Super Bad (Completed 2013)

‡ Chapter 1 ‡

"Excuse me?" I retorted. "I may rise as slow as I want," I spoke, raw anger still fresh from my earlier frustration.

He arched a brow and weighed my appearance. A smirk toyed at the tips of his lips. "You're just a kid. A girl," he said more to himself. He shook his head. "What a waste of time you are."

I took a physical inch back, completely stunned yet equally bothered. "That's no way to treat a woman!" I said in exasperation.

All in one sudden swerve; the truck skidded across the road and caught me off guard. The deafening sound of rubber tires burned against the pavement.

My body was instantly thrown by the abrupt turn, and banged roughly against the wall. A sharp cry left my lips and I slid back to the ground. Smoke swarmed the air like an infectious virus.

What the hell was going on?

I flinched as a gunshot rang. My cradled position on the ground was the only sanity I had, and my wits were too shaken to sit up.

An explosion went off. I winced. The sudden chaos confused me, and I was afraid I'd go mad from it all.

Slowly, my eyes searched through the fading smoke to see bodies in fast motion. I blinked back, and squinted. The moving truck door was now open. Masked figures swarmed in. People were everywhere.

The childlike boy I had just met earlier was no where compared to the man I was seeing now. Oh, but to my surprise it was the same crazy boy.

He kicked and struck at temples, his speed heightening within every swing. It was like he knew where to hit and when, his timing precise and effective. Other men were battling along his side yet I couldn't stop looking at him.

Frightened and intrigued, I no longer had the desire to make fun of this boy or man, whoever he may be-no matter how bad of a flirter he was.

Clipping another man's forehead, the crazy boy I met before clicked eyes with mine. My conscious said to look away once more, but I found myself straining to do so.

His mouth stirred into the hint of a smirk, and that was enough to release me from my spell. Cocky was what men like him were made out of. Cocky and arrogance. Nothing else, nothing more. Then a shift in his eyes occurred.

A sharp pain swelled from my head. I yelped as someone yanked my ponytail, cracking my head back in surprise.

The crazy boy made a run for me, but a group of invaders threatened a gun to his chest. Whoever was fighting alongside him was outnumbered. I realized beneath my pain, the masked invaders wearing black were now holding the right hand, all with guns pointing at crazy boy's crew.

The hand yanked me by my hair, painfully forcing my feet to stand. I refused to give my attacker any satisfaction and gulped a cry.

"Oh, Jessie," the man spoke pleasantly.

He twisted my neck around so I could gaze straight into his callous, blue eyes. The pain from my scalp increased, and my confusion extended even further.

Overwhelmed by his young attractive age, I wasn't a fool to think he wasn't dangerous. I had never seen this man before yet knowing he knew my name was terrifying.

"How could you be so sure something is a lie?" he asked. He cupped my cheek with the other hand. His golden rings brushed against my shaking skin. The touch was so acute, so eerie, I was on the verge of begging for him to stop, but I kept my mouth shut.

The man yanked my hair harder, compelling me to face him. "How can you be so sure something doesn't exist?" he hissed, above my ear.

This couldn't be happening. Gangs weren't real. Canada was a safe place. My parents kept me safe. They promised. It was all they cared about.

My stomach tightened. Then how come I didn't feel safe?

"Seeing is believing," he whispered. "And sweetheart"-he lifted my chin-"you're looking right into the Eagle's Eye."

My mind raced.

Romane. It had to be Romane. Blue, callous eyes, icy hands filled with gold rings, those eyes.

Eagle eyes.

I was in the hands of Romane; the most dangerous man and gang leader in North America. The man who everyone feared. The man from my bedtime stories. The man who could kill a man with a popsicle stick. Hell, he could probably kill someone with a cotton ball.

He was real.

He was holding me, a sharp knife glinting on the hook of his pants. Tracing my jaw line, he deeply whispered