Falling for the Enemy || Captain America || Book 1

Chapter 28: Old Faces

"Surely you haven't forgotten me by now?" He asks mockingly in feigned shock. I scrutinise my gaze at him and recognise the face under the shadow, causing me to scoff and groan even louder. "Going to turn me in to the Avengers? The Fantastic Four? The police? Heck, let's shake things up and turn me in to HYDRA why not." He grunts at my patronising rant, grumbling "I'm not turning you in sunshine. I don't entirely feel like encountering anyone tied in with the law at the moment, not to mention I'm not in the mood to go to all that effort."

I smirk. "I should thank the stars then that you're 'not in the mood'. Now tell me, when was the last time we saw each other? It's all a bit blurry."

A growl sounds from deep in his throat as he recounts "Rogue mutant. You broke into Xavier's school for gifted youngster's, assassinated the mutant, cut my hand off, gave me a good beating then stole the only adamantium we had." I allow realization to dawn on my face as I reply "Ooohhh that's right. That was the mutant that could alter his molecular density. He was a bitch to kill."

"My hand is fine by the way," he sarcastically comments, lifting the fully healed hand and allowing the adamantium claws to come out. I wave it off, arguing "I knew you'd be fine. As if Wolverine couldn't take a hit like that."

"Whatever did you do with that adamantium anyway?" He inquires, completely ignoring my previous sentence. "Melted it with some vibranium I had lying around at home to make a couple katakanas. Pitch black swords with a single red streak running up the edge of the blade. They're kind of my trade mark weapons along with my hidden blades."

"I don't think I need to explain what my trademark weapons are," Logan smirks into his drink, taking another idle sip. I feign a wondering look, tapping a single finger to my chin and guessing "Your attitude?" His eyes dart towards me within seconds, an almost fake anger shining in them amongst amusement and playful scolding. "Watch your mouth Nightshade; I've got Johnny on speed-dial."

I grin. "Why the hell do you have Johnny on speed-dial?" I inquire. He shrugs it off, scouring the bar like a wolf hunting for his next meal – which in his case is most likely a bar fight – then glimpses back to me. "He knows how to have a good time. In fact, I may just call him now."

"And that is my queue to leave," I butt in, snatching the bottle of whiskey and stiffly rising from the bar stool. Yet when Logan's finger rests on the dial button, the strangest thing occurs.

Johnny's ringtone sounds from about five meters away.

"No way—" I cut myself off, Logan already beating me to dashing towards the sound. Wait, why am I running towards the conceited hot head? I've been running away for eight or nine months. Maybe Talia's words sunk into my damn skull. Thanks Talia.

When I arrive at the scene, Logan is sighing aggrevatedly and turns away, running a tired hand over his face. "The idiot," he grumbles, not even meeting my gaze. Shoving past him, I stumble into the open to take in the sight of Johnny throwing a right hook at a random guy's face, one of his friends staggering up and tackling Johnny to the floor. The first man wipes a small stream of crimson blood from his nose, two of his mates tripping over their own feet to get to him. They're drunk fighting.

"Unbelievable," I stress, practically doing the same as Logan and turning away for a brief second, running a haggard hand through my freshly washed hair. I really didn't feel like fighting today. "Should we help? It's four against one," I run my tongue over my lower lip, already feeling my mouth begin to go dry. Damn whiskey.

"He'll be fine," Logan reassures, and on queue Johnny staggers up only to hit in the face by the first man's elbow and once again collapse to the floor, spitting and coughing up blood. "He won't be fine," Logan corrects, already making a bee line towards the other three. "Guess that means I got the first one," I comment to myself, exhaling sharply and quickly grabbing a chair from beside me, slinking behind the man and tapping him on the shoulder.