'Lay your head down
Down, down
Lay your head down
Down, down
My love's gonna pull you down
Down, down
One shot and you're 6ft down
Down, down'
Yet in spite of all my willingness, the crash still happened, my wide eyes taking in each detail of the scene illuminated by a single light, and my slow steps freezing, and it was worse when I was fully aware of everything until each of the erratic bangs of my heart.
Bang, Rye was here, in this courtyard, surrounded by four tall walls where his voice could bounce easily and reach the small window above his head. The clutter was about to untangle, yet the bad feeling was only tightening in my insides.
Bang, he was talking with Douglas Thornton. The light above them, emphasizing the outlines of his tailor-made suit and the same bulbous shape as his father's nose, left no shadow of doubt. Yet nothing cleared, and the tangles became frozen, like the rest of my body.
Bang, the trash bag slipped out of my fingers, and their gazes turned to me, spotting me, even in the shadows, even if I wasn't moving from behind the trash can.
Maybe it would have been better if I had rushed, but I realized it too late, as in a few steps they were standing on my way to the only door.
"Dorothy Duncan?!" The shock that widened Douglas's dark eyes quickly gave way to another look, though as large, as he took in my petite figure. "I wouldn't have expected to run into you here, but what a sweet surprise..."
'Sweet' wasn't the word I would have chosen. 'Freezing', 'sour' felt more appropriate for what was expanding from the deepest part of my guts to my dry lips.
"Wait, you know each other?" Rye pointed his finger between us, his wide gaze following as he looked as confused as I was, and I would have surely turned the question if my mouth hadn't been frozen like the rest of my body.
How? When? Where? What? Why? All the question marks and whatever tickle of curiosity arising in my insides were annihilated by the shivers seeping in under my skin.
"Yes, her dad works for mine. They're about to do great business together, aren't they?"
My fists clenched at his words. It was the truth, yet the intonation and gestures could change everything, and those lifted eyebrows, lifted nose, and undertone were twisting it.
That superiority and hypocrisy in his voice, I should have recognized it instantly; it would have avoided me all this trouble, especially the one coming when Rye made me jump again.
"Blade's chick?! You know Blade's chick! That's the best of the year!" He burst out laughing, bending over and slapping his thighs at whatever joke I still hadn't caught, and I wasn't sure I wanted to find out as this sick twinkle was shining on all his features.
Yet between the two sets of eyes on me, I still preferred looking at that mocking glint than at Douglas's unreadable dark gaze.
"Such a small world indeed..."
I turned my head to the left, not towards Douglas though. My gaze was running on the surroundings, the darkened concrete walls, the windows on the upper floors that were either broken, covered with planks, or both, the cigarette butts on the ground along with other unnameable things, and the trash container beside me.
Wasn't it a different world from the newly cream facade of the city hall, his shiny car, the fancy lunches, and the club sandwiches between two golf holes? How could those different worlds mix?
His elegant brown suit wasn't made to mingle with leather jackets. Yet they were both standing side by side in front of me, and it wasn't the first time.
There was no coincidence, and I remembered too well Sunday's incident. Had these two worlds been only one since the start or were they linked with hidden twists?
Of course, appearances could be deceiving, and my pale pink swing dress wasn't more fitting around here. But I was here because I was a shooting star, and mostly, because of Blade. What was Douglas's reason?
I was even more lost in this instant, and one world or two, nothing was smaller than me when Douglas added,
"Maybe I'll stay a little longer finally." Although he nodded towards Rye, his gaze stayed fixed on me like on a prey; well, at least, that was how I felt as a rush of adrenaline pulled me out of my frozen daze and put my lips into motion.
"Um, speaking of time, I should get going. My parents are waiting for me. It was nice to see–"
"What's the hurry? I'm sure your parents will understand if they know we ran into each other." Douglas offered me a smile, the kind he would have given my parents and that would have charmed my mom and convinced my dad, and that made me shrivel into the wall behind me as much as the step Rye took closer to me.
"And Blade isn't here, you know." Rye's grin was the contrary of Douglas's, and I didn't understand how they could be standing side by side.
But anyway, it left me cornered in every way possible, and the cold concrete coming in contact with my back made me realize it.
I was alone, in this dark labyrinth, or at least, in a large concrete courtyard, in a bar where I barely knew anyone.
"Morris, Wayne, and Clinton! They must be waiting for me," I rushed, remembering I knew a few people, and these gang members seemed like a convincing excuse, even if they weren't Blade.
I'd caught Wayne's bruised knuckles and the large scar across Clinton's eyebrow. They were scary and three, though I wasn't sure it was really a persuasive argument for the son of their gang leader.
Rye didn't move away; on the contrary, he rested his hand on the wall next to my head, his left hand, and I'd noticed how he wasn't moving his other bandaged wrist, as it was probably still hurting.
Even if I didn't have my evil genie to protect me, this sight made me feel just a little spark of satisfaction, which quickly turned into something else when I noticed the small slit of space between the two men. It wasn't much, but it was enough for me to glimpse the door on the opposite side like a straight way for a shooting star, and I didn't think more.
Taking it as a sign, and my only opportunity to get away, I let my instincts take over and took off, ready to fly, or at least, run as far as I could.
Yet while I kept my attention on the bandaged wrist in case Rye would move it, I hadn't expected to get pulled back from the other side. I hadn't expected Douglas to trap me with something else than his gaze or his arguments, but both of Rye's hands were free when I was pushed back against the wall with a strength that knocked my breath out.
I blinked my eyes furiously in hope to wake up from a nightmare. After all, it resembled too much the moment when everything that didn't make sense stopped, along with your breath, and then, you gasped, opening your eyes to your familiar room and smooth blankets. However, here, there was only the hard and uneven concrete in my back, and a pain shooting up my spine until my wrist that couldn't have existed in a nightmare.
So my eyes were left to take in this reality I was stuck in.
"Please, let me go." I tried to tear my arm away, but Douglas only tightened his grip, and before I could reach my other hand, Rye grabbed it, freezing more than just my movements.
It was scary how perfectly in sync they were, but also how both applied the right pressure to trap me, and I was left with only my cracking voice as their tall bodies were standing like walls in front of me.
"You're hurting me." Though even more than the pinch of my skin that was turning into a vice grip, ready to crush my bones, it was the feeling of their cold skins and the chills they sent down my spine that I couldn't bear.
"Not so brave, the little cowgirl," Rye taunted over my ear, turning the new nickname Blade had given me after my Sunday's stunt sourer than 'princess' as I swallowed harshly.
I wasn't crying; I wasn't trembling, and yet, I'd never felt such cold powerlessness as the only thing I could do was plead, looking for pity through my big eyes.
Technically, they had no reason to hurt me, had they? At least, not Douglas. Yet my gaze kept traveling between the two men in search for a breach of humanity, and quickly, it ended on my whitening left hand, from where the numbness seemed to spread, while the little half-moons indents on my palm were mocking me more than Rye's grin.
I had a plan for tonight; it wasn't complicated. But I had once again messed everything, drifting more and more as I'd stepped here, in this courtyard, in this labyrinth, in this bar, and even though it was already feeling like a crash, something in my guts told me the real crash would be more violent.
This time, I had no glimmer of hope, no spark at all in my paralyzed body, and without them, the shooting star I was became just a mess.
"Take your filthy hands off of her!" As if sensing my spark fading out, a voice rose to light it again, and not just any voice. "Or I'll cut your fingers one by one, among a few other things." The sharp tone bored straight through my chest from the other side of the courtyard, lighting more sparks on its way until my heart took off to my evil genie when my eyes snapped up.
I needed to see him to be sure I wasn't dreaming, and when I met his gaze, darker than ever and piercing deeper into my soul, I had no doubt.
With Blade, the mess I was became sparking, hot, and full of possibilities. I hadn't even wished it this time, but it felt more magical than ever.
He was really there, threatening, dark, and dangerous, and while the only glint coming from him was the light reflecting in the knife in his hand, it was sparking all the sensations back into my body: the relief washing over my shaky muscles, including my hands that fell back by my sides, the breath I finally let out, and also the empty one I took in when Rye replied,
"Chill! We were just talking."
That was the reason why I hadn't wished for Blade to appear when I was helpless, and although today, the knife was in his bandaged hand, I remembered too well the last time Rye had said those words. The same rush of adrenaline was spreading into my veins, even faster as I knew I had to stop them before they even started, and from the sharp edge already appearing in Blade's knife, but also in his clenched jaw and tight voice, I didn't have many seconds left.
"Should I add the tongue?"
Without thinking, without breathing, and also without looking, I moved to run between them. Yet I didn't take more than one step before colliding into Douglas's chest. I'd forgotten about this detail, and I didn't even know how, when his spine-chilling gaze was still on me.
He had released my hand, but unlike Rye, he hadn't pulled away, surely because he had no idea what Blade was capable of, and he kept a pinching grip on me, just in a different way.
"Another personal bodyguard? How many do you have?" He was hinting at Spencer; it was as obvious as his hidden smirk that made me look down.
Yet his next words appeared more obscure, like his smile. "You're more difficult than your sister."
Daisy? I'd heard this kind of comparison many times; however, here, it wasn't my stomach that shriveled, and the knot tightened in my guts when he leaned over my ear.
"I don't mind... I always like a good ch–" He stopped abruptly, and it wasn't hard to guess why.
There was only one thing as sharp, and it wasn't the knife I caught in front of my eyes, poking at Douglas's neck.
"Don't make me repeat myself." Blade was leaning over his ear, just like Douglas had been over mine, and it was like watching the predator become the prey, the snake getting caught by the big cat, even if I was still the little mouse, squirming under the tension in the air.
"No need to be violent." Douglas raised his hands up, finally stepping away, yet not enough for Blade to put down his knife, not enough to appear like a retreat. "My father has a strict policy at the town hall against category M weapons and violence. Wouldn't want this to come to his ears?" His gaze flickered from the knife at his neck to Blade, but it ended on me, the little helpless mouse.
I was still stuck. He wasn't touching me anymore, but just the charged air was crushing on my skin, and although I wasn't the one with a knife pointed at me, my heart was surely beating faster than his in my throat, in my ears, in my chest, and in my palms.
This time, I was even trembling as I put my hand on Blade's chest, finding the same bangs echoing under my palm.
"Blade." My voice was just a murmur, but I used my gaze to amplify it like a call, a call to the Blade no one else could see, and I didn't blink away from the cold icy, nor the tempest threatening under. I faced the killer.
"See, Dorothy agrees." Douglas lifted his chin, not even minding that it made the blade end up closer to his Adam apple as he looked down on us.
Even in this position, he was asserting his power, and I grasped what he had in common with Rye. They were both greedy for power, and while it was what everyone sought in a way, they sucked it from others.
In this instant, Douglas had it over me. He didn't need a real weapon for it; he was putting a sword of Damocles over the people I cared about, and in my chest, it was more violent. I had caught clearly the underlying threat at my dad's job and also at Blade's future. He had the power to influence both, and as if it wasn't enough to paralyze me, Rye was also there to make me tremble.
He was capable of stabbing someone in the back, figuratively and literally. So I couldn't let Blade risk it for me, not even get distracted, and my heart, my nerves, my guts, and every part of me was jumping everywhere when I caught the movement behind Blade.
Though before I could even gasp, Blade glided to the side, hooking his right arm around Rye's neck and immobilizing him, all while keeping his knife close enough to Douglas's neck to not let him move.
"If one of you ever touches again even just one hair of Dorothy's head, none of your little daddies will save you." He pushed Rye away, making him stumble a little, and he flashed Douglas his Cheshire cat's smile as he lightly grazed the tip of his knife in a B shape over his neck. It wasn't enough to draw blood; however, it was enough to leave a brief red mark, and mostly, enough to remind them that they might have had powers, but he had magic powers.
"They won't even find a piece of you." He put his knife away on those words, not even glancing back as they walked away.
He had won. I caught the flash of fear in Rye's clear eyes before he covered it with conceit and already new wicked intentions. Yet I didn't glimpse anything in Douglas's dark gaze.
The eyes were the window to the soul, and all I saw was black. It wasn't about the color; it was in the way he still looked at me, sending one more shiver down my spine like a warning that it wasn't over when he disappeared behind the only door on the other side.
"Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Touch you?"
I needed a few blinks, but as soon as I met those crystalline eyes, the transparency there was such a contrast that it pulled me out of my frozen trance with a strong bang of my heart, and it was followed by many as I took in the brewing whirlwind underneath the surface.
I was swamped with relief but struck by fear, flooded with weakness, and thundering with power. So instead of answering questions I didn't have the answers to, I let my instincts guide me, and I jumped at his neck.
It was the answer we both needed: to make sure his haunting storm wouldn't take him away from me and to warm any remaining powerlessness in my body, and I buried my head into his chest until his unique perfume engulfed me like a vanilla milk on a fireplace, and the powerful beats of his heart lulled mine.
"I'm fine now..." I whispered as his arms wrapped around the small of my back, and I could have stayed forever here, snuggled between his leather jacket and his taut muscles.
I was safe... in a killer's arms. If someone had told me a month before, I would have said they were crazy, and I was surely the craziest, keeping my tight grip even when he slowly leaned away.
"Did they touch you?" he repeated lowly, tightly, darkly, his piercing gaze searching for the answer all over my freckles, and as if it wasn't clear enough to let me know his tempest was still close under, the strong thumps of his heart, as my hands slid to his chest, did.
I was calming down, but he wasn't, and he was still one – or three – inch away from going after the two men. I wouldn't let him go.
"They were just talking..." I tried to shrug it off, but as his lifted eyebrow stopped it instantly, it ended in a wince. I didn't believe it myself.
Technically, they had talked, yet the remnants of chills in my guts were telling another story, and in the end, I didn't even know how to call it.
"What's that blood on your skirt?!" His eyes widened as if the red stain was calling the dangerous killer inside him, and as the blood drained from my face once more, I wondered if it had leaked during one of the many round trips before.
But no, after following his murderous gaze and squinting mine, I spotted the tiny red smear near the hem of my dress.
"Oh no, it's not mine. I ran into Angel, the waitress, and she cut herself with a broken glass. I must have stained my skirt when I grabbed the shards." I pointed to the trash bag by our feet, trying to show him it was the assured truth this time, although his eyes were already piercing deeper than my soul.
"What the fuck were you even doing here?"
I immediately looked away, my eyes and my hands finding great interest in the hole at his collar, and he must have felt my stiffening muscles because he took in a long breath, letting his clenched jaw relax until it didn't look like a deadly weapon, or at least, not one ready to snap at any second. Yet I could still feel how loud his heart was booming under my hand when he slowly reopened his eyes.
"I told you to not come here alone, and even less with no weapon."
I was understanding more and more why; however, I couldn't help wondering if it was just about this place, or if it could have happened anywhere.
Anyway, I had been reckless.
"I know, I'm sorry." My fingers roamed from his collar to the peek of his gun tattoo as I tried to go through the blur of this night to answer him, and I hated how my voice ended as rushed and small as I'd felt.
"I wanted to see you, but you weren't at your house, and the shooting range was closed. So I thought you would be here, and Wayne told me you would be back soon, so I waited. Where were you?" I stopped when he grabbed my hands between his.
"I was with Pete. We took Meteorite to a vet he knows for a checkup."
These words were enough to melt away the whole night. "He's fine?"
"Yes, more than you." If any traces of tonight remained in me, he dissolved them as he brought my wrists to his lips, and he kissed the darkening marks that had already appeared.
I hadn't even noticed them in the dim lighting, but he had, and carefully, as he started by the faintest bruises on the right to end on the darkest around my left wrist. He didn't miss one, making sure to soothe the skin, and even farther.
The bruises would stay for a few days, but the feeling of Rye and Douglas's cold hands and the shivers they had sent in my bones were annihilated with the warm softness of his lips.
It was almost unbelievable as I watched him focus all his attention on the mere gesture, his deep frown, tight jaw, and tense muscles creating something featherlike against my skin. Everything felt heavy in comparison: my tired legs, the beats of my heart, and even the air as I took in shallow breaths.
It wasn't only tender; it wasn't sinful. It was something in-between, impossible to describe, like magic.
As he lingered with an open-mouthed kiss against my pulse, he really had my heartbeat on the tip of his lips, and he surely felt the skip when he reached the last bruise at the edge of my palm and asked,
"Why did you want to see me?" Funny how the last raspy syllable vibrated right at the start of the paint line in my palm, as if his question had led him here, or maybe his journey backward to erase every mark of the night.
"Um, about this..." It was one of the rare things I hadn't forgotten, and maybe I wished I had as his gaze traveled from my hand to my face, keeping the same intensity.
The moment was so precious, and the words twisting on my tongue appeared too strong for it. We were both better with gestures, so that was why I pulled my hands away from his, lifting a finger up before he could open his mouth.
It didn't take me long to take the paintbrush and small jar out of my bag, as they were the only things there, and I was glad I'd at least planned this.
Okay, the tensions in his features, the trash cans next to us, and the shadows of the night weren't part of the plan, but it was us, and it was better when I lifted my head to the sky.
For the first time tonight, I noticed the millions of tiny twinkles above as if only with him, they appeared, and at least, he lit them up inside me. Now, all that was missing was a shooting star, which I became under his gaze trying to pierce through the back of my hand while I traced shaky lines of paint in my palm.
Four letters, that was what I drew, and it didn't take long before I flipped my palm to him, and my heart rate shot up faster in anticipation of his reply. I'd imagined a few, but I didn't know what to make of this one.
Well, at least, his tensions had finally relaxed – if we could call it that way as the crease between his eyebrows and his clenched jaw had given way to wide eyes and parted lips.
I even checked my hand to be sure I hadn't written the wrong word or messed its direction because he was staring at it as if trying to decipher hieroglyphs. But no, even if the letters may have been a little messy with my shakes and the dampness forming in my palm, it was easy to read. 'PROM?'
As he didn't have more reaction, and the aerial lightness seemed completely crushed like my insides anyway, I resigned myself to take a deep breath.
"I wanted to ask you to be my date for prom... tomorrow?"
A blink, was it a reaction? Gazing back into his large eyes, I was only drowning more.
"I wanted to ask you before... I know it's last minute, but it's okay if you don't have time to find a suit, you can even come in leather jacket... and if you have other things to do or don't want to, that's okay, I understand. I just thought it would be fun and–"
"Okay."
"Okay?" My gaze traveled from the words now really resembling hieroglyphs, because of the fiddling of my fingers, to his face, where a new tension was appearing near his scarred cheek.
"Okay, or do I need to paint it on your body?"
"Yes! I mean no, I'm fine." His sparkling eyes trailing down my body full of bad intentions stopped me before I could jump, though I couldn't say the same of my heart that was already soaring high.
"But how are you gonna do with your parents? I thought they didn't want to see me?"
Not even this could bring me down, and apparently, it was the same for his devious smile as he tugged me by my hands full of paint closer to him.
However, for once, my lips were the ones holding the bad intention. "Don't worry about this. I have an evil genius plan."
I had already gone through the hardest part to get here, after all, and as I let the tingles of my bad intention meet with his on our lips, everything appeared possible.
So did you expect this? 😏 What was Douglas doing here, except bothering Dorothy of course? 🤔
Luckily, our evil genie was here 😈 and you don't mess with his Shooting star!
Now, tell me what you think of this chapter! All your thoughts and suppositions about what has happened and what will happen at prom 😏🤫🤭
Also, don't forget to vote ⭐ if you liked this chapter and can't wait for more!
Love you, my little shooting stars 😘🌠💕