Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...

This is the last chapter for this story. I hope you enjoy it, and please do take the time to read the song lyrics at the end. Better yet, listen to the song. You may like it more! John Legend-Who Did That To You.

Sorry for any errors! I really didn't feel like proofreading :(



What he saw made him ecstatic. He stood over the orange-haired youngster with a smirk spreading his lips. The boy had been his captive for a few days shy of a month, and he had every symptom of being hopelessly dependent on Tousen's drug of choice. Most might find the sight a tad tragic, but Tousen was proud to exclude himself from that group. He reveled in the grubby state of the boy. Everything about him was torn down and depressed, but Tousen really enjoyed the fact that the kid was totally broken. He begged for his next hit like a desperate whore; it was delightful. Tousen wondered what G would think of his plaything now. He knew without a doubt that the blue-haired gangster abhorred fiends of any kind. Too bad he was already dead. Maybe he was frowning and bitching from his own personal Hell. Tousen could only hope.

He squatted in front of Ichigo and studied the face that used to be fresh and energetic. He reached forward and gripped the narrow chin, grinning when Ichigo gave a drastic flinch. He'd succeeded in his plan, but now he was growing bored.

"I'm tired of playing with you, Ichigo," he sighed. Brown eyes widened as fear overwhelmed them. Tousen chuckled and shook his head. "I thought it'd be fun to kill you when I got done torturing you, but now I think letting you free on the streets might be a lot more entertaining. What do you think?"

Ichigo's lips were dry and cracked, his eyes glazed. He shook his head and almost hyperventilated. "N-no! P-please don't!"

Mentally and emotionally, Ichigo was a wreck. All he knew was heroin and sleep. Tousen gave him just enough food and water to keep him from dying, but the kid was afforded no other luxury. Hell, he barely wanted to provide Ichigo with toilet paper for the bathroom.

"Why not? I thought you wanted to go home? Isn't that what you begged for a couple of weeks ago?"

Ichigo's eyes darted around the room, clearly searching for something. Tousen knew what that something was, but wasn't in a hurry to provide it. He reeled the boy in with an amiable smile, his head tilted to the side in mock concern.

Ichigo grabbed his arms, his gaze imploring. "I can't! I-I don't know what I would do out there! I have to stay here!"

Tousen could just barely contain his excitement. When he'd first brought Ichigo to the apartment, the boy had been feisty and rebellious, fighting him at every turn. Now he was a tattered creature with no shame or pride. No dignity. Tousen turned Ichigo's face, continuing to study the sharp features. Where there once had been a healthy young man, there was now a ghost. The brown eyes were haunted and sunken into a severely thin face, his lips were cracked and split, his skin blotchy and dry. His figure was gaunt and gangly, and his smell was something that couldn't be described.

"I think you'll be fine. Besides, you can go home to your family. I'm sure they miss you."

Ichigo shook his head again, this time with wild fervor. "I can't," he whispered, voice breaking and hesitant. "They'll hate me."

"Nahhhh," Tousen crooned, loving every second of the boy's misfortune. "They'll be glad to have you back. You've been all over the news, didn't you know?"

"N-no. I didn't know."

"Well, ya have. So, that makes you little more than an inconvenience to me. It's time I let you fend for yourself."

"You said you were going to kill me."

Oh, this was rich.

"I changed my mind. Shouldn't you be happy that I'm being so merciful?"

Tears welled in the dull brown eyes as Ichigo shook his head. "I'd rather die. Please! Please, let me die!"

Tousen chuckled again as he let go of Ichigo's face. He climbed to his feet and turned his back, headed for the door.

"I don't think so. I will leave you a little present, though. Call it a parting gift."

He sauntered over to the table in the small dining area and left a plastic-wrapped bundle on its surface. Afterward, he went to the door. There, he paused and glanced at the orange-haired youngster over his shoulder.

"I'm not locking this door. I suggest you leave before I get back, or else I won't bring you anymore goodies."

With that, he left the apartment, grinning like it was his birthday. He had a date with his informant, who had told him over the phone this morning that he would hand over the entire Crip family: their location, their operations...everything. As he stopped in front of the elevator, his cell phone started up a loud trilling in his back pocket. He snatched it free and blinked at the readout. He didn't recognize the number. Frowning, he answered the call.

"Yo, who's this?"

There was a brief pause before a female voice snorted and gave an airy chuckle. "You're too easy to find, my friend."

Immediately, his stomach churned. "I said, who the fuck is this?"

A breathy sigh and then, "Don't worry. You'll find out soon enough. I just want you to know that we know where you are, and you have something of ours that we want back as soon as possible."

"I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about, bitch! I ain't got shit a'yours!"

"I beg to differ, Kaname Tousen. You very much have something of ours. Or more like, someone."

The woman paused, clearly in order to let her last statement sink in. Like a ton of bricks, it did. There was only one person this woman could refer to: Ichigo. But how did she know? He'd been careful with his whereabouts, careful to watch for tails in his rear view. What advantage could she possibly have that would give her such knowledge? Or was she bluffing? That was also an option. He grinned as he boarded the elevator.

"You don't know shit."

She outright laughed. "I wanted to be nice about this. Maybe let you keep your miserable life since someone else has a better claim on your head, but you're going about this all wrong. You see, we know that you've been keeping a certain young man at 337 Walker Road, apartment 6C. All we're asking is that you give him back with no fuss, and this will end smoothly. Whattaya say, Tousen? Wanna trade?"

He barked a laugh. "That would imply that you have something to give me in return. Is there something you ain't tellin' me?"

"Maybe. Meet me dockside in an hour and we can talk more about it."

Before he could respond, the call ended. Cursing, he stuffed his cell back into his pocket and left the rundown building. He was officially nervous. The woman knew more than she should. Not only that, but what other choice did he have but to meet up with her? Yes, it was risking his life, but letting things go wouldn't help his situation, either. He gritted his teeth as he made his way to his car. His meeting with his informant would have to wait. He had a more pressing issue to deal with.


"Tats, let me ghost him, pleeeease?" Nel begged as she leaned against the hood of the truck. "It won't make a difference who does it, long as it's done, right?"

Tatsuki adjusted the gun in her black, leather jacket and shook her head. "No, you know we can't do that. Besides, we've gotta bigger issue to worry about."

Halibel appeared next to Nel, quiet as a Prius engine. "We get the boy, and that's it."

Nel sucked her teeth, the toothpick in her mouth shifting to the left corner of her lips. "That's not fair. We haven't had fun in a long time, an' I'm itchin' ta splatter some Bloods."

"Yeah, well, we do this first," Tatsuki answered, straightening as a pair of headlights bounced into view. "Go time, ladies."

Yoruichi slid out of the driver seat of the truck and stood beside Tatsuki as the dark-green Acura belonging to their target pulled to a stop a few feet away. She put her hand on Tatsuki's shoulder, golden eyes worried. Tatsuki grinned.

"Everything'll be fine, babe. Trust me."

They watched as a tall, brown-skinned man climbed out of the car and strolled over to them, a gun in his right hand and a smile on his face.

"Well! Good evenin', bitches!"

Nel growled and muttered, "Lemme shoot him, Tats. He's beggin' for it."

"Shut up," Tatsuki hissed before plastering on a cheerful grin. "So! Maybe you're not the coward we thought you were!" she called back.

"You'll find I'm not that easy ta scare."

Tatsuki chuckled, even though she was filled with loathing. There was no telling what this asshole had done to Ichigo, but if she judged by his track record, she would have to assume that it was nothing good.

"We're not tryin' ta scare you, Tousen. In fact," she paused and glanced at the girls. "We wanna make a deal."

Tousen's dark eyes narrowed as he came to a stop about five feet away. He tucked his free hand into his jeans pocket and let his head fall to the side. "Now, why would you wanna do something like that?"

"Honestly? We don't wanna do shit. No, lemme correct that. We wanna smear your worthless ass across the pavement. However, the people we work for have something else in mind."

"Oh, yeah? An' who the fuck're these people you work for? They got names?"

Nel's laughter was like a gunshot. "Ha! As if, you turd."

Halibel grinned while Yoruichi cackled. Tatsuki decided not to let the giggle in her chest free. Instead, she shook her head and made herself comfortable against the hood of their truck.

"Don't insult us, Tousen. We don't take kindly to that. You know as well as we do that giving the names of our superiors is suicide. So, let's skip all the name-calling and bullshittin' around, and get down to business, huh?"

Tousen's reply was a sinister grin and a careful pause. After a few beats, he snorted a chuckle.

"Who's to say I won't kill you bitches right here and right now?"

Nel straightened, but Halibel put a hand on her chest. "Calm down."

Tatsuki ambled away from the hood of the truck and went to the trunk, where she produced a small, black duffel bag. She wandered back over to Tousen, tossing the bag at his feet.

"Open it," she said, indicating the bag with her chin.

Tousen scowled at her and then at the bag. "Yeah fuckin' right. Ya think I'm stupid?"

Nel. "Yeah."

"Look, if we wanted to kill you, it wouldn't take creativity. Just open the fuckin' bag. We got other things to do," Tatsuki snapped, impatient.

Tousen kept on scowling for a few moments, but curiosity must have driven him to crouch down and open the bag. The zipper rasped in the tense silence.

"What the fuck is this?" he snarled.

Tatsuki grinned. "What's it look like?"

"See?" Nel said, voice dry. "Stupid."

Tousen stood and glared at them, dark eyes full of suspicion. "Who's this for?"

"You, dumbass. Duh." Nel again.

Yoruichi chuckled and shook her head. "You don't leave an impression of confidence, do you?"

"Fuck you. All of you. This don't make sense. Why the fuck are you givin' me a bag full of money?"

Tatsuki took the reins. "Well, our bosses want you to lay low for a while. Take the bread and get gone."

Nel nudged her in the ribs. "That ain't the plan," she hissed.

Tatsuki kept talking. "The way I see it, you can disappear, and everyone will be happy. There's enough in there to get you started far away from here, don't ya think?"

"I don't get it," Tousen mumbled.

His confusion was obvious. Tatsuki took a risk and walked right up to him, hands in her pockets.

"We want Ichigo, Tousen. either take this bag and leave, or we kill you right now."

She could hear the girls muttering their own confusion and disapproval, but she didn't care. Ichigo was a friend of hers, and she refused to let anything happen to him. Well, anything further.

Tousen grinned. "Yeah, I'll keep this," he said as he grabbed the strap and tossed it over his shoulder. "And since you already know where I've been keeping the kid, I suggest you hurry. You might catch him before he ODs."

Tatsuki's blood ran cold as she stared at the man who everyone wanted dead. OD? Was he saying what she thought he was? Tousen caught the fear and panic in her eyes, and his smile widened.

"Adios, bitches."

Tatsuki didn't bother waiting for the man to get in his car. She sprinted to the driver's side of the truck and hopped inside. "Let's go!" she hollered.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she cranked the ignition. The rest of the girls swept into the truck, all of them shouting questions and exclamations of bewilderment, but Tatsuki ignored them.

They had to get to Ichigo.


He never should have trusted him. His friends had warned him; hell, even his father had told him to look out for it. But he hadn't listened. And now he was here...following the man he'd given his heart and trust. He was too stoic to shed tears, but this was killing him.

How could he betray me like this?

The man he followed climbed out of his car and leaned against the hood, glancing at his watch. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought the man was behaving normally. Waiting for him, even. He couldn't watch any longer. He left the shadows, .45 at his side. The other man didn't hear him until it was too late. Golden eyes shot in his direction, wide and full of astonished fear.

"What are you doing here?"

Ishida lowered his head and gritted his teeth, trying to rein in his anger and hurt. When he felt himself decently composed, he raised his head and glared at his lover.

"I should be asking you that."

Szayel smirked as he pushed away from his car. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You know exactly why I'm here, and you know exactly why you're here. You just didn't think I'd find out."

A heavy silence fell until Szayel's curiosity got the best of him. "How did you find out?"

Ishida shook his head and looked away. He couldn't believe he was here. Couldn't believe he had to do what he came to do.

"I see how he must've felt. This shit sucks."

Szayel frowned, clearly confused. But he knew. He had to know. Hell, he knew everything there was to know. Everything.

"G once told me that losing someone you loved hurt like a bitch, but killing the one you loved hurt a thousand times more. I always listened and felt sorry for him, thinking I would never have to go through that. But here I am. Here we are."

"So, you're going to kill me?"

"Stop it, Szayel! Don't act like you didn't know this was a possibility when you did what you did!"

Silence. Ishida stared at his lover like he was ghost. He couldn't understand why Szayel would stab him in the back so thoroughly.

"Why?" he asked.

Szayel shook his head and threw his hands up. "Why? You ask why? As if you don't know!"

"I don't! We were happy as far as I knew!"

The pink-haired man snorted and shook his head again. "Your family – your Crip family – always came first. You put them before me every time. I figured this was the only way to get your attention."

Stunned, all Ishida could do was stare. But then, he exploded. "Are you fucking kidding me?! You turned on me, you tried to get people I care about killed because you thought it would get my attention?! You can't possibly be that fucking needy!"

"Needy?! How dare you?!"

Ishida raised his weapon and aimed. Unable to tame his wrath, his hand shook and his lip curled back. His heart was going insane.

"You...I have nothing to say to you except that I hope you enjoy Hell, you piece of shit," he snarled through clenched teeth.

The first shot killed him, but Ishida emptied the clip in the man he once called his lover and friend. Once the silence settled back in, he whirled on his heel and left the scene, tears tracking down the sides of his face.

He needed a drink.


He stared at the door as if he expected a S.W.A.T. team to burst through any second now. He had chills, but his skin was feverish. His body felt like it'd been used as a punching bag, his very bones creaking and aching. His bowels were a mess, and his mouth was so dry, like he had a never-ending thirst. He glanced down at his clothes, inwardly disgusted with his appearance. He still wore the same outfit he'd been captured in, but they fell from his frame like clothes on a hanger. They were soiled beyond belief, and he smelled terrible. However, through all of that, he could only focus on one thing: the next time he could ride euphoria. He trembled as his stomach heaved. He had nothing left in his belly to vomit, but his gut believed otherwise.

He bent over, clutching his midsection and gasping for air. It was always like this: the pain, the overwhelming urge that controlled everything he did. He needed a fix, and Tousen had left the solution on the dining room table. Ichigo had the equipment he needed to prepare it; all he had to do was walk over and grab it.

So, he did.

He carefully climbed to his feet, his body swaying as he steadied himself. He felt like shit. He hated himself for being so weak, so fucking pathetic. No one knew where he was, but that could be solved as well with him walking out of that door. Tousen had given him his freedom, but it was too late. Ichigo was addicted to heroin. He was like an infant needing its mother's milk. He would die – wither up and waste away – if he didn't have his "medicine." Tears of self-loathing stung his eyes as his body involuntarily moved over to the table. He stood over the plastic bundle, his conscience arguing with him to just turn and leave. Find help. Find his family.

But he couldn't. Though his mind screamed the right thing to do, his body, that despicable need drove him towards the drug that had poisoned his life and turned him into a mere shell of the man he used to be. He grabbed the bundle and hustled it over to his dirty mattress, where he'd stashed his equipment. His hands shook as he opened the bag and found his tools. He hated this part. He just wanted to feel good, but up until the dope entered his veins, he was a desperate slave. Everything about the process disgusted him. What would his friends think of him? His brother? His sisters? ...His father? He knew, alright. They would glare at him and call him a weakling. Tell him he was stupid and pitiful. They'd curse him and shun him. More than likely they'd disown him and carry on as if he'd never existed in the first place.

The tears he'd tried to hold back flowed freely over his sharp cheekbones. He was nothing. All he wanted at this point was to die. At least that way he'd see Grimmjow again.

The thought of his dead lover made him pause, the lighter active underneath the metal spoon. He stared at the blue and orange flame, heart thudding with anticipation, but also with a monumental amount of revulsion and remorse. He didn't even know who he was anymore, but he remembered the blue-haired man who had promised him happiness. Promised to be there for him, promised to love him. And then, died.

Ichigo's face pulled together as he sobbed, his nose beginning to run. Initially, he'd placed just enough of the drug on the spoon to get him by until the next urge gripped him. However, as he fell into the depths of despair, he thought to himself, why not just end it here? There was more than enough dope in the bundle to send him into a lasting euphoria – one where he wouldn't wake up again. No one would miss him, he was sure. No one had come looking for him. Yeah, Tousen had mentioned him being in the news, but with Ichigo's old man's connections, there should have been no way that he hadn't been found by now.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he added more of the drug to his spoon. "I can't do this anymore."

He thought of his family as he watched the beige powder become liquid. He thought of all the fun he'd had with his brother, back when he wasn't an addict. As he loaded up the syringe, he thought of his sisters and how he hoped they would make something of themselves. He had a moment of regret when he realized he would never see his niece or nephew, but it passed when he realized the kid would be better off without him around. He tied off his arm with a bright blue tourniquet, sniffing as he tried to ebb the flow of his tears. Just a few more moments and he could see Grimmjow. He'd get to see the blue eyes that haunted his dreams; he'd get to run his fingers through the soft, blue hair he missed every time he touched something; he'd get to hear the deep voice, the sarcastic, intense tenor.

He no longer felt the bite of the needle as he pierced his skin, too numb, too immune. He had track marks all over his arms – one more wouldn't change a thing. The immediate rush he felt as he pressed the plunger of the syringe was better than anything he'd ever experienced. Not even sex came close. The warmth spread throughout his body as he emptied the syringe and removed the needle from his arm. For a few moments, everything was sheer bliss. His eyes closed as he leaned back against the wall, completely enjoying his high.

But then his heart started pounding way too hard, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't open his eyes. Something was wrong. He couldn't control the twitching in his arms and legs, couldn't control his body at all. The last thing he heard above the roaring of the blood in his brain was a loud boom and frantic shouting.


Aizen stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his office and stared at the skyline. He studied the buildings and roads in the distance, the lights winking – anything to keep his mind from the box on his desk.

It wasn't working.

He glanced over his shoulder, his jaw tightening at the sight of blood on a white handkerchief that hung over the sides of a shoe box. The brand was expensive and Italian, he supposed adding insult to injury. There was no note, no video, no message at all, but he understood too well. His right hand man was missing, and had been for about a month. It didn't throw a wrench into his operation or his daily way of handling business, but the implication was more than he needed to deal with at the time.

He took another languid puff from the cigar in his hand as he turned back to the window. Yes, Ulquiorra was his right hand man, and Aizen was certain that Javier meant to use the man to his advantage. But what Javier didn't realize was that those who dealt with Aizen, employee or otherwise, was expendable. He didn't need anyone. He was more friendly with Ulquiorra in general, but that didn't mean he needed the man. One had to be cold in his line of work, or every angle would be used against him – that included anyone he may consider a friend. It was the main reason he had none. He only relied on himself in the end.

He went to his desk to face the problem head-on. He knew what Javier wanted. He also knew why the man was upset with his choice of actions, but that was where Javier's weakness lie. The Man had too many friends, too many people he cared about. He reached for the phone on his desk and dialed.

"Yeah, who's this?"

Aizen frowned. He hated being addressed in such a manner. "I need you to set up a meeting at the warehouse."

A brief silence preceded the other man's words, "Yes, sir."

When he hung up the phone, he rubbed the space between his eyebrows, frustrated. There was always an issue that he personally needed to see to. This one was more urgent than any others he'd encountered, simply because Javier was a formidable opponent, no matter the man's weaknesses. Aizen put out his cigar in the custom, crystal ashtray he'd bought from London, grabbed his coat from the back of his desk chair, and moved towards the door. He shut off the lights as he left his office. The hallway was silent as usual. No one came to this floor without his express permission, so the elevator ride to the garage was a rather peaceful one. The doors dinged open, and he entered the dim parking lot, his coattails swishing behind him as he walked to his car with a brisk, determined stride. As soon as he reached the black Mercedes, the sound of a gun cocking made him dive to the ground in time to miss being shot in the head. The bullet tore through his coat as well as his arm.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pressed his back to the passenger side door of his car and steadied his breathing. What the hell? he thought. Who would be so foolish?

Footsteps sounded in the echoing silence before a feminine voice chuckled. "Come out, come out, wherever you arrrrrrrre."

Aizen didn't much appreciate the sarcasm, nor the taunting. In his line of work, he did the sarcasm. He did the taunting. He did the killing. Who was this woman? As soon as the question popped into his mind, the answer followed swiftly behind.


And The Man didn't even have the decency to do his own dirty work. This sort of underestimation was a dire insult not only to Aizen's character, but to his intelligence as well. He reached into his coat for the nine millimeter he kept with him. He checked to make sure it was loaded, then peered beneath his car for the legs of his assailant. She was smart...and careful. Her legs were out of sight, but Aizen could still hear her movements.

"Why dontcha come out so we can chat, huh?" she called.

The insolence made him breathless. Anger arose in him so acutely, it was all he could do not to jump to his feet and empty his clip into her until her body lay lifeless on the pavement. Instead, he waited. He listened. Her steps paused every three falls. He would make use of those steps; catch her off guard while she was still moving.

The next time the woman moved, Aizen rolled onto his stomach, grimacing from the pain in his arm. He found her location and fired. The first bullet caught her leg. The woman shrieked in pain, but she didn't go down. A slew of bullets rained down on his Mercedes before there was echoing silence. He didn't hear any footsteps, but that didn't mean the woman was gone. Nor was she dead. At most, she had a flesh wound. After a few more moments of pressing quiet, Aizen raised his head to the window and glanced around the garage. He didn't hear her, couldn't see her. Suddenly, however, the screeching of tires alerted him to the woman's escape. He leaped to his feet and showered the silver Mercedes fleeing the scene with bullets until his clip was empty. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he disarmed the alarm on his own vehicle and hopped inside.

"This is madness," he muttered as he checked his arm.

He was still bleeding, but it was nothing life-threatening. The wound could wait. It would have to wait. Just as he started the car, his cell phone protested noisily in his coat pocket. Nostrils flaring with irritation, he snatched it from its confines and answered, trying to remain as calm as possible. It was difficult, considering no one had his personal number aside from...

Of course.


"My dear, Sosuke. How are you?" the smooth bass traveled over the line.

"Perfectly well, thank you. Aside from the botched attempt on my life, that is."

Javier hummed. "Is that so?"

Aizen had lost all patience with the head games. "You'll have to do much better than that to gain success in securing my death, Javier. I'm not so easily done away with."

"Come, come now. You can't honestly believe that this was a true attempt on your life? I was merely trying to get your attention. You've been negligent in answering my invitations."

A light beeped under the glove compartment, drawing Aizen's gaze. He didn't recall placing a device... With a deep sigh, he rubbed the space between his eyebrows.

"I take it you've spotted my gift," Javier stated, his accent thick and annoying as ever. Aizen couldn't believe he'd fallen – hook, line, and sinker. "I have the detonation remote here, so there's nothing you can do except meet me at my riverside office. I'll know if you deviate from your course, so I suggest you be intelligent about this. I'll see you in twenty minutes. Oh, and, Sosuke?" Javier paused as if he expected a response. Aizen wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Don't be late. I hate to be kept waiting."

The call ended and Aizen wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for being such a fool. How did he not see this coming? How did he not realize that such a blatant, open attack was nothing but a diversion? A trap. Resigned to his fate, he shifted the car into drive and headed for the riverside. If this was to be his last night on Earth, he would go down with a fight.


The plane started its descent towards familiar ground, but Grimmjow couldn't find any joy in it. Not until he got his hands on Tousen. He balled them into fists and stared out of the window.

I'm comin', Ichigo.

Fingers landed on one of his fists, drawing his attention to his best friend. Shinji was seated beside him, face grim, and honey-brown eyes solemn.

"We'll get 'im back, Grimm. After everythin' you've been through, it can't end on a sour note."

Grimmjow grunted and turned back to the window. He wanted to believe Shinji, but his life hadn't exactly been a bed of roses. In fact, ending on a sour note seemed right up his alley. He couldn't understand Tousen's motives for taking Ichigo, and really he didn't give a shit. All he knew was rage. It followed him into sleep, was there when he awakened, there when he sat still for more than a minute. He wasn't even sure it was Tousen who had taken his lover, but his gut told him it was. The brown-skinned Blood was the only one he knew of who held such a deep-rooted grudge against him. Ginjou was dead, so who else could it be?

The jet landed with a few bumps before it coasted to a stop on a private airstrip. The pilot's voice came over the intercom, informing them that it was safe to remove their seat belts and luggage. A few minutes later, Grimmjow and Shinji were making their way over the tarmac with their bags in hand. Grimmjow was glad to be home, but he was disappointed that he was returning to more blood and vengeance, when really all he'd wanted to do was step down from being head of his family, show himself to Ichigo, and live happily ever after. Wishful thinking, he supposed.

He adjusted the strap to his bag as he stomped to the lobby of the main hanger. Shinji tried to keep up with him, but Grimmjow's legs were longer, and he was pissed. He swept into the lobby, startling the receptionist, but ignoring her as well. He had a one-track mind at the moment.

"Yo! Hold up!" Shinji called. Grimmjow paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, impatience radiating off of him like a foul odor. "Where ya headed?"

Before he could answer, Shinji's phone chirped in his pocket. Grimmjow rolled his eyes, but waited for his friend to talk to whoever was on the other end.

"Yeah?" Shinji snapped. After a beat, Shinji's face went soft and concerned, and Grimmjow had an idea who was calling. "Who's number is this? What happened? You OK?" Grimmjow was beginning to grow uneasy from the look on his friend's face. Shinji listened for a few more seconds before he ended the call with, "Got it." He gave Grimmjow a serious stare until Grimmjow couldn't take it anymore.


"They found Ichigo."

About a month ago...

Shinji's eyes met his, and time seemed to stand still. He'd never seen his best friend look so serious.

"Shiro told me that Ichigo's gone missin'. They haven' heard from 'im in a week."

It felt like all the blood left his body in a rush until his fingers were numb and his body shook. He didn't know what to feel first. He was in shock, paralyzed with an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time: fear. It was icy-cold, like a breath of Winter air. It gripped his entire body as he stared at Shinji, hoping the man would crack his signature grin and tell him it was all a joke. But Shinji held his gaze, golden-brown eyes uncertain. And then, a rage so deep-rooted and dangerous reached over and placed Grimmjow in a choke-hold. With him "dead," Ichigo was supposed to be safe. Tousen should have gone on with his business, happy as a pig in shit. Grimmjow had no doubt in his mind that Tousen was behind Ichigo's disappearance, and because of that, Tousen's life was officially forfeited. Grimmjow couldn't even think straight, but he didn't act out. This kind of anger made him quiet and emotionless. Deadly, even. He climbed to his feet and stalked over to the door, where he stopped with his hand on the knob and glanced at Shinji over his shoulder.

"C'mon. We're goin' the fuck home."

Grimmjow didn't wait for Shinji to follow him before he left the room, but as soon as he entered the hallway, he realized something was dreadfully wrong. He stopped in his tracks and looked around, every sense on high alert. He didn't hear anything, didn't even see anything, but every one of his instincts told him that all was not right in the mansion. Shinji came to the door, saw the look on his face, and started to speak, but Grimmjow held up a hand as he continued to study his surroundings. Just as he was poised to let his guard down, two gunshots sounded on the lower floor. Frowning, he checked for the Beretta that he kept on him at all times before he turned to Shinji.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" Shinji snapped.

Grimmjow pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Luis."

That put Shinji in gear. The blond disappeared into their bedroom for all of ten seconds before he was back, loading rounds into a Glock .45.

"I knew we couldn't trust that asshole. What d'ya think he's got in mind?"

"If I had ta guess," Grimmjow started, voice full of sarcasm. "I'd say he wants ta kill us."

"Smart ass. Ya know what I meant."

"Yeah, well, I dunno that much yet, but he sure as hell ain't gonna kill me. I got shit ta do."

Shinji gave a quiet cackle as they started down the hallway, bodies close to the wall. "I thought ya might say somethin' like that."

They crept to the end of the hall, where Shinji peered around the corner. He jerked back and closed his eyes.

"Shit, Grimm. It's like ten guerillas down there."

Ten? Grimmjow grinned. He wanted to let the animal in him die peacefully, but someone was always there to provoke it into action. Ten was nothing.

"Move," he muttered. Shinji frowned and didn't budge. "I know you heard me."

"I don't like that look in your eyes, Grimm. You get reckless when you look like that."

"Yeah, well, we need a little reckless right now. 'Sides, I already toldja I got somethin' ta do. I ain't gonna get myself killed."

Finally, his best friend slid aside, allowing Grimmjow to have his own peek around the corner. Sure enough, he counted ten men patrolling the foyer with rifles hanging around their necks. They and Luis stood in the way of Grimmjow getting back to America to find Ichigo. He wouldn't accept it. Hell, he wouldn't tolerate it. He peered around the corner again in time to see most of the men with their backs turned. That was all the cue he needed. He edged around the corner and began shooting as he stayed low and close to the wall. He had to get to the kitchen, where Barragan kept extra rounds and clips.

He picked off three guerillas before the rest came rushing in his direction, rifle reports cracking like fireworks. He'd managed to surprise them, which was all Shinji needed to get the drop on them. Shinji rounded the corner firing as well. He downed three more as Grimmjow ducked behind the thick, marble pillars of the staircase.

Six down, four to go. The rifles seemed nonstop, but it didn't matter. The guerillas didn't believe in stealth. Grimmjow waited for a lull in the noise and stuck his hand around the pillar, taking out two more. He didn't waste bullets with unnecessary shots; Starrk had taught him to shoot, and to make it count. A chunk went flying from the pillar he took refuge behind, making him duck and breathe. That had been too close.

Shinji slid down beside him after firing and taking out another guerilla. The shots were more sporadic now, confirming that they only had one target left. Grimmjow wasn't afraid of one man with a gun, no matter how big it was. He waited a few beats to give the man the impression that everything was fine before he stood and fired off his last shot. It struck the man dead center of his forehead. Grimmjow grinned down at his best friend and held his hand out to help him up. Shinji shook his head.

"I knew you were a bloodthirsty heathen."

"Shut up. You're no better when you get goin'."

"So...where's the old man? And where's the girl?"

"I know about as much as you do." Grimmjow paused and looked around at the carnage. "I don't like this. It feels like Luis is tryin' ta tell us somethin'."

Shinji snorted. "Ya think?"

Grimmjow ignored him as he made his way to the kitchen. All the lights were off, and the patio doors were shattered. He stepped outside, his boots crunching over the glass. It was too quiet. Nothing seemed to move or breathe...until Grimmjow heard labored panting and muttered curses in Spanish.

"Shit," Grimmjow growled as he hurried over to the sounds.

Barragan was seated on the ground, his back against the wall, and his hand pressed to his side. His temple was bleeding, and there was blood between his fingers. Grimmjow knelt down beside the older man, his heart racing and stomach clenching. He didn't know the old man that well, but it didn't mean he wanted to see him die, either.

"Barragan, what happened?"

Barragan's eyes opened and focused on Grimmjow's face. "Boy?"

"Yeah, it's me, old man. Was it Luis?"

"That puto! He couldn't face me like a man. He crept into my house and shot me. Took my granddaughter." Barragan gasped and paused. "You have to get her back. She has nothing to do with this."

"Yeah, yeah, don' worry 'bout it. Shinji!" Grimmjow called.

Shinji's footsteps made it through the glass as well before the blond was beside Grimmjow, his face a mask of anger.

"You're gonna be fine, old man. We ain't gonna let ya die."

Barragan's smile was slow, but warm. "Just get Hiyori. I'll thank you later. And bring me a phone. I need to make a call."

Grimmjow chuckled. Barragan reminded him of an older Starrk. He stayed behind while Shinji fetched the house phone. The look on Barragan's face told Grimmjow everything he needed to know. Luis had planned for this. He'd probably even figured that Barragan would send some of his men after him, so he'd ambushed him while they were gone.

Shinji came back with the phone, and Grimmjow stood. He gave Barragan a weighty gaze.

"We'll get her back. You just sit tight. An' old man?"


"Do me a favor and don't die."

Grimmjow left the patio to the sound of Barragan's laughter. This was just one more thing he didn't want to deal with, but he couldn't let Hiyori become a victim to Luis's jealousy and rebellion.


"How'd you know where he'd be?" Shinji asked as he glared out of the truck window.

Tire tracks had led them to the base, and it made sense to Grimmjow. Luis felt like he should be the one in power. All he had to do was tell Javier's men that Barragan had come to his senses and given him the reins, and they would listen to him without question. Barragan wouldn't be around to oppose him, so why not? And the asshole was arrogant enough to perch himself at base like some kind of misguided King.

"He thinks he's a god, and this is the only temple around here."

Shinji nodded as Grimmjow parked a little over two hundred yards away from the compound. The rest of the distance they would cover on foot.

"So, whatta we do once we're in? Ya know Javier's men are gonna try an' get rid of us, thinking Luis really is in charge."

"Yeah, I know that. That's why we go in the back way."

"The back way?"

Grimmjow nodded and started jogging towards the building. Barragan had told him about a secret escape route in case of emergency. One that no one knew about aside from the old man and Javier. It led right into the main office, where Barragan usually spent most of his time when he wasn't needed on the grounds.

They made it to the building after dodging the guerillas securing the area. The guerillas didn't know about the escape route, so there was no one guarding the door. It didn't even look like a door. It was more like a manhole, hidden beneath powdery dirt. Grimmjow kicked away the dust and lifted the latch, careful not to make any noise that would draw attention their way. Shinji frowned.

"Where the heck did this come from?"

Grimmjow explained it to his friend as they lowered themselves into the hole. Once inside, they were faced with a long, stone tunnel. There were lights placed at every ten feet, giving them a clear path through the winding walkway. It was musty and moist, but overall not so bad. They sprinted towards the metal door at the end of the tunnel. When they reached it, Grimmjow turned to Shinji and stopped him.

"When we get inside, go find Hiyori. I'll take care of Luis. He won't be expectin' us ta show up in the office, so you'll have a chance ta slip through his fingers."


"Jus' do it, Shin! We ain't really got time ta argue about this!"

Shinji shook his head, grabbed the long handle of the door and turned it. Before he opened it, he gave Grimmjow a heavy glare. "If you don't bring yer ass back intact, I'll never forgive ya."

He didn't wait for a response; he swung open the door and disappeared behind it. Grimmjow smirked. Shinji was funny when he went all concerned best friend, but Grimmjow couldn't say that he didn't appreciate the gesture. He followed the blond's quiet footsteps, amazed when he realized that there was another passage that led away from the main office. Shinji glanced at him, pointed at the corridor and disappeared once more. Grimmjow didn't even get a chance to protest, but figured Shinji had made the right decision. It would mean more of an advantage for the both of them.

When Grimmjow opened the metal door, all the while praying that it wouldn't creak and give away his position, an ancient tapestry concealed his entrance. It was made of dark fabric, heavy, and it smelled like years of dust. Gun in hand, he used the weapon to push aside a portion of the tapestry. Luis stood staring at an elaborate painting of a landscape where a window should have been, a cigar in hand. As soon as Grimmjow eased from behind the tapestry, the dark-haired man puffed on the cigar and gave a noisy exhale.

"Took you long enough, Seńor."

Although he was surprised, Grimmjow didn't show it. In fact, he was more amused than anything. He grinned as Luis turned to face him, nearly black eyes gazing at him, cold and condescending.

"Did you think I wouldn't expect you to show your ugly mug after what I did to Barragan?"

Grimmjow's shrug was casual as his grin widened. "So? Maybe ya got lucky and found some brains. Don't change the fact that yer gonna die."

Luis cackled as he edged over to the large desk in front of him. He set down his cigar and went back to eyeing Grimmjow like he was appraising a diamond. A few moments crept by before Luis finally waved a hand at one of the chairs in front of the desk.

"Come, take a seat, Seńor. I want to talk business with you."

"Oh, now ya wanna talk? Well, I don't really feel chatty right now...Seńor."

Luis talked over him as if Grimmjow hadn't said a word. "I can offer you ten million dollars, cash, if you agree to leave Colombia tonight. Turn a blind eye to this, no?"

"I'm already in an agreement with your boss. So, no, I don't think so."

Grimmjow was actually insulted that Luis thought he could buy him. He glared into the man's brooding eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had to be a threat in there somewhere. Luis didn't strike him as one with integrity, let alone business-wise.

"So hasty," Luis crooned as he slid into the oversized leather chair behind the desk. He crossed his left leg over his right knee and tilted his head as he regarded Grimmjow with amusement. Grimmjow's hackles raised, his instincts protesting with wild abandon. He didn't like the way Luis seemed to feel so comfortable, so smug. "It's a good offer. Barragan is out of the way, Javier is all the way in America, and I'm certain I can deal with his son. You would be wise to join the winning side, my friend."

Grimmjow sucked his teeth. "That's bullshit. Yer nothin' but a cockroach ta Javier. What the hell makes you think yer the winning side?"

Luis's eyes flashed with indignant anger for a brief second before his cool expression returned, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I see I have your attention."

"Not really. I'm jus' curious, ya know? Javier's a hammer, an' yer not even a nail. Yer irrelevant."

That got Luis good and riled up. His jaw twitched, and his nostrils flared. "And what do you think that makes you? Do you think you're important because an invisible man sent you to do his dirty work? Does this make you a god?"

Grimmjow shook his head. "You made me a god, Luis. I only came ta do a job; you made it bigger than it was. 'Sides, it ain't like I'm here ta stay. You shoved yer head up yer ass 'til ya couldn't see the forest for the trees. Ain't my fault." He paused and watched Luis puff up with rage. He felt sorry for the man. Luis wanted power so badly, he was willing to screw himself in the process to get it. "This ain't my home, an' I got more important issues ta take care of. Yer a little fish in a big ass ocean, Luis."

"Javier should have given the job to me! Not some upstart of an outsider!"

"Well, if ya had a problem with the way shit was goin' down 'round here, ya shoulda taken it up with Javier! I didn't ask fer this!"

Luis shot out of his seat, and Grimmjow raised his gun, the nose aimed at Luis's head. They stared at one another for what felt like forever, neither man moving an inch. Grimmjow felt heat spiraling through his veins in the form of adrenaline. That whole argument was pointless in his opinion. Luis was behaving like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum, and digging his own damned grave at the same time. It was obvious that he thought he'd left Barragan for dead, which was just another fatal mistake. When Javier found out about this incident, Luis would never be seen or heard from again. That silver-haired guy that worked for Javier looked like he enjoyed making holes and throwing bodies into them.

Luis's hand started inching around to the small of his back, but Grimmjow pulled the trigger of his Beretta. Luis froze, dark eyes narrowing into slits.

"I missed on purpose."

Luis sneered, but his hand was still on the move. Grimmjow suddenly realized that he'd had one goal in mind when he'd entered the building: kill this punk. He bit his bottom lip, took two steps forward and was a breath away from emptying his clip into Luis's arrogant melon when the door to the office swung open and banged against the opposite wall. Grimmjow was tempted to look, but he wasn't dumb enough to turn his attention away from Luis.

"I'll take it from here," Barragan's gravelly voice filled the room. "Javier wants him alive."

The look that ran across Luis's face was priceless. The man turned pale and collapsed into the desk chair, baffled completely. Grimmjow still didn't trust him, though. His steps were slow and careful as he made his way over to the dark-haired man. He relieved Luis of the gun at the small of his back and at his ankle. Once that was done, he finally turned to the older man at the door. Shinji was beside Barragan, Hiyori behind him, but both men had pistols trained on the traitor sitting behind the desk.

"Guess I picked the winning side after all, huh, Seńor?" Grimmjow drawled.


Three Weeks Later

"I want to thank you, Grimmjow. I know you have more important matters to settle back in the states, so I do appreciate that you stayed here a little longer to get things rolling again."

"Nah, don' worry 'bout it, Old Man."

"It's too bad ya gotta go, Grimmjow. I'm almost legal and-"

"Jesus Christ, kid, get a life!"

"Shut up, you jerk! Nobody was talkin' to you!"

Grimmjow watched the exchange between Shinji and Hiyori and chuckled. Things were definitely back to normal in Colombia, which was why Grimmjow refused to stay even an hour longer. Javier had given him the go-ahead; plus, he was worried sick about Ichigo. Shiro and Shinji were once again on good terms, so Shinji was kept abreast of the Ichigo search. So far, no dice. And though he was worried about his younger lover, Grimmjow was more livid about the situation. He just wanted to wrap his hands around Tousen's (or whoever the culprit was) neck and squeeze until there was nothing left.

"My brother told me about the situation with your lover. I'm not one for romance, but I do know a little something about vengeance. Let the anger you feel now fuel your drive to find the one who had the balls to go against you – dead or otherwise."

Grimmjow gave the older man a measured stare. He'd heard what Barragan had said, but his mind was still turning, still trying to figure out the next move once he and Shinji touched down in the states. Finally, he allowed himself a respite.

"They don't call me the Grim Reaper for nothin', Old Man."

Barragan's expression said that he wanted to smile with amusement, but after studying Grimmjow's serious countenance further, he'd decided to go with solemnity. The gray head nodded as Barragan puffed on a cigar. His eyes turned to the private jet before resting on Grimmjow's again.

"I understand. Good luck with everything."

Grimmjow nodded in return and hiked his bag higher on his shoulder as he faced his best friend. Shinji was still bickering with Hiyori when Grimmjow grabbed the man's collar and pulled him away from the girl.

"OK, playtime's over, kids. Tell each other goodbye," Grimmjow rumbled.

"Goddamn!" Shinji snapped, voice exasperated. "Never met someone got on my nerves that fuckin' bad!"

"She's a child," Grimmjow tried to soothe, but Hiyori quickly interceded.

"I am not! I told you, I'm almost legal!"

Barragan put his arm around the girl's shoulders, and the effect was like shutting off a TV. Hiyori's eyes were still sullen and spitting visual fire at Shinji, but she had the good sense to remain quiet.

"If you ever decide to come back to Colombia, look me up. I'd be happy to let you stay at the mansion."

"Sure, Gramps," Shinji stated before he flipped Hiyori the bird and boarded the aircraft.

Grimmjow followed behind the blond, but paused at the top of the stairs of the plane. He turned to Barragan with a small, secret smile.

"I might just take you up on that. See ya 'round, Old Man."



"They found Ichigo."

It felt like his heart was in his throat. His mind didn't know what to do or say first, but his body propelled him out of the lobby doors. Before he realized it, he was running towards the parking lot, where Javier's men had both of their cars waiting for them.

"Grimm, wait! Ya don' even know where he is yet!"

He slowed down just enough to let Shinji catch up to him before he stalked to the driver's side door of his Acura and yanked it open.

"Well, where the fuck is he? I don't got time ta sit here and play word tag, Shin!"

He was in a state of anxiety, greater than the time he'd faced Tousen and his goons at Di Roy's funeral. He had to know that Ichigo was OK. And he had to see for himself. He wouldn't be satisfied until he did.

"Jesus Christ. He's at Memorial Hospital."

Grimmjow's blood ran cold. "Is he...?" he stopped. He couldn't bring himself to say the word, his throat closing up with anger and remorse at the mere thought. "Shin, tell me he ain't..."

"No," Shinji breathed, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. "He's not dead, but...the way Shiro sounded on the can't be good."

Grimmjow took a moment to calm himself. OK, he wasn't dead, but...what the hell had happened? He wanted to rush over to the hospital right away, but after giving it some thought, he figured that wouldn't be such a bright idea. First of all, he was sure that Ichigo's family and friends were there. Second, he wanted to reveal himself to Ichigo alone because he definitely wanted all of the younger man's attention. And third, he wasn't really in the right frame of mind at the moment to face Ichigo. He didn't know what had happened to him. Hell, he was already ticked off; seeing the proof of Ichigo's misfortune and knowing it was directly related to him would send him over the edge.

It was best that he go to Javier before he barged into Ichigo's hospital room. His entire spirit didn't agree with him, though. He needed to be there.

"I gotta see Javier. I don't want anyone ta know I'm around yet, an' I know he can get me the shit I need."

"Alright. We'll go there first, then."


"Welcome home, boys," Javier said, his voice a low, accented hum.

The Man was seated at his kitchen table, Retsu moving around the stove and island, preparing what appeared to Grimmjow to be a feast worthy of the Game of Thrones. It smelled good, that was for sure.

"Take a seat," Javier continued as he pointed at the chairs opposite the table from him. "Will you stay for dinner? I know Retsu would appreciate more mouths to praise her cooking."

"They deserve a good meal after being cooped up on that plane for so many hours," Retsu interjected as she set a pan of stewed chicken on the kitchen island. "And I know that damned Barragan didn't bother to make sure you were properly fed."

Shinji shook his head. "Nah, his granddaughter took pretty good care of us with the food."

Grimmjow stared at his friend in shock. Had he actually complimented his arch nemesis? Shinji noticed the look of astonishment and scowled.

"What? It's true, ain't it?"

"I'll be damned."

"I take it your friend was given a run for his money by our precious little Hiyori. She can be quite the handful," Javier chuckled. He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. "So, now that you're here, do you still plan to find the man who tried to kill you?"

"Absolutely," Grimmjow immediately answered. "But I need your help with a few things."

"Anything, amigo. What's mine is yours."

Grimmjow was surprised at the generosity, but his mind was on one track. He wouldn't be able to rest until he put Tousen and whoever else was with him in a box, six feet under. Hell, maybe even deeper. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him, lighting his face with a rare smile.

"I got a plan."


The room was quiet except for the beeping of a machine that had tubes running to the unconscious, orange-haired man lying in bed. It was after midnight, but Grimmjow had connections in the hospital that allowed him to sneak past security and into the empty room. He couldn't breathe, but everything was crystal clear. Sounds, smell, sight: it all came in with a sharp edge. His heart was breaking as he stood over Ichigo's prone body.

According to Shiro, a friend of his had found Ichigo in an abandoned apartment, overdosed on heroin. Grimmjow started to pull the chair beside the bed closer, but decided against it, opting to sit right next to his lover.

He was so thin – like a skeleton. His face was gaunt, dark circles ringed his eyes, his hair was filthy and slick with sweat, and his lips were so dry, it looked painful. Grimmjow's hands balled into fists as he tried to calm the wrath banging around inside of him. Who the fuck had done this? He knew Ichigo. Ichigo wouldn't resort to anything more intense than marijuana, no matter how stressed he was. He wasn't weak, and Grimmjow couldn't imagine him being that desperate. Someone had done this to him.

His hand moved forward on its own, sliding over the orange hair clinging to the cool forehead. Track marks littered the younger man's arms, red and angry. Grimmjow lowered the hood of his hoodie and leaned in until his own forehead touched Ichigo's. He stared into his lover's face until it was clear that Ichigo wasn't about to open the brown eyes Grimmjow missed so damned much. For a long while he stayed that way, breathing in time with the rising and falling of Ichigo's chest. He'd never been so pissed in his life, but he was also hurt because he felt utter helplessness overtaking him. He could kill the person who'd done this a million times over, but it wouldn't get Ichigo to open his eyes. It wouldn't get Ichigo to smile at him, or curse him out for not showing himself sooner. It wouldn't change the fact that Ichigo had been turned into one of the things Grimmjow hated the most.

"I swear to God, Ichigo, I'm gonna kill whoever did this to you." He stopped, a lump forming in his throat. His eyes stung, so he closed them and licked his lips, trying to regain his composure. "When ya wake up, it's gonna hurt like hell. Yer prob'ly gonna wanna die, but yer stronger than that. Ya got yer family, ya got yer' ya got me. I'm home, an' I ain't goin' nowhere this time around. Ya hear me? I'll be damned if I leave you again. ...I love you."

He slowly pulled back and opened his eyes, disappointed that Ichigo's were still glued shut. Shaking his head, he leaned in again and kissed Ichigo's chapped lips, then his clammy cheek. He kissed the man's nose, eyelids and forehead before his emotions overwhelmed him and made him abruptly stand. He trudged over to the door, not really wanting to leave, but he'd promised his connect that he wouldn't stay long. His hand was on the knob when he glanced over his shoulder. Ichigo was still the same: body still as a corpse. Grimmjow threw his hood over his head and left the room, steps determined and attitude on a thousand.

He had a little chaos to create.

Now, I'm not afraid to do the Lord's work,
You say vengeance is His, but I'm a do it first,
I'm gonna handle my business in the name of the law, aah, ohh,

Now if he made you cry, oh, I gotta know,
If he's not ready to die, he best prepare for it,
My judgment's divine, I'll tell you who you can call,
You can call...

You better call the police, call the coroner,
Call up your priest, have them warn ya,
Won't be no peace when I find that fool,
Who did that to you, yeah,
Who did that to you, my baby,
Who did that to you, uh,
Gotta find that fool, oh,
Who did that to you?

Now I don't take pleasure in a man's pain,
But my wrath will come down like the cold rain,
And there won't be no shelter, no place you can go,
Hey, Heeeey,
It's time to put your hands up, time for surrender,
I'm a vigilante, my love's defender,
You're a wanted man, and everybody knows,

You better call the police, call the coroner,
Call up your priest, have them warn ya,
Won't be no peace when I find that fool,
Who did that to you, hey,
Who did that to you, my baby,
Who did that to you, ahhhh,
Gotta find that fool, hey-ah,
Who did that to you?

Now he'll keep on running, but I'm closing in,
I'll hunt him down until the bitter end,
If you see me coming then who you gonna call?

You better call the police, call the coroner,
Call up your priest, have them warn ya,
Won't be no peace when I find that fool, hey, hey, heey-ah,

You better call the doctor, call the lawyer,
I chase 'em all the way to California,
Give 'em hell ya trying to find that fool,
Who did that to you?

-John Legend-

Once again, I do hope you enjoyed this! I'll get to the next story as soon as possible, entitled, "Dirtiest Of Em All." Thank you for reading!