She jarred the handle on the door but it still refused to release her. As she struggled with it curses spewed out of her mouth in a seemingly unrecognizable language. Namely pissed as hell southern.
“Lord n’ heaven, ah swear if ya don’t—ugh.” Finally under the force of her shoulder the door relented and she came tumbling out. Straightening herself, she narrowed her eyes at the car, challenging it, as if she was daring it to laugh at her.
The car remained silent, feigning innocence, which only served to aggravate her more. She slammed the door shut and added two more kicks into the side, punishing it.
Her aggression towards the large collection of metal slowly morphed into something more brumous the closer she got to the entrance of The Nightmare. The air around her was completely still but a chill went up her spine never-the-less. Shaking her head, she tried to shake the feeling off, but her hands still zipped the jacket up tighter around her.
She reached the door and her hand stilled on the handle. Now she knew what wasn’t right here. There was no noise coming from inside the bar, or even crickets chirping outside of it. That definitely wasn’t right. It was only twenty minutes after Logan’s assigned curfew, the fights should have still been going on. Hell, the crowd should be at its worse because it should be close to the final fights.
Finally stepping in, the fact that the room wasn’t full of smoke confused her. That was till she noticed that they was no one in there. No one in or around the cage, no one standing in her way as she tentatively stepped further into the bar.
She wasn’t aware that she hadn’t breathed since she walked in the door till she saw the figure at the bar. There was no way a back that wide with unnaturally large and sculpted muscles could be any one but Logan. Or someone just a big as Logan, the idea of which made her walk even slower. Until she saw the dark points laying against the bar top.
“Logan!” He didn’t lift his head or move in any way so when she go up to the bar she stayed two seats down from him. “Logan, sugah, where’d everabody go?”
She went to move closer to him but jumped back when the claws shot out, scratching six deep grooves into the top of the dark wood.
“Logan...” she murmured quietly, but kept her distance.
He grunted as he pushed up from the bar top slightly, just enough that he could fold an arm under him and hold him up while the other reached for the quarter full tequila bottle. “Your ‘guardian angel’ radar don’t work worth shit, kid. They came, and you just fucking left me here,” he slurred before he leaned his head back and let a mouth full of liquor burn into his throat.
“They came?!,” She jumped closer to him, “What happened? Are they gone?”
His heavy shoulders lifted the millimeter of a inch that they could in an attempt at a shrug. All this attention was one the bottle in front of him and the silver etched scorpion on its label. “What the fuck do you think?” he hissed at the embellished creature. “I killed them. What the hell other choice did you give me? You fucking left me.”
“Ah didn’t—“ She started to plead to him but he shook his head, turning away, a mammoth child sulking a way only a grown man knew how. Frustrated that the bottle and bar were the only ones he deemed worthy of his time, she grabbed his shoulder and forced him back around to her.
“Oh mah gawd,” she gawked at the sight in front of her. Bright red crimson, still wet but no longer running, was streaked all across his torso. Her eyes followed the large path that gelled in the deep contours of his labs. It extended further, down into his belly button and finally pooled around and in the relief of the snarling wolf at his belt, causing the animal to be a mangled mixture of beaten but taking whatever beast was more powerful down with it.
“Is..is all that ya’s or Theirs...?” Her hands twitched with the urge to run through the thickly matted hair on his chest. She didn’t though, not wanting to stain her new gloves within an hour of buying them.
His only reply was another lazy shrug, but at least he didn’t turn back the other way again. “Well, how many were there?” She probed further.
“Six, twelve, I couldn’t really tell. Or give a fuck,” he answered before relieving the bottle another mouth full. He tired to set it back down, his shaky arm moving slowly. The bottom manage to connect soundly with the top of the bar, but when he removed his fingers from around it and tried to pull his hand away the still poised claws knocked it over. He watched it roll through his slightly hazed over eyes, until finally it ran away from him and off the bar. The shattering chime echoed in the empty room before dying somewhere in the dark.
She watched the tip of his fingers and seemed to finally notice the rest of his body language. Narrowing her eyes she leveled her face to his. “Are ya *drunk*?!”
“No.” He growled, digging his claws deeper into the grain of the bar for support of his swaying upper half.
Huffing her hands shot to her hips. “Ya fuckin’ look awfully damn drunk ta me! Damnit Logan! How tha rat shit ya expect me ta get ya ass outta here? Ah prolly can’t even drag ya iron-clad ass!”
“I’m not drunk,” he pressed louder, turning back away from her.
She didn’t let him get very far before she pushed him back toward her. “Yeah? Ah suppose Elvis an’ that Kennedy bugga drank tha bottle an’ jus’ left ya with it!”
He tried to summon enough strength to bring the claws up to her throat but the metal was simply too heavy for his weak muscles. “They had tranqs, you fucking bitch.”
“Oh.” She leaned back, getting out of his face. He watched her face, looking for some sign that she was going to apologize. But nothing fluttered across her half-amok features. He watched her tuck a pristine white streak behind her ears and now cursed the clean grey gloves covering her hands. He was sitting there fighting his own body for control over his muscles, covered in who knows what and her gloves were perfectly clean, tiny little lying innocence she didn’t deserve. And had he the strength he would of returned the favor she did for him by abandoning him. Course, he probably deserved it, for falling for her con so easily.
“So, where’d tha otha’s go?” Her voice floated from somewhere behind him, but damn if the twitches in his back were going to let him turn around.
“They all ran out when they heard the gunshots. Fucking criminals.” He spit onto the bar top.
She snorted, then was right back beside him. “Like ya got any room talkin’, sugah.” She giggled, that horrid sound that made him wish one of the black-devil bastards would have finally managed to kill him.
Suddenly his eyes focused as epiphany hit him hard. He had been thinking about this whole damn thing wrong, demons chasing him, questioning why he deserved an angel. Perhaps They weren’t the demons. Maybe he was, that would make more sense. He did have more than all the qualifications. And They were simply the good guys, trying to keep him away from the general population. Protect the general good.
The thought made him grin slightly. No one ever thinks they’re the bad guy. He was slightly entertained that he fell into that oh-so hopeful and righteous category, despite all that he’d done. Here he was damning Them for trying to get him and some where in his subconscious he knew full well he deserved to be fucking got.
If that was the case then its wasn’t some higher power sending the girl to him. The streaks of death and haunted green eyes that no angel could possibly fly with fit much better to a more vindictive creature. One that was sent from one of his own kind, from somewhere where hellfire didn’t burn enough. If that was how it was then Satan could take her back, because as far as he was concerned he could go fuck himself. He didn’t need his help.
“Fuck off, kid.” He snarled. He swore under his breath, desperately wishing now his bottle of tequila hadn’t abandoned him too.
“Sorry, big fella. But ah gotta figure out how am gonna get ya ass out of here.” Her full bottom lip went between her teeth as she studied him. “Ah don’t suppose ya can walk? Jus’ a little bit?”
“No,” he groaned, closing his eyes, wishing her away.
She sighed loudly, a noise rivaling that of the crashing liquor bottle. “Well, shit. Four damn gun shot wounds ya heal from in two seconds, a little ol’ dart an ya out for tha night.”
“Nine darts,” he corrected her, looking up from under his heavy brow line.
“Oh, ya can’t tell how many guys are piled on top of ya, but darts ya count,” she rolled her eyes. “Alright, sugah, jus’ try not ta fall on me.”
Before he could register her words a small arm wrapped around his waist and a shoulder was pressed tightly into his armpit. He realized now was his chance to put the claws through her, rid the world of one less demon. Maybe bring him one step closer to deserving an actual guardian angel.
But his body always obeyed her, a phenomenon he hadn’t quite figured out. His arm allowed itself to be draped over her shoulder, the claws danging uselessly over her breast. Her hand came up and wrapped tightly around his forearm, pulling it tighter to her chest. “Jus’ watch tha skin,” she mumbled to him.
They both groaned loudly when she pulled him off the stool and to his feet. Not wanting to stop the momentum she just tighten her grip on him and immediately took the first step towards the door.
They were only three steps closer to the door and sweat was beginning to gather on both of their forehead. His legs tried to crumble under them, but she wouldn’t let them, which caused them both to tilt. Luckily she was able to aim and manage to make sure they crashed into a wooden column. She swore when the weight of his body and hers slammed her shoulder into it, sending a jolt straight into her head, but at least they were still standing up right.
Her body rocked with large breaths, caused more by his weight then actual exertion. “Okay,” she gulped then quickly licked her lips. “Column ta column, can we do that?”
His head was lowered and his eyes were hidden from her by his wild hair that hung down into his face. He wanted to nod but found that all his remaining strength was in his legs and he couldn’t afford any in his head. So he had to settle for grunting in affirmation.
“Okay,” she nodded and took another deep breath, preparing herself for the arduous journey to the next column. “Ah don’t know ‘bout ya, sugah. But ahm gonna be on those bastards like a duck ona June bug for this shit.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Me and my muses argued forever over this chapter. I wanted some humor and they just wanted angst. For some reason they are MAD at each other and wouldn’t settle for anything else. Big babies.