An arrogant voice came from behind the men, when out stepped a dashing and deadly gorgeous tall man. He wore a three piece black tuxedo, except he had his blazer in his hand.
It was no one, other than the most dangerous mafia, Tristen Killings.
The car door slammed shut as Tristen walked up front towards Lavender. "She was roaming on the street despite our warning, sir." The man said.
Tristen slapped the person hard; so hard that he fell on the ground. "How does that feel?" He scolded. "I strictly commanded you to not grab attention. We need everything to be confidential; even our departure. Why do you make it so obvious?"
He spun around and saw Lavender laying on the dirty ground, scared, and her face roughly and deeply scratched by the sharp uneven pebbles on the road. She had never been this scared in her life after the car incident. At least, she didn't injure her body back then and had left only with a mental scar.
This time, she might leave with a physical scar; if she was able to leave at all.
He walked towards her with charm and glamour, as if he were a prince, or someone with the social label of being important. Kneeling on his knee, Tristen took Lavender's hand into his before rubbing the dirt off it.
"Your name?" He asked, staring into her eyes sensually, yet in a deadly manner. "L-lavender..." She managed to squeak. She never felt such a rush inside of her that made her cheeks burn so bad.
"Last name?" He asked in a commanding voice.
"Hills. Lavender Hills." She almost teared up. She did not expect to go back home with another trauma which would prevent her from coming to Bilsburg again.
At the same moment, she realized that she wasn't wearing her face mask. Why so? She had forgetten it at her parents' house when she kept it aside with the groceries on the table. And her mother being a mother, must've tossed it off on the dirty pile of laundry.
"I suppose you aren't a resident here." The corners of his lips curled up in a way which made Lavender feel her tummy twisting. She was having butterflies flutter in her stomach while her heart raced a hundred miles per hour. She didn't dare pull her hand back.
"I-I'm not." She gulped hard. It wasn't really necesary to tell him that this was her hometown, since she wanted to just get out of the situation. He nodded his head, observing her facial features carefully.
"These scratches don't compliment your face." He clicked his tongue, brushing the dirt off her face and wounds. "Your dress is torn." He added, pointing at her shoulder. He placed his blazer around her shoulder, covering up her naked skin.
"C-can I please go?" She lowered her eyes submissively with her hand still in Tristen's.
He could only scoff, look at his gunsmen in amusment. "Where do you live?" He asked, helping her sit upright.
He never let go of her hand.
"J-Janesville." She said, with her hand now trembling in his. "Amusing." He smirked. "Since you didn't know, let me tell you myself. You do not roam in the streets after there's a warning given. If you didn't hear it, just hide when you see no one." He pulled her up on her feet.
"The streets are empty for a reason, love." He said darkly. "I hope your hand is well. If not, I will compensate." Tristen spun on his heels to walk back to the car. "Where can I find you, in that case?" Lavender asked courageously. She did not know if it was an adrenaline rush, or just some stupid impulsive move.
It made him stop dead in his tracks as he slowly spun around. "She has guts." One of the men said, making Tristen laugh.
"Just go to the city hospital and get treated. My name would be enough to pay for your treament." He smirked, putting his hands in his pockets.
"What's your name?" Lavender asked.
"Tristen." He replied.
"Last name." She said, exactly how Tristen did. It made his facial features loosen up, trying to figure out where did she get those guts from.
"Killings. Tristen Killings." Tristen replied, exactly in the way Lavender had. "Need a ride?" He asked, rather sarcastically. He knew a girl like Lavender would never get in some stranger's vehicle.
"Thank you for offering. I'm good." She said before she spun on her heels, walking fearlessly. The moment she took the turn, she ran and was soon no where to be seen. "Shit!" She muttered to herself, rushing towards her car. Her hands did all the work on their own as she unlocked her car and threw herself inside it, locking the doors.
"What the hell was all that?" She panted. She could feel her heart racing as if it was running in the olympics. She held the steering wheel and rested her forehead on it, trying to calm herself down. When she lifted her head off, she noticed his blazer on her shoulders. "Why did I take this? I had my coat in my car!" She whined annoyingly. She threw it beside her on the passenger seat.
"I should leave." She started the engine and lowered the handbrake before looking in the rear view mirror.
The way was clear. All she had to do, was reverse the car and take a left. It would take more courage since she had to follow the same road from where she came, except she had to go the opposite way, not where she met Tristen.
She drifted the car in reverse before changing it to drive, and sped off after taking the left turn as if she raced cars for a living. It did catch the attention of the mafia men, as they saw her escape as if it were a car chase.
Brendon, Tristen's best and trustworthy right-hand man, ordered the men to follow Lavender but Tristen, however, stopped them.
"Let her go." He commanded. "Tristen, you actually want us to just let her go?" Brendon asked. "Why not?" He spoke with a straight face.
"What if she informs somebody?"
"She won't."
"How can you be so sure? We don't know if she's a spy."
"She's not a spy. Why are you doubting my decision? You're not the one to doubt me, Brendon."
"Just that.... You even offered to compensate for her injury."
"I know her. In fact, I'm even surprised to meet her in this place. "
"Who is she?"
"She's the famous romantic writer, Lavender Hills. It would be shameful if someone can't write a bestseller novel because of me." He scoffed, walking towards the car.
"How did you know?" Brendon asked in surprise.
"I read her books. I need something to kill time when I'm off. She's a good writer." He said, sitting inside the car.
"Why'd you ask her name if you knew who she was?" Brendon smirked.
"Normal people usually do not like it when strangers call them by their name; they call it stalker behaviour unlike us mafias, who see it as a sign of pride. God, she's much beautiful in real life." Tristen smiled.
Along with the others, Brendon dropped his jaw on the sight of Tristen smiling. It was the first time anyone had seen him smile like that. He must really, really love her books to let her go that easy. "I didn't know you were a fan. I didn't even know you read romantics." Brendon teased.
"Curious much?" Tristen scoffed. "Let's head back to the HQ. Now we know it was the dealer's fault, there's not much to do."
****
Lavender rushed inside her house locking it behind her with every lock she could find. It was completely dusk and there was no sign of human existence outside.
"Lav, what's wrong?" Claire asked, holding the tray full of dishes. She was preparing for dinner.
"N-Nothing. Just don't open the door to anyone tonight."
"Your face-"
"Don't worry about it."
"At least, sit down and dine."
"I have no appetite tonight. Make sure you eat well, Claire. Good night."
"But it's just 7-"
Lavender rushed off upstairs in her workroom, ignoring Claire completely. She shut the door behind her and locked it. Leaning her back on it, she panted heavily while persistently perspiring.
"What on earth did just happen?" She mumbled, feeling her legs shake from all that running. She might have walked off with pride in front of Tristen but she really ran for her life after turning at the corner.
She threw Tristen's blazer on her bed and sat on her chair, hoping to calm herself down with some work. Obviously, it did not help.
Nothing in the world could stop her rushing feelings at the moment; let alone making them go away. She decided to rest. Turning off the lights, she threw herself on the bed, facing the ceiling.
She stared at the childlish glow in the dark stars on the ceiling that created a wonderful constellation in the dark; as if it was her own mini galaxy. They worked their magic as she rewinded the past few hours of her life to replay those memories of her and Tristen; their first encounter.
She was pampered and petted by a stranger who also happened to help her. Not an ordinary stranger, a handsome, mature, and deadly looking stranger.
Those green eyes of dark desires, Lavender could not forget them no matter what. His touch felt so sensual, and the way his palm caressed her cheek was so tender. Her cheek fit in his palm so perfectly. From the way he dressed, he looked like a rich person. His attire matched him well and made him look handsome. Those brown slicked back hair and that warm tone in his fair skin; everything about his appearance was unrealistic.
How could someone be so dreamy?
She felt herself turning red once again as her cheeks burned in shyness. For the first time in her life, she had felt herself falling in love at first sight. Despite being a romantic writer, she never knew it would feel anything like this. Her fantasies were taking a turn towards reality.
She looked at his blazer beside her. Pulling it closer, she was about to fold it and keep it properly, when his scent tingled her nostrils. She took a good sniff, shutting her eyes. She knew it was very absurd and creepy, but she could feel like he was in the room with her.
Maybe she was showing signs of some mental illness, or it was just the trauma.
She surprisingly found herself on the chair with her fingers tapping rapidly upon the keyboard of her computer. She was struck with inspiration. This was a golden chance for her to write her own real-life story that would be turned into a fiction for her readers.
Her fingers stopped when she realized something.
She had to know him. In spite of what had happened, she wanted to meet him at any cost. She found herself getting attracted towards him like a strong magnet.
She needed to get to him because her whole life depended on it. Her novel depended on it. Her career, her everything depended on it. Even her first love.
But reality is such a brat, isn't it? She didn't have his number, nor his address. She didn't even know which part of the city he lived in; if he actually lived in the same city. She soon found herself losing hope, disheartening herself as the adrenaline started wearing off. She really wanted to get closer to him. That was the only way to write her next bestselling novel.
But how? All she knew was his name, Tristen.
Right, his name. She found her hope when she remembered his name. She recalled his words.
'Just go to the city hospital and get treated. My name would be enough to pay for your treament.'
That was it. She grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs to find Claire sitting in the living room.
"Where are you going so late?" She asked.
"Hospital." Lavender replied, grabbing her coat and car keys.