Dalliance - Z.M. (An Exquisites Original Story)

9; Bad Habit

"Oh, um, well we could drive to a gas station and pick up a tank?"

He chuckles, shaking his head no before he looks back down at his glass. Fury burns through me, and I feel like kicking him in the head, but I control myself walk away from him and towards the next table, but once I see who's on it, I stop dead in my tracks.

The devilishly familiar men who sabotaged Zayn and I's date are sitting at the table, both of them with their eyes on me. I swallow hard, lifting my chin as I walk past them to the next table, but I'm forced to stop once I feel a hand grab hold of my wrist tightly.

Swallowing hard, I turn back to notice Shaggy now standing up, his hand curled around my wrist as he tugs me towards him, a disgusting smirk balanced on his lips.

"What's a nice girl like you doin' in this part of town?" He says quietly, Shrike chuckling behind him.

"Let go of me," I order calmly, not struggling under his grasp for I know it will only motivate him.

"You remember when you punched me last time we saw each other?" He uses his other hand rub over the fading bruise on his jaw which makes me want to smirk, but I only keep a straight face.

"You remember when you called me a bitch?"

He lets go of my wrist but takes a step towards me. Narrowing my eyes at him, I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin in an attempt to look threatening.

"You lucky you ain't dead," he grumbles.

"Touché."

Shrike laughs again, smacking his hand on the table. I look over Shaggy's shoulder at him, glaring at him. "Control your bitch, Shrike."

Shaggy shakes his head as Shrike stops laughing, merely cocking an eyebrow at me.

"Say the word and I'll end her," Shaggy mumbles to Shrike, but steadies his eyes on me.

"You need his approval? Ha."

Within the next moment, Shaggy has pulled his gun out of his belt loop and has it pointed right at the center of my forehead. The bar falls silent, but I just smirk, amused at the whole situation. After our first encounter, I was a little scared, but right now, it just seems fun. Despite the fact that there's a gun pointed to my head, and my mind is telling me to run, the burning desire to find out what happens next pinches at my conscious.

Shrike stands up from his booth, standing right beside Shaggy. He crosses his inked, buff hands across his chest, a crooked smirk on his lips.

"What'd you call me?" He husks.

"Shrike," I repeat.

"Why?"

I point to the side of my head which makes Shaggy grip his gun harder. "You have a tattoo of a shrike on your face."

He only looks amused, so when he takes the gun from Shaggy's hand, my eyes glint with excitement. Just as I think he's going to put the gun away, he steps towards my and rests it under my chin, tilting it upwards. The distance between us is so thin I can smell the marijuana and scotch on him.

"How can you tell it's a shrike?"

"There was a bird nest outside my bedroom window, a shrike lived in it. Vicious murderer, that bird, used to leave helpless rats crying."

Firmly, he presses the gun harder against me. The cold metal feels unfamiliar against my skin, but now I can say that I've been held at gunpoint if I make it out alive.

"Who knew there was a brain behind all that beauty?"

I smile, and I know I would be more flattered if I didn't have a gun at my throat.