Playing With Fire

Chapter Twenty-Five

             Don’t get yourself killed.

             I scoff silently and look up after shoving my phone back in its place.

             “Like I said,” Ashley restates with a smirk, “Astronomical.”

              If only she knew what our supposed date nights consisted of.

            Aside from the endless strings of curse words and discouragement exchanged between the two of us—strangely categorized as ‘flirting’ in Ashley’s eyes—there are the rides to the gym where his entrance key is a lock pick and where his romantic ‘I love yous’ translate to punch me.

           Yet of course, every time he knocks me to the ground, he whispers sweet nothings such as ‘death’ and ‘bullets’, a gesture in which I kindly return with eclectic exposure to profanities.

           Nonetheless, the time we spend under the same roof is time well wasted. Once we established the fact that my combat skills are more or less a work in progress—and once I became willing to admit that—things got better. His training sessions, though hardcore and demanding, made me feel more confident to take strides alone. While his tactics were debatable, the outcomes were starting to show.

             “Hey.” A finger appears in the line of my vision, blurry and close, “Faye.”

             Seated on the couch with a laptop on my thighs, I snap my attention to an agitated Travis. He’s crouched in front of me with the too well known scowl plastered on his features.

             “Hm?” I say, darting my gaze back to the computer screen.

             “What are you thinking?” He asks after returning back to his seat on the opposite side of me.

             “What?” I shake my head, thoroughly confused as to why he would care, “I—uh, what did you find?”

             I change the subject, knowing full well by the look he gives me that he was only trying to be polite by pretending to wonder what was going on in my head.

             “Well,” He mutters, more to himself, “Check this out.”

             I get up from my seat when he motions for me to look at his screen. Intrigue burns at my fingertips and I lean against the back of the single couch he’s sitting on. Travis flips screens to a black and white display.

             I gawk and point to the upper right hand corner of the screen, “That’s my house.”

             “Well done,” He says sarcastically, shaking his head, “Do you see the others?”

             Pointing to the remaining three screens, he explains how each is a view of portions of his house. They are basically different angles of the same thing.

             “Impressive,” I muse, leaning back slightly, “How did you manage to get some of my camera footage?”

             He turns his head slightly to give me a look of incredulity.

             “Gang benefits,” He reminds me, “I wasn’t just a sitting duck.”

             I roll my eyes, “Okay so you have security footage of my house and yours.”

             “Yeah,” he nods, “It’ll just make things a little easier.”

             I purse my lips and head back to my comfy abode on the opposite corner.