Dedicated to alidiaz7 ~ Happy birthday, love!
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"Throughout the state of Montana, a series of robberies have been committed in several cities over the course of the past few weeks. Reports have been filed and the cases are currently undergoing investigation as the state police are attempting to identify the felons responsible. Police are warning store owners to take extra security precautions and ask citizens who have any information to come forward and—"
"Mark, we get it. There's no need to read another article," Josh groaned loudly, overriding Mark's monotone reading.
"It's current events!" Mark protested. "This is important news that we need to be aware about as citizens of Montana. It could be Paradise next!"
"We know. It doesn't take thirty-six articles for someone to understand the 'imminent danger,'" James sighed. In the rearview mirror of Logan's car, I caught a glimpse of Mark's frustrated face. He pushed his black glasses up his thin nose before continuing on reading. However, he only managed to get half a sentence out before Josh clamped a hand around Mark's mouth and James plucked the phone out of Mark's hands.
A loud argument ensued over the possession of Mark's phone. I slumped in the passenger seat, letting out an exasperated sigh. Logan gave a quick glance in my direction and an amused smile flickered across his face before he turned his gaze back onto the swerving highway road.
"This is torture," I grumbled.
"Oh, come on," Logan said. "Just admit it--this is fun."
"When did fun include the feeling of wanting to stab myself in the eye?"
"What are you talking about, that's the definition of fun right there."
Suddenly, a sharp voice cut into our discussion. "It's not our fault that you're coming on this trip. No one's forcing you to be here, so stop complaining," James snapped.
I turned in my seat, sending James a disbelieving look while Logan gave a strangled cough. "You really think I'm here because I want to be?" I asked James. "I'm being held against my free will. This is a direct violation of my freedom."
Early this morning, I had been shaken awake by Logan Cross, who wouldn't leave despite my desperate attempts to bury myself in my covers. Apparently, the celebration for the last week of the year was being thrown today and Logan wanted me to come.
Naturally, I refused. My definition of a party was an excellent couple hours of extra sleep before Elijah hauled me out into the middle of the woods to train. However, it turned out that my old, ancient cousin was experiencing "back pains" and thought it would be a brilliant idea to have me mingle with my brown-nosing peers so he wouldn't have to exercise. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in Logan's car with the Unholy) Trinity all staring at me (or glaring-with-the-intent-to-brutally-murder on James' behalf) while Logan drove us up to a resort by Flathead Lake.
"Guys, can't we all just get along?" Josh piped up.
"I just don't understand why she's coming along," said James in a bristly undertone.
"Welcome to the club," I nodded, shooting Logan a dark look.
"She's here because she's a sixth year, just like the rest of us," Logan chided, glaring at James via his rearview mirror.
"Oh, so it's Alex now?" sneered James. Logan opened his mouth, most likely to launch into another one of his "Alex Finch is Actually Pretty Great and I Need You All to Treat Her Like Family" speeches, Josh interrupted with a cheerful suggestion of walking down memory lane.
"That is possibly the worst idea that you've ever--" Mark sputtered, but Josh's voice drowned him out.
Of all the useless road trip time killers Josh Bakerson could've picked, he had to pick the sentimental one. Which could've been great, actually, if the car was full of people who contained at least an eighth of an affectionate heart. Or people who didn't at least spend nearly an entire year wreaking havoc on one another.
From that point on, it became a competition between James and me to see who could name the worst things we had done to each other, our snide comments rising to deafening shouts over the course of time.
The "game" (if you can call a continuous stream of vengeance-driven incidents being recalled a game) continued even when Logan took an unexpected turn onto a freeway exit even though we hadn't even crossed the halfway mark at Polson.
The heated discussion ended only when Logan turned off the engine of the car and snarled, "Shut up, the both of you!"
"Come on, I was just about to bring up the water on ice prank!" I pouted, only to receive an expression of utmost irritation.
"Just...get out of the car," he sighed, unlocking the doors and stepping out. The rest of us proceeded to do the same. He had parked by a gas pump belonging to a run-down gas station. The only other vehicle in sight was a rusting pick-up truck parked in the farthest corner of the square lot.
Logan locked his car with a click of a button on his keys before he and I headed into the shabby station. A warmth spread over my hands as he intertwined his fingers with mine while pushing his arm against the stained entrance door.
For some reason, I felt a little jump in my chest though I quickly dismissed it. This was just a cautionary procedure in case there was danger lurking in the dusty corners. There was no need to read further into his actions.
At least, that's what I was trying to tell myself but my imagination just wasn't up for cooperation today.
Once the Unholy Trinity entered, they scattered throughout the store, entering the small aisles in search of food. Logan pulled me up front to the counter where a teenage boy stood behind the register, his face buried behind a DC comic. An old television screen overhead displayed the weather forecast. No one could hear the weatherman, though, thanks to the AC/DC blasting through the crappy speakers installed throughout the store.
"Can I pay for pump eight?" Logan asked, fishing out his wallet with his free hand. The guy looked up and hastily slammed the comic book down. His red and mustard striped polo hung loose off of his small frame and as he reached forward to take Logan's twenty dollar bill, I could see the sharp angles of his bones jutting out from his wrists.
Trent, read his nametag, which dangled diagonally on his chest.
"Some of our pumps are broken," Trent began, gulping loudly as his hazel eyes darted upwards to meet Logan's before quickly averting his gaze. "Eight...might be...one of them."
"Is there any way you can check?" Logan asked. Trent gave a jerk of his head then pulled out a clipboard from underneath the counter. His fingers ran down the paper attached on top and came to a stop before he looked up again, almost seeming fearful.
"You might want to move your car," Trent said with a weak smile. Logan gave a frown, most likely unhappy at the thought of having to move his car, but Trent paled considerably, the smile slipping off his face.
"Five is, uh, working fine..." Trent suggested in a low mumble.
"Thanks, Trent," said Logan before pulling the both of us away. Our hands were still linked and yet somehow, I couldn't find it in me to drop his hold. The thought itself began to creep me out (since when was Park Sparrow unable to let go of someone?), causing me to yank my fingers away from his.
"I'll just stay here," I declared. Logan stopped in his tracks. The expression on his face was that of a very frustrated soccer mom whose kid wouldn't stop wiping the mud of their cleats in the mid-sized sedan.
"Alex," and his dialect switched to Cimerian, "are you forgetting that it's my job to be around you?"
"We're in a gas station in the middle of...somewhere," I pointed out. "The biggest threat here is Trent, and a spring breeze would fly him over to Alaska."
"It's still dangerous," Logan insisted, reaching for my hand. Right at that moment, James brushed against my shoulder on his way out of the aisle, so I seized his arm and pulled him to my side.
"Mayfield here will take care of me," I said in English.
"In what universe will I ever be doing that?" he growled, trying to pull away.
"He won't be able to guard you," Logan grumbled, his language also reverting back to English. Here, James' angry leer dropped and he gave an exaggerated eye roll.
"Look, I don't what you two were talking about in your foreign lingo, but it's a gas station off the highway. It's not like we're going to be held hostage or kidnapped if you're gone for five minutes."
"Exactly my words," I agreed.
"Shut up."
Logan knew not to persist. It would questions from James, who, despite being the winner of the Sparrow Academy Award for Biggest Asshole, ranked third every year, meaning he was--I grudgingly admit--somewhat intelligent.
Finally, after several long minutes, Logan gave in.
"James, if anything happens, you protect her. Her life has to come first," Logan ordered. James raised a black brow but said nothing, merely nodding. Logan turned on the heels of his scruffy sneakers and left the station.
After a moment of astonished silence from everyone, Mark, gave a long whistle. "That boy has got it bad."
"It's pathetic," James scoffed.
"Just like you," I muttered before dodging his jab and headed into the candy aisle. Mark and Josh gave a collective, "Ooh," from where they stood but stopped when James directed a glare so frightening upon them, I was almost intimidated.
Almost.
While we waited for Logan, James and I participated in a challenge of who could organize the rows of colorfully boxed and bagged delights the fastest. The two of us were tugging on a bag of gummy worms when the station door opened and a bone-chilling feeling suddenly ran up my spine.
Instantly, I dropped to the ground, dragging James with me just as a gunshot blasted through the air. Shouts were exclaimed as several more shots were fired. With my hands over my ears, I watched as four more figures entered the station. Two of them took stances by the doors while the other two began grabbing items off the racks and dumping them into black bags. All of them had ski masks on, but thanks to their physiques, I knew that two of them were girls and the rest were boys.
"You there," the figure in the middle barked. The aim of the gun went from the ceiling to Trent's head. The poor kid was trembling like a leaf in a storm, his complexion similar to that of a corpse.
"Hand over the keys," the guy with the gun demanded. Trent gave a terrified squawk before hurriedly grabbing a black lanyard off a plastic hook behind him. The masked man stalked forward and ripped the keys out of Trent's hands before tossing it over to one of the girls standing guard. It took her four tries, but finally, there was an audible click and my muscles tensed.
We were locked in.
Logan was out the picture. The fact that he wasn't already throwing punches meant that they had taken care of him. It was up to me to get everyone out alive. But hey, it was just a few robbers. This couldn't be that difficult.
"Where's the nearest town?" the main guy growled.
"N-n-nearest t-town?" Trent stuttered. "W-why do you n-need t-to know that?"
"Are you really in the position to ask questions?" the guy thundered, abruptly slamming the gun against Trent's head. The boy gave a painful cry and crumpled to the ground, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.
"Hurry it up," the man besides the armed one urged. "We don't have that long. Who knows when that guy out there will wake up and call the cops?"
The main guy turned on someone in the aisle besides mine. "You there, where's the closest town from here?" A sense of stress was detected underneath the aggressive tone of his voice. They must be on a tight schedule, I noted.
"I'm not telling you anything!" Mark declared defiantly. "I won't let you get away with your crimes!"
"And what are you going to do to a guy with a gun?" the main guy sneered. "I can let you find out, but I doubt you'll understand what's going on with all the blood you'll be losing."
"That's a little excessive," I piped up, slowly rising to my feet. They all turned to me and the man besides the main guy pulled out a gun and now, I had two weapons turned on me. Still, I kept a smirk on my face as I held my hands up. Confidence--true, unwavering, nonchalant confidence--tended to baffle your enemies. The normal reaction was fear and fear was so much easier to work with than confidence.
"Seriously, guys, I'm a teenage girl, how much damage do you think I can do?" I pointed out. "Besides the fact that I already called the cops. Let's not count that for the moment."
Okay, so I hadn't called the cops. Some of you may be thinking why I hadn't done so ("Come on, Park--it's the twentieth-first century. Get your smart phone out and get the police over!").
This needed to be solved without the involvement of authorities. There was no telling just how many risks I would be taking if I called the cops. It could lead to a plethora of questions that could jeopardize my stay here in Montana. Not to mention that if this made the news, my mother would lock me up back in Cimeria and never let me out of her sight.
"You're lying," the main guy fumed. Judging from the trembling of his hands, though, it seemed he believed my lie.
"Welcome to 2013," I grinned. "You can do anything with phones, like, you know, find a map or a road or a city by Googling it. Then again, I don't expect people who can't just follow the highway to understand."
If I could get these guys on their way, then I'd be able to send the police onto their trail without anybody getting hurt and nobody's secret identity would be exposed.
"Shit, we have to get out of here fast," one of them growled. "We can't get arrested, she'll have our heads."
A chord struck in my mind at the familiarity of that phrase. I had heard it before--several times, to be exact. Every image that came up was a dark memory of all the kidnappings and hostile takeovers that involved captors uttering words with uncanny similarity.
"We don't know where to go," the main guy snapped. "We lost the map in the last city and our routes were penned down on it, or did you forget? We can't take the highways since the cops are probably monitoring every single one."
It was with the roll of his tongue on the last word that I realized their dialect had switched to Cimerian speech, and I, invested in their conversation, hadn't even noticed the change. My blood ran cold as the jigsaw in my mind fell in place. These weren't just ordinary robbers, and the cities they targeted weren't for petty theft. I knew what these people were after.
They were looking for Park Sparrow.
I had to get the boys out. Robbers harmed only what came between them and the merchandise they wanted. These people, though--they had no limits on the hurt they inflicted upon others if it meant that they could capture me.
The only way out of here seemed to be the main entrance and the only method to get past this group would be to fight. I was at a disadvantage. The only way to even the odds was if I could get rid of their weapons.
Without another second wasted, I snapped my head towards the doors and let out a shuddering gasp, widening my eyes and clutching at my chest. "Oh, my gods!" I exclaimed. Automatically, everyone's heads turned in that direction, allowing me to surge forward and sock the main guy in the jaw.
As a cry of pain escaped him, I grabbed ahold of his arm before yanking the gun out of his hand. Once the weapon was in my possession, I delivered a kick square to his chest, causing him to tumble backwards and bash his head against the counter.
One down, four to go.
The fight became an open brawl. One of the guards by the door abandoned his post and threw himself at me. I sidestepped his attack, keeping my eye on the other guy with the gun. Right as his eyes met mine, he raised his gun, forcing me to duck aside as a shot was fired.
Someone grabbed the back of my arms and hauled me to my feet. The other guard by the door came forward and punched me, sending an agonizing spasm of pain to flash through my nose. The taste of iron and salt began to drip onto my lips.
But I was extremely familiar with this method. I completely loosened my muscles, falling limp like a doll in whoever's arms I was in. This pulled my captor forward and due to the loosening in their grip, I tugged my arms out, scrambling to get to my feet.
That was a mistake on my part.
There was a strong tug at the ends of my ponytail. Before I realized what exactly was happening, there was a draft drifting over my head as I fell forward. All of a sudden, there was silence.
Oh, shit.
"No way," one of the girls sputtered. "It's...it's her!"
"What the hell?" I heard Josh choke out. "You're not--you're not Alex Finch!"
"You're the princess of Cimeria," James exhaled. As I crouched on the floor in a defensive position, I watched a chain of emotions flash across all their faces. Confusion, shock, disbelief, even awe--I saw it all.
Great going, Park, I thought to myself. Now how are you going to get yourself out of this situation?
"Hi, I'm Park Sparrow. It's nice to meet you all. Properly, that is," I said while the gears in my mind spun in clashing circles. The boys' lives were in a situation ten times more dangerous, and I definitely couldn't let any of these guys get away. At this point, interference by XYZ was absolutely required or else they'd run off and blab their mouths.
The group began to rise to their feet, and in response, I slowly rose as well, holding my hands out in front of me. A switched seem to have gone on inside them, for now there was a ravenous glint in their eyes as they inched forward.
"Okay, guys," I laughed nervously. "Let's not get hasty. We should talk it out. Violence never solved anything, diplomacy does."
The nuzzle of the remaining gun was pressed against my head. "Diplomacy never solves anything. If it did, we wouldn't have wars," the guy said.
That's when I noticed the sun reflecting off a glossy black surface through the window. A smile fought its way to my lips and my heart swelled. He pulled through, I thought as the nerves faded.
"Wars make a point," I began. "Wars are a demonstration. A war is a...running car clamming through the gas station because the driver is a murderous bodyguard who doesn't like being drugged."
The confusion that followed gave me an opportunity to quickly redirect the aim of the gun upwards before I shoved the guy backwards. "Get out of the way!" I shouted before I dove to the side, just in time for a Mercedes-Benz to crash into the station.
An explosion of glass flew into every corner of the store and my arms flew over my head. I waited for any sort of impact to fall upon me, but after a few minutes ticked on by without anything happening, I dared to look up.
My eyes squinted through the thick layer of dust floating throughout the store as I got to my feet. My bloody nose had stopped but I could still taste the iron on my lips, making me fear for a moment that I had been cut until I remembered the punch. When I moved forward, there was a figure stumbling out of the car and I rushed forward, making it in time to catch Logan as he fell backwards.
He hadn't harmed anybody, it seemed. The car had barely made it past twenty feet of the entrance, and everyone seemed to have taken my words to heart, for I saw no bodies lying too close around.
"My head fucking hurts," Logan moaned. Looking down, I saw that his eyes were scrunched up, an expression of pain on his features. "Park...tell me...she's okay." He slumped even further into my arms and my knees began to buckle under his weight.
A figure began making their way through the dust. My body tensed as I prepared for the worst, but it turned out only to be James. He stopped right in front of Logan and me, and his eyes popped out of their sockets.
"Oh, God, Logan," he choked, getting to his knees. Together, the two of us heaved Logan up and made our way out of the battered entrance. Once we made it under the roof of the gas pumps, James requested for me to stay with Logan until he got all the boys out.
I laid Logan on the ground, taking care not to wake him. Absentmindedly, I brushed aside the strands of his dark hair that fell into his eyes, resting my palm against the side of his face until I heard the sound of running. Josh and Mark had arrived, sweat beads on their foreheads as they gasped for fresh air. James then showed up with Trent, setting the also-unconscious boy down besides Logan.
"Did that really just happen?" Mark asked, taking off his glasses. "Did Logan just batter his car into a gas station?"
"He loved that car too," Josh remarked.
"But Park's life comes first, doesn't it?" James spoke, who regarded me with a curious look in his narrowed eyes. "You were the mission he wouldn't tell me about."
Astonishment overtook me. "You know about him?"
"Of course I know," scoffed James. "I'm his best friend."
"He didn't tell us he knew the princess of fucking Cimeria!" Josh cried out, looking indignantly unhappy as he glared at James.
"He didn't tell me that," James snapped. "I'm talking about the fact that Logan is an agent. I was his first field mission. My second stepfather was extremely rich but he had a lot of enemies. In our third summer at the academy, he threw my mother an anniversary party over in England, and Logan was to transfer me there and back. That's how I found out."
His story was met with bewildered gawking from his two friends. I only offered James a wry smile. "It seems like we've got a bit more in common than we'd like," I noted.
"That's not true. I'm not a princess using a red wig to hide away from public," James retorted. "Don't ever say we have anything in common. Ever."
"Hey, don't diss the wig," I said.
"Don't insult the princess of Cimeria's choices," Mark squeaked, shooting me a timid look.
"Seriously, James, what's wrong with you?"
"The wig is beautiful," Josh chimed in. "I can go dig it out of there, if you want. I'd be glad to--"
"It's fine," I interrupted, shaking my head. Ah, this is where the smooth-talking and the worst case of brown-nosing kicked in.
"No, I insist, Your Highness." He faltered for a second before taking a deep breath. "You...you saved my life back there. We're alive because of you despite everything we've done."
"Do you honestly think I'd let you all die because of some bullying?" I snorted, giving Josh a look of incredulity.
"We're in your debt," Mark declared, to which Josh nodded vigorously.
"From here on out, the three of us owe you everything," stated Josh.
"Now wait just one second," James cut in.
"There's really no need--" I interjected, but despite my attempt at protesting, Josh got on his knees and held a fist to his heart.
"I, Josh Bakerson, pledge allegiance to Park Sparrow, and I vow--"
"Is now really the time to do this?" James gave his friend a kick in the side so that Josh fell off balance. "You can swear your oath of fealty later."
Right then, Logan stirred. James pushed Mark aside to kneel beside Logan just as Logan's eyes began fluttering open. However, he clutched at his temple and his eyes squinted shut as he attempted to sit up.
"James," Logan coughed. "James...is Pa--I mean, Alex okay? Tell me she's alright."
James met my eyes and something similar to amusement flitted across his face before he gave Logan a pat on the back. "Park's okay."
"Did you just call her Park?" Logan said, dropping his arm to stare at James. Then, Logan twisted his torso until he was gawking at me and a resigned look took place of his anxiety. "Shit."
"It must've been a lot of chloroform," I mused.
"My head's still spinning. I remember waking up and calling Elijah. Then I just turned on the car and..." Logan glanced at the gas station. "Great. There goes our ride."
"I hated your car anyway," I said. Logan glared at me.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked.
"Why, is it working?"
"No."
"Then no, it's not supposed to make you feel better."
"Guys," Mark called out. "Please tell me those cars are for us."
Down the road, there was a river of cars streaming towards the station, all of them black as onyx stones and all of them breaking the 35 mph speed limit.
"Just a quick question," I said. "Are you ready to pack?"
Logan only raised a brow in response."
"Those guys in there were after me," I explained while getting to my feet. "Once Elijah finds out, he'll have us on a plane out of here the moment he gets a chance to book them."
Shock spasmed across his face before an anger took over. But just as quickly as fury flamed, it faded and shame seemed to drip off of him.
"This is all my fault. If only I hadn't let myself--"
"None of this is on you."
"Park, of course it's--"
"If Elijah asks, then you tell him that they attacked you from behind and knocked you out before you even had a clue what happened."
"That just means I should've been more on guard--"
"Logan, that's an order. You're going to tell Elijah that you had no chance of winning against them."
Everyone stared thanks to the authority I wielded my words. Logan gave me a wary look before the corner of his lips tugged upwards. "You're not doing this to keep me as your bodyguard, are you?"
The cars rolled to a stop right besides the gas pumps. "Of course not," I denied, watching my cousin nearly tumble onto the asphalt as he attempted to climb out of one of the vehicles. A grin managed to pry its way onto my lips for a quick moment, however (though it wasn't because of Elijah's lack of balance). Logan caught the smile, and his own beam grew bigger.
It's definitely not because I want him as my bodyguard. That's just absurd, I told myself. One-hundred percent ridiculous.
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*dodges all the items I know you're prepared to throw at me for such a late update*
I KNOW I'M SORRY I REALLY HATE SCHOOL BUT I HAD TO KEEP UP WITH MY SCHOOLWORK I'M SO SORRY
On a better note, I'm on break this week, so I'll try and churn out as many chapters as I can! Thanks for hanging in there, guys!"
love -- knee