TWISTED ꜜ LOUIS PARTRIDGE

⟾ 8 | MARK WHAT'S MINE

"Fine," I said, "turn around."

He furrowed his brow. "Are you going to stab me in the back?"

"Nice pun, but no," I smirked, "I do have to lift up my skirt to get the knife though, so be a decent bloke and avert your eyes."

He let out a soft laugh under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around. And for a moment, I just watched him, not moving as he hummed a tune under his breath and began to rock on the balls of his feet as he waited.

He really did trust me, didn't he?

It may not have been a lot, but here he was, blindly trusting that I wouldn't kill him when I had the perfect opportunity. This wasn't a mind game—this was fact. Feeling something surge in my chest, I tried to ignore that thought, grabbing the handle of my dagger and sliding it out of its sheath. I tossed it off to the side, readjusting my skirt. It landed by the abandoned trailer a few ways off.

"Thank you," I said, trying not to sound awkward, "I'm now weaponless."

Louis turned around. "Are you sure you want to fight?"

"What else would we bloody do?"

He didn't answer, giving me a strange look.

"Oh for God's sake, Lou, I didn't mean it like that," I scoffed, "stop getting soft, and actually pretend you still hate my guts."

"I do hate your guts," he smirked.

"Then act like it, you git."

"As you wish."

Before I could process his words, he grabbed my wrist, spinning me around and locking my arms behind my back in a matter of seconds. Finally, we were getting somewhere. Digging the heel of my boot into his foot, I shoved him off of me, immediately going for a punch.

He caught it.

How does he always catch it?

I'd made a few good attacks in the minutes following that moment, but he managed to get more in. It was ridiculous. He was living up to his 'Miracle-Rookie' title, and I found myself wishing I hadn't underestimated him all this time.

"Tired already, Ash?" He laughed, dodging a round-house kick.

I stumbled backwards. "Shut up, Partridge."

He didn't shut up, instead throwing out more taunts to keep me flustered. I wanted to win. I wanted to be able to read his fighting patterns, but that was a skill I didn't have, and it was proving to be a huge disadvantage in this very moment. Not to mention, he was definitely much stronger than me in certain respects.

Dumb Agent muscles.

I ended up getting pinned to the gravelly ground, staring up at a smug-faced Louis hovering over me, who just couldn't seem to believe he'd won again.

"You suck at hand-to-hand combat, Ash," he laughed, "I'd offer to teach you, but I like having an advantage."

"Oh, piss off, Partridge," I spat out, trying to hide my smile.

I half-expected him to let go of me, or at least attempt to catch me for the first time, but instead he didn't. He just stared at me, eyes blinking, and hair falling over his face as the gears in his mind started to turn.

But then his gaze trailed away from my face and towards the wrist he had pinned down.

The Tattoo.

"Don't," I said, trying to wrench my arm away, "I'm serious, Louis, don't."

His grip was too strong, so I couldn't move my hand away, even as he slid his palm to the back of my wrist so he could see my tattoo completely in the dim light of the London Sky. I felt a surge of panic rise through me, but I couldn't do anything.