Author: I'm doing this before, because I want to recommend you listen to the song that is referenced later in this chapter when it pops up. I'm being vague, because I don't believe in spoilers, but hopefully you'll understand what I'm talking about. Also, for those of you who haven't seen the comment thread in the previous chapter, I'm going to be moving across the country in a few months, which is why I've been lame about updating lately. To those of you who have already expressed warm wishes and congratulations - thank you my dears, you are all so lovely! :) Enjoy the chapter!
-Sunny
"Are you sure you want me to come?" I say nervously, "I won't be any help, and Ki Hong actually knows this guy. Plus, I think Ki Hong really wants to go."
"No, we need someone here to stay and keep an eye on things. As much as I trust the others, they aren't natural leaders. I need someone to stay behind who knows how to deal with a crisis." Thomas says, stepping in front of the mirror.
He wears a suit and tie with shined shoes on his feet. I must admit, he looks rather suave, although I'm not sure the same thing could be said for myself. Everything I've worn since I've arrived here has been borrowed from Asket, unlike most of my friends, who had the options of bringing their own clothing and necessities. Therefore, I wear one of Asket's dresses, which feels a little too tight, since she's skinnier than I am. It's a trimmed lavender dress made of tulle. Asket, of course, picked it out. I'm sure that she had something else that wouldn't have been as tight on me, but she insisted that I wear this one. Then, she gave me a pair of sensible heels to match.
"Kick escaped Clear Hearts by paying off some of his gambling debts on his own." Thomas explains, while looking in the mirror to straighten his tie, "Anon wouldn't have let him go if he didn't have something on him, though. Kick had to have some kind of blackmail on Anon, and he must have let him know that he did. Although, from what I heard, Kick did most of his bargaining with Ricky, which has always seemed strange to me. However, if Kick had something on Anon, it makes sense that he would do most of his negotiating with Ricky."
I nod, thinking, "Why is he called Kick?"
Thomas grins, turning back to look at me, "It isn't because he's good at kicking. Trust me. You realize that he's a weak ass kicker when you play football - soccer, whichever pleases you, with him. He's called Kick because he makes weapons that have a kick. He's incredible at what he does. He's like Tony Stark before he became Iron Man."
I chuckle, "I can't believe you just made that reference, you nerd."
"Iron Man is the best. Of course, I made that reference. I saw the opportunity and I took it." Thomas nods, "Anyway, Kick still makes and sells guns. It's his current profession. Although, I don't think he does it legally. I'm pretty sure it's through the black market, which is something I choose to ignore and chose to withhold in the presence of your brother, seeing as he's FBI. No need to make any of our jobs more difficult right now."
I raise my eyebrows, "The black market!?"
Thomas laughs, looking at me, "Not to bad people. Kick has standards. He only sells to people he trusts; people with good causes."
I laugh, sarcastically, "Well, now I feel much better."
Thomas laughs, "Come on, doll face, we don't want to be late."
"Doll face." I chuckle, starting to follow him out of the room.
He turns around in the door way of my room to face me. Slipping his hand in mine, he pulls me closer, "I call you doll face because you have a pretty face."
"You could just call me 'pretty face' then." I simper, aware that he's inching closer to me.
He chuckles, placing his palm softly against my cheek, "It doesn't have the same ring to it."
He presses his lips against mine, lingering there for a few moments before he pulls away. He kisses my cheek, mumbling, "Doll face," before he grabs my hand again and drags me down stairs.
We say our goodbyes to the others. Hero's eyes linger on Thomas and I's locked fingers, but he doesn't say anything. Ki Hong seems to still be pouting over the fact that Thomas won't let him come. I don't think that Dylan even knows that we're leaving, because Asket is changing some of his bandages in the kitchen and he is too busy looking intimidated to pay attention to anything else.
Thomas and I head outside, getting in the van quietly. I help direct Thomas towards the resturant that we're meeting at. Kick apparently insisted upon meeting in a public place, claiming that public was always safer than private. There seemed to be some logic in his reasoning, and Thomas didn't question him, so I went along with it.
"You look lovely, by the way." Thomas says from the drivers seat.
I glance over at him, smiling, "Thank you. You look nice as well."
"If we weren't about to go ask a very dangerous man to assist us in taking down another very dangerous man, I would call this an actual date." Thomas grins, "Since we haven't had an actual date yet, we just kind of plot ways to bring justice about."
I laugh, "Well, plotting justice is very romantic, you know. It's kinda our thing."
"What are we gonna do to entertain ourselves when this is all over?" Thomas shakes his head.
"Haven't the foggiest." I shrug, earning a laugh from Thomas.
After about twenty minutes, Thomas pulls up to a very fancy looking resturant. He gives the valet his keys and his name and then escorts us in. The waiters wear extravagant suits and the waitresses wear silky, black dresses. Fresh cream curtains hang from the long windows, and the table cloths are pristine. Others in the resturant wear fancy clothes and drink wine from crystal glasses. A sparking chandelier hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room. In the back of the room there's a man playing piano and singing songs by Frank Sinatra. In a section near the back of the room, there's a dance floor where there are several couples dancing slowly.
Thomas looks around, chuckling, "Kick always does know how to pick a venue."
A waitress walks over to us, flashing a dazzling smile, "What name are you reserved under?"
"Kick." Thomas says immediately, "Should be a reservation for three."
She nods, pulling out an iPad and glancing at it. Once she's found the reservation, she smiles at us and guides us to a table in the middle of the room. We take our seats and she says to us, "There's a bottle of champagne waiting for you in the kitchen. Would you like me to bring it out now?"
Thomas shrugs, "Sure, why not?"
The waitress nods, "I'll be back in a moment."
I look at Thomas, "Kick reserved a bottle of champagne for us?"
Thomas grins, shaking his head, "Kick does stuff like this all the time. I love Kick."
I look around, trying to spot him, although I don't know what he looks like, "He's not very punctual, is he?"
"Kick has a reputation for being late, don't worry about it." Thomas shrugs, "It gives us a little alone time."
"So," I sigh, noticing the waitress heading back across the room with the bottle of champagne, "What's Kick like?"
The waitress pours champagne into our glasses and I watch the bubbles coat the inside of the slick crystal. Thomas takes a quick sip, muttering thank you to the waitress, who leaves the bottle on the table.
"Kick is," Thomas pauses, "classy. If you couldn't already tell from his choice of resturant. Likes to do things the proper way. However, he still knows how to have a good time. He's a real laugh. He just has this set of morals, or a code of chivalry, if you will, that he follows strictly by."
I raise an eyebrow, "That doesn't quite fit the description of a gambling gun maker and seller."
"Kick is Kick. He's difficult to explain." Thomas says with a shrug, "But, anyway. Let's try to enjoy ourselves a bit before Kick gets here. Shall we? Talk about normal things?"
"Normal?" I laugh, "What exactly is normal for us?"
"I don't know." He chuckles.
"Should we talk about how when you rescued me from headquarters you attacked my face?" I smirk.
Thomas glows, "I kissed you. It was romantic."
"You were crushing my face."
"Maybe, but I was doing it in a romantic way."
"You need to analyze your idea of romantic, buddy." I say, stifling a giggle.
Thomas smirks at me from his spot at the table, and I notice the dimples in his cheeks and his hair, which sweeps neatly across his forehead. The sound of tinkling glasses and chinking forks accompanies the piano in the background, which has just begun playing In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning, by Frank Sinatra. The singer croons it beautifully in the back of the room.
Thomas stands from his spot, holding his hand out to me, "All right. Come on, then."
I look up at him in confusion, "What?"
"This is our song." He says gently, taking my hand and encouraging me to stand.
I feel my cheeks warm as I say, "Oh, no, not in front of all these people."
He offers a quick smile, "Stephanie, these people are too busy with their meals and their own company to pay attention to those of us dancing in the back of the room. Come on. I'm analyzing romantics."
With some hesitation, I take his hand and he smirks, leading me to the back of the room where only a few others dance together. We reach the floor and I mumble under my breath, "Do you know anything about dancing."
He grins, "I know a thing or two. Do you?"
"No, not really."
"Good thing you have me for a partner then. Just follow my lead."
He positions us on the wooden floor, my heels clicking against the polished wood. The music is slow; slower than my heartbeat. Thomas places his hand on my back, I place my hand on his shoulder and our free hands meet. We step back and forth to the music, our gazes locked, unwavering. I remain stiff, unsure of what I'm doing. After a few moments, Thomas chuckles, a ghost of a smirk upon his face, "Loosen up, doll face. It's only me." He pulls me closer, resting his chin on the top of my head.
I take a couple deep breaths, allowing my muscles to relax. Thomas continues to dance elegantly, his body in tune with the slow music and ensuring that mine was too. He seemed to make our entire dance perfect, from his steady breathing to the way our feet moved in sync. He was soft, but not subtle. He seemed to be aware of everything going on around him, the traffic of the other couples on the floor, yet his attention did not leave what was right in front of him.
"You're very good at this." I whisper to him.
He looks down at me, "Well, "I've had some practice. Mum signed me up for dance classes when I was younger."
I raise my eyebrows, "That's amazing"
"Comes in handy for time to time." He grins, "Especially when trying to impress beautiful women, such as yourself."
I blush, but laugh, dropping my eyes from his.
He wraps his arms around my waist, seeming to abandon his intent of impressing anyone. I reply by looping my arms around him as well. He sways us back and forth with the music, and he begins softly singing the words to the song, harmonizing with the bass singer in the corner.
"When your lonely heart has learned its lesson, you'd be hers if only she would call. In the wee small hours of the morning, that's the time you miss her most of all."
I close my eyes, taking in the rest of the dance. The smell of his cologne mixed with his arms around me is intoxicating. Suddenly, it feels as though we're the only ones dancing in this elegant resturant; the sounds of cutlery are long gone and there are only the voices singing and the light sound of music.
"That's the time you miss her most of all," Thomas mumbles the last few words in my ear, his warm breath fanning across my cheek. The last few notes on the piano are played and I don't want to open my eyes to face reality again.
However, once the music stops and I take a moment to relish what I've just experienced, I hear a quiet, hollow clapping sound. My eyes pop widely open and fall upon a lone man on the edge of the dance floor. He's got a stocky build, dark skin, a large chin and lips, and freckles that splash his nose and cheeks. Most noticeably, however, are his eyes; one is the color of fresh gingerbread and the other is the color of the ocean.
Thomas's attention is drawn to the man, who now begins to speak in a subaqueous voice, "Quite the performance."
Thomas grins, "Kick."
Kick steps forward, holding his hand out for Thomas to shake, "Thomas."
Thomas obliges, "It's been a long time."
"Indeed it has. So, long, in fact," Kick drawls, his attention turning to me, "That I don't know who this bewitching young lady is."
"Kick, this is Stephanie." Thomas introduces, "Stephanie, this is Kick."
I shake his hand, enduring his bone crushing grip, "Pleased to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine." He says smoothly. "Let's sit down."
We walk back to our table, Thomas pushing my seat in before he sits down himself. Kick pours himself a glass of champagne, humming and gesturing to the dance floor, "How long has that been going on?"
Thomas and I stare at him for several moments, unsure of what he means. He looks up at us, raising his eyebrows smugly, "What I just witnessed on the dance floor. The amore - as the Spanish would say. Anyone can see it. How long?"
"Oh!" I say, looking at Thomas, "I'm not really sure when it began."
Thomas nods with me, "Perhaps a couple of months ago. It's complicated."
Kick chuckles lowly, "Well, it always is with you, isn't it, Thomas? From the moment I first met you, things were never simple. Until that one little mishap. Never thought I'd see you attempt to settle down again. Not after Rosalin, anyway."
Rosalin?
Is that the girl from the picture I found in his office? To own the truth, I'd nearly forgotten about that picture. Now, though, it flashes through my mind as clear as day - the haunting expression on her face, the way her hair fell over her shoulders.
I notice Thomas tense up in his seat at the mention of her name. He clears his throat uncomfortably, and his voice comes out rough, "Well, that was a long time ago."
"True. It's true that it was." Kick says, taking a sip from his glass.
I watch Thomas where he sits, but he doesn't look at me. I'm certain that he's avoiding eye contact, but I don't dwell on that for long. The waitress comes back around, taking our orders. Thomas and Kick begin to chat, catching up on their lives. Although Thomas doesn't have much to tell, Kick does, mentioning his business in a hushed voice. I listen as they reminisce old times, chuckling along with them as they exchange humorous stories of their time together.
Thomas turns to me at one point, chuckling heartily, "This man," he points to Kick, "used to get drunk off his rocker and would say the strangest things. Once he turned to me and said, 'Thomas, you're beautiful. You look like a Picasso painting.'"
Kick takes another sip from his glass, seeming to have trouble controlling his laughter, which comes out in bursts of hysterical giggles.
Thomas leans against the table, catching Kick's uncontrollable laughter, "And I replied," Kick nods, saying at the same time, "'Bitch, do you know how Picasso painted people?'"
I laugh with them as they fall over themselves laughing and earning dirty looks from some of the more civilized diners sitting nearby.
Once Kick gets a hold of himself, he chuckles, "Well, I was never very good at painting. Trust me, it was a high compliment."
"Well, I'll take your word for it." Thomas chortles.
Kick asks me several questions about myself, which I give vague answers to, but answer in a friendly way nonetheless. Thomas takes over a couple of them, informing Kick about my artistic abilities and my "Excellent photography skills," which I think were grossly exaggerated, but the look on his face was so proud that I didn't dare to say anything.
By the time we've finished our meals, I wonder if there is anything else that we could possibly talk about that we hadn't already. But then, Kick rests his elbows on the table, looking at Thomas, "So, tell me, old friend - as much fun as this has been, I'm sure you haven't met with me here in Florida for no reason. What is it you need?"
Thomas's expression becomes serious and he sits up in his chair, "We need help."
"We?" Kick questions.
Thomas speaks quietly, "The rebellion."
Kicks eyes widen, impressed, and he leans back in his seat, "The rebellion? Well, I never thought I'd see the day that came together. All the times we fantasized but never acted. What's changed?"
"A lot of things." Thomas answers simply.
Kicks glances at me, "Oh, I see. The girl. It's always the girl, isn't it?"
"It's not just about Stephanie." Thomas says firmly. "Although, I'll admit, she's part of my reason. He's made several threats towards her."
"That doesn't surprise me." Kick sighs, "But, she's not a part of the company, is she? So, the surprising part is how she's stuck around. Most folks would turn tail and run."
"Not me." I mutter.
Kick grins, "Color me impressed, Ms. Bennet." He looks back to Thomas, "What else, then?"
"He's handing the company over to someone new." Thomas says, "Passing it down to a scapegoat and going into hiding."
Kick glares, "That little weasel. It's just like him to shove this off onto someone else."
"We plan to put a stop to it. Put him in jail." Thomas says. I listen as he briefly explains our plan to Kick, who nods along patiently.
Finally, Kick hums, "So, what's my part in this? You want me to do what?"
"We need more men." Thomas says quickly, "More fire power, decent weapons. You heard what I just said; Anon is bringing out the big guns for this. All we need is bigger guns and a better plan. We have the better plan. The bigger guns? Well, that's where I was hoping you would come in."
Kick remains quiet for a few moments, seeming to consider. Finally, he looks at Thomas, raising an eyebrow, "It's a potentially dangerous thing you're asking me to do, Thomas. What's in it for me?"
Thomas stares at him steadily, "You get to kick Anon Atkinson's ass. Not much more to it than that."
I sit anxiously, watching the two men hold a stare-off. Neither of them smile, but they sit completely straight-face, as if challenging one another. Then Kick does something - he laughs. It starts out as a rumbling chuckle, but before long, it's loud and clear. Thomas's expression doesn't change. At long last, Kick stops, although a wide smile is still spread across his face and crinkles crop up around his brown and blue eyes. He holds his hand out across the table for Thomas to shake, replying, "You've always had a way with words, Sangster. When do we get started?"