TRIS POV
I have to get my mind off of everything.
The ugly fight between Christina and I has had me in a foul mood all week, but I will not let it bring me down tonight. Because tonight, I am going clubbing to forget about it.
And this time, I want to do it alone. Nobody will be coming with me, except the friends I am meeting up with, of course. No bodyguard this time.
That means that I have to sneak out.
I have a better chance of subtly slipping out of my house this time around because I am leaving in the middle of the night, as opposed to sneaking out at the crack of dawn. I doubt that Four will be close to waking up at this hour as he was before.
Finishing my touch-up of mascara, I turn off the light in my bathroom and grab my miniature wallet—which is the perfect size to fit in my back pocket—off the counter. I do a quick glance around the room to make sure I have everything, and when I am satisfied I head to my bedroom door.
Stealthily, I turn the handle, almost breathing a sigh of relief when it barely makes any sound but then realizing that I will just make additional noise if I do so. As I carefully push the door open, I take unhurried, silent steps. I am so quiet that I can't even hear my own footsteps, but it could be the pounding in my ears that masks them. I am so close to the stairs, just a few more seconds—
"Tris," Four singsongs behind me.
I let out a frustrated groan and sag against the wall next to me in defeat. Really? Again?
"Okay seriously, how is your hearing that good?" I ask, honestly wanting to know his secret.
He ignores my question, instead asking me his own as he walks closer to me. "Where could you possibly be heading at one o' clock in the morning?" He seems annoyed that I would wake him up this early. I didn't mean to!
I purse my lips, not wanting to tell him. But is there a chance that he would maybe go to the club with me? It seems slim, but I don't have to reveal the underage part I guess. He will never know, and therefore he is required to come with me since I want to go.
"I'm going to a club," I say firmly, leaving no room for argument.
He stares down at me as he steps even closer, so that our bodies are practically touching. His eyes look like they have even more depth in the darkness. My breathing becomes labored at his close proximity, and not because he is intimidating.
"Oh, yeah?" His voice is low and tantalizing. "Do they serve alcohol there? Do you have to be twenty-one to get in?" What is he, my father?
I gulp, wondering how he isn't flustered in this situation. Probably because while he is sexy and secretive, I am small and unattractive, able to be easily overpowered. "No," I lie, my voice much too breathy for my liking.
He reaches around me, not touching me, and it is agonizing. I don't feel his hands on my waist or lower back like I expect. I am confused for a moment and wonder if he is going to do something strange like grab my butt until I feel my wallet slide out of my back pocket.
"Give me that!" I whine, trying to jump and grab it from his hand, which holds it high above our heads. It is no use; I'm too short.
Four snatches it away from my prying hands. He opens it and pulls out the card that has false information on it along with my picture. "Hmm...why do you have a fake ID, then, princess?"
"Don't call me that." I run a hand through my hair and blow out a heavy breath. Looks like I won't be having any fun tonight.
Finally, he hands the wallet back to me, but he makes me a deal as he does so. "If you go back to bed and don't attempt to sneak out again, I won't tell your parents."
It is a persuasive bargain. My parents would have my head if they knew about the several visits to the club I have accomplished unnoticed. Since going clubbing is out of the question by this point and I can't slip out without Four catching me, I abandon my previous plans and give in.
"Whatever." When we part ways to go to our rooms, a random question that I want to know the answer to pops in my head. "Wait, Four." He stops and looks back at me over his shoulder. "Why do you keep calling me 'princess'?"
He turns around fully to face me. "Isn't it obvious?" he says with a smirk. "You get everything you want. You're spoiled."
I frown and stay rooted in my spot in the hallway while he walks into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him. Something about what he said nags at me, and I find myself irritated with him.
Sure, my family is extremely wealthy. Sure, I am satisfied materialistically. But can I help it? No, of course I can't. I was born into a privileged household, and now here he is blaming me for it.
As much as I like having a big house and luxuries that most people don't get, I also don't have any real relationships because of it. My father and mother are constantly bombarded with work and business trips, so I barely get to spend time with them. Caleb and I have never been close. Boys only want to be around me for my money.
And lastly, my "friends" are all fake. We are thrown together most of the time because our parents know each other or there is nobody else with a good, rich image to talk to. Christina was the only one who came close to really caring about me, but she was too self-centered to begin with.
Four is being stupid. He doesn't know how lucky he is to not be tied to wealth and fame. I would love to have a real relationship with someone who I actually cared about, who would have deep conversations with me, who I could spend time with without feeling obligated to.
My life isn't hard like many other people's, of course, but that doesn't mean it is perfect like he believes.
He doesn't know me.
xXxXx
TOBIAS POV
The punching bag in front of me still sways from the punch I just threw, so I steady it with my outstretched hand. I pause momentarily before slamming my fists into the leather once again, taking out my pent up vexation on the inanimate object.
It is settling to have any form of normalcy living in this house; for two weeks I have had to tolerate this extravagant lifestyle, and it hasn't been fun. So when I get the chance to do something such as working out, it is relieving.
The people aren't even the problem. Natalie and Andrew have been welcoming all along. The maids have taken a liking to me because I refuse to let them make my bed and do other chores that I can easily do myself. I have even enjoyed the petty banter that Tris and I share oftentimes. Caleb comes and goes, claiming he is busy with college, so we don't talk much.
But I shouldn't create any type of bond with any of these people. It will only hurt me to do my job in the end. Getting attached will make it exceedingly difficult to kill Tris in the first place. On top of that, I don't know if I can handle the horror on Andrew and Natalie's faces when they find out that their daughter has been murdered. And it's not like I can just bolt the second I take her out; I can't become a suspect, so I would have to stay a few, torturing days afterwards until Andrew released me from my unneeded duty.
Those issues aren't the only things that have been holding me back.
I have never killed a woman before, let alone someone as young as nineteen.
My targets have usually been restricted to middle-aged men who have a history of raping, human trafficking, murder, and other horrendous offenses that the typical criminal celebrity or politician is able to get away with due to their shut-up money and...assassination resources. That is why I admire Dauntless: when nobody else can provide justice, we can.
But are the reasons they gave me for killing Tris enough?
In my peripheral vision, I see someone enter the gym, and when I notice the way the person strides in confidently, I know that it can only be Tris. Not letting her faze me, I continue hitting my knuckles powerfully against the punching bag.
I can barely hear her say something past the music playing in my ears, so I stop and pull my earphones out, proceeding to wrap them around my phone. I'm pretty much finished with my workout anyway. "What?" I ask.
"I said that you pack quite a punch," she repeats. "Where did you learn how to do all that?"
Catching my breath, I walk over to where she is standing and set my phone on top of the mini fridge that contains water bottles. I answer her like it is obvious, "Military training."
It is not fully true; I actually got most of my useful hand-to-hand combat skills from Dauntless training, but I can't tell her that.
She hums in response, and then we stand in awkward silence as I unwrap the tape from my knuckles. A moment later, I suggest, "I should teach you some basics. You know, in case I'm not there and someone tries to hurt you."
It is asinine. I shouldn't be telling the girl I'm supposed to kill how to defend herself. Not only is it counterproductive, but it will also make me more fond of her, exactly what I am trying to avoid.
Although all I know in this moment is that I want to be close to her.
Tris nods and agrees to let me help her. I start her off with hitting the bag, which she proves to be decent at, but not very good at all. In fact, her form is leaning towards terrible.
"No, no, no," I scold her, shaking my head.
She glares at me. "What am I doing wrong exactly? I'll have you know that I take boxing, and my instructor—"
"Is an idiot," I finish for her. She rolls her eyes and goes to hit the bag again, but I stop her with my hand, pressing it against her stomach.
We both freeze at my action. I don't even know why I did it in the first place. I meant to correct her, but I didn't know that I was going to get so handsy, or get a rush of adrenaline when I did so. Her wide eyes meet mine, and I stop breathing right along with her.
"Keep tension here," I advise. Letting go of her, I back up to put some distance between us. "And bend your knees more."
Thankfully, she shakes off the peculiar moment like it didn't happen. I try to pretend too. After she gets the hang of throwing punches, I decide to show her how to fight off an opponent stronger and much larger than her.
"Okay, so let's say that you get grabbed from behind like this." I demonstrate on her, wrapping her in a bear hug from behind, not too tightly but enough to make it difficult to escape. I feel a little self-conscious because I am sweaty from my workout, but she doesn't seem to mind; if anything, she leans back into my chest. "What do you do?" I mutter in her ear.
"Well, last time I back kicked some guy in the balls," she laughs quietly, proud of herself.
I'm impressed. I raise my eyebrows. "Really? When did this happen?"
"A few weeks ago on a run. It's why my dad hired you in the first place."
"Ah." That makes sense. "I guess that maneuver works. What else could you do?"
She struggles to answer while I struggle with myself. I can't stop thinking about how close we are, how right it feels for her to be trapped in my arms. I wonder if she can feel the tension between us—at first I thought it was competitive, but now I am not sure what kind of tension this really is.
"I could elbow them in the face," she finally says, tapping my cheek lightly with her elbow. "Right?"
"Sure," I reply breathlessly, trying to get back on track with the conversation. "What else?"
"Umm..." It is evident that she doesn't have anymore propositions, but I am still speechless when she turns in my arms and jokes, "Maybe I could just win them over with my dazzling good looks."
The statement is cocky, yet it wins me over. I have never felt attracted to a girl like this until now. What is happening to me?
I need to stop. This can't happen. Besides, I refuse to be another one of her lays, and it is inevitable that I wouldn't be more than that to her according to her reputation. Her seduction is not going to work on me.
"It wouldn't be wise to rely on that," I say, and it feels a little harsh, but I have to do this. I can't let her know that she has an effect on me.
So I step away and head for the door, calling over my shoulder. "It certainly doesn't work on me."