughly.

Her long nails scratched lightly against the back of my neck.

“How many guards?”

I should’ve stopped talking.

Instead my grip tightened on her hips while she tilted her head just enough for her lips to brush mine again.

Ahh…

“Ten.” I muttered. “Rotating shifts. Eight after midnight.”

“Codes?”

My grip tightened against her hips.

“You… you planning to kiss… all the information out of me?”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly before she kissed me again. Deeper this time. Meaner. The kind of kiss that felt less like affection and more like surrender dressed up as desire.

“Who knowss…,” she whispered against my mouth.

A rough sound caught in my throat as I dragged her into my lap hard enough to make the whiskey glasses rattle against marble. Her breath hitched softly when my hand locked around her waist, holding her there like I didn’t trust gravity to do it for me.

Even in my lap, she looked like the one in control.

Her forehead rested briefly against mine while both of us breathed too hard in the dark penthouse kitchen. Her fingers traced the bruises near my throat slowly while she studied me in silence.

Made by Author using AI.

“You know what your problem is, Keane?”

I kissed the corner of her jaw lazily.

“You.”

“No.”

Her nails dragged slowly through my hair again.

“You let me win too easily.”

My hand slid up her throat slowly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind her I could.

“Ahh… really? Try me baby. IV… VII… you think I didn’t notice?”

For the first time since finding her again, Jasmine went still. Her answer died somewhere between her fingers in my hair and the look she gave me.

Whatever Jasmine was… innocent had never been part of it.

Author’s Note

*Meta, I hope I honored the world you created and the fire you left burning between these characters.*

And if someone else wishes to pick up the story from here… the door is open. Somehow, I don’t think Keane and Jasmine are finished with each other yet.

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