She was convinced she was going to lose her dignity. Just then, the door flew open with a thud.
Nike detached himself from her, almost flinching away.
She didn't look up to see who had just come, but the scent of woods and lavender was so familiar and strong. And she only knew one man who possessed such a unique form of natural scent.
Nike's eyes widened, and he realised the doom he had brought upon himself. He had been warned, and now he saw himself dying under those heavy threats he had earlier ignored.
The pair of brown eyes, sharp and hard, bored into him. Behind him was Warren, who looked like he wouldn't hesitate to split his neck into half.
"I can explain, Ti. She was being feisty, alright? I just lost it somewhere." Nike tried to reason. Keyword: tried to. Because the next moment, a gun was aimed at his forehead. Warren followed him from behind.
Nike's eyes bulged out of their sockets, "Wait...you can't just kill me because of her."
"I can kill anyone because of her," Tiger answered, moving towards the blue-eyed guy.
"You stand in my fucking property, my fucking place and dare to assault my woman? Got balls to die so soon?" Tiger's eyes were zeroed, brows narrowed, jaw clenched, the grip on the gun so tight it made each of his muscles flex under his jacket.
"She ain't your woman-" Nike raised both his hands in surrender, terror rising in him.
"She is. If she is assigned to me, then she is." Tiger growled. Warren stood at the crib, his heart churning in pain as her sight came into view, dishevelled.
"He stabbed her," Warren muttered, looking at her devastated state.
Tiger followed the voice, catching only a glimpse of her as Warren stood like a partition in between her leg was stretched out, a part of her pants torn and covered in red, she had her arms wrapped around herself, face hanging low, buried in shame and her natural brown hair falling in her face like curtains. A hint of anger flashed in his eyes before he let out an exhale.
Tiger met Nike's blue, restless gaze. The danger dripping from Tiger's eyes, the visible threat on his sharp features, and the heat radiating off him was a pure indication to him that he was going to have a death worse than animals.
Tiger lowered his gun, giving the other just a little relief thinking he spared him. Before he could even dwell on his delusional forgiveness fully, Tiger's fist collided with Nike's jaw, sharp and hard, making him stumble back.
A groan escaped Nike's lips, his mind reeling due to the impact. Before he could recover from the first attack, Tiger threw another fist straight to his cheek. This time blue-eyed moron fell on his butt, wincing in utter pain and agony.
Tiger held the gun at his forehead, his finger hovering above the trigger as Nike looked up at him, his eyes growing wide in disbelief and shock.
Tiger's grip tightened, ready to pull the trigger and shoot the latter.
"Tiger, no." Warren interrupted. Tiger glanced at him, still holding the gun in the same position.
"DK has sent him, everyone knows. If you kill him here, we'd be in trouble." Tiger squinted his brows, bringing his gaze back to Nike.
"You should listen to him, Tiger," Nike smirked.
Tiger gave him a deadly glance, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he considered the man sprawled on the floor.
After a moment, he lowered his gun, watching the latter grab his injured and bleeding jaw while rising with the support of his hands, the corny smirk still so wide on his face.
"Get lost before I change my mind," Tiger growled.
Nike scoffed mockingly, fixing his clothes and wiping the blood from his lips. He gave a last glance to Hayat before exiting the room, proud and unashamed of what he just tried to do.
Tiger walked to the crib, standing beside Warren, who was just as clueless about what to do. After such an incident, she probably won't even trust him.
She wasn't crying then, but her whole body was shaking. Her hands that were wrapped around her, clutched the torn T-shirt in tight fists, trembling frantically, but they could only hide so much. Her right shoulder was uncovered, the torn sleeves hanging on her arm, showcasing her beautiful and smooth fair skin.
Tiger felt a tug at his chest, unrecognizable, indescribable. He ignored the way his heart did a tiny twist, which he almost, almost felt. Bending down to walk into the crib, he stood a few feet away from her, careful to not cause her any more distaste.
"Squirrel?" He called out.
She didn't look at him.
Warren exhaled behind him deeply, his eyes starting to gather moisture, making his gaze blurry as he blinked several times to get rid of it, biting on his lower lip to lose some emotional pressure. He wanted to do something, make her feel safe, make her feel better, he just didn't know how to. She reminded him of himself, and he didn't want to let those nightmares cloud him again.
Tiger took out his jacket and took a step closer to her; he crouched down and cautiously wrapped it around her, being careful not to touch her in any way.
She swallowed, not wanting to look up at him, to meet his gaze. She loathed him at that moment; she hated him for not listening to her at first; she hated him for leaving her alone with that guy even when she asked him not to; she hated him for giving her a sense of safety when there was absolutely none.
"Do we have a bandage?" Tiger looked over his shoulder, asking Warren.
"I might have some." Warren nodded, typically running out of the room to get the aid.
Tiger brought his gaze to her again, silently considering her for a moment before speaking up.
"Will you be okay if I do it?" He asked, that deepness of his voice, which usually comes so hard and rough, now irrationally soft and soothing.
She peeked through her eyelashes, finally meeting his gaze. And it was then he observed the drops of tears sitting on her long beautiful like small diamonds, her eyes puffy and red, and most importantly, empty.
"I'll do it by myself." She swallowed. Her eyes were hard on him, staring at him with a deep, piercing glare, accusing him of her condition, accusing him of her dishevelled state, accusing him of her torn clothes, accusing him of her stabbed leg, accusing him of her ripped dignity.
Her lips stayed silent, but her eyes spoke volumes.
He blinked, nodding. And she saw a hint of disappointment, an emotion so visible, crossed his mysterious, foxy eyes before he masked it completely. Even if it was just for a split second, she knew it was there.
Warren came back from his room, carrying a big white bandage and a box of first-aid.
Tiger took the box from him, moving it towards her who took it from him silently.
Tiger stood up, not wanting to spend a minute more in the room. He left the place quietly, leaving Warren and Hayat alone.
Hayat stared at the box on the cold floor, the white bandage placed on top of it. She swallowed, stretching out her hand to grab the box.
She placed the bandage on the ground, opening the box slowly. Her hands moved with difficulty as if she didn't have a single ounce of energy left in her.
She didn't.
It was painful to watch her in such a state for the man who stood outside her crib, watching her with a layer of moisture in his eyes.
Hostage or whatever, he had been nice to her and she returned the same. She exchanged a few smiles with him, laughed at his jokes and made him feel a little less lonely in the big house, too.
He stood there, wanting to help. But she didn't utter a word.
She sniffed, taking out the clean cloth and a bottle of antiseptic liquid. She tried to bend her knee to aid her wound, a wince leaving her lips as she felt the pain surge with a more excruciating force.
Warren held back a gasp, unable to watch her in pain.
"Would you mind if I do it, little one?" The words left his mouth before he could stop himself.
She moved her gaze to him, and he felt like someone had stabbed him straight at his chest, the knife piercing deeper, twisting and churning. The emptiness and accusation in her eyes were breaking him.
"I won't do anything besides dressing your wound. I promise. You can trust me." He tried to convince her, struggling not to sound as vulnerable as he was at that instance.
She blinked once, then looked down and placed the cloth and liquid back in the box, moving it away from her.
Warren signed, relief washing over him as he bent down to come into the crib.
He took the box from a safe distance, not going too close to her.
He was much more skilled and experienced in dressing those kind of wounds. Working for one of the most wanted gangs had him going through a lot, and there were times he gave in to his battles and had to do his aid.
-----
"Why are you doing here?" Warren came beside Tiger, who was smoking his cigar outside in the field while leaning against the wall.
"Smoking." He replied shortly, bringing the harmful thing to his lips. He was staring into nothingness.
Warren looked at him, observing the thin layer of something, something that could be considered as a human emotion or feeling, in his eyes.
He tried to estimate what was it, what was shimmering in his eyes so visibly yet so obscured and indescribable. But he couldn't.
"I removed her cuffs. Her wrist was bleeding." Warren informed.
Tiger nodded, silently continuing to harm his lungs.
"We shouldn't have left her alone with him." Warren puffed out a cold breath, willing that it would brush out the guilt that was strangling him.
Tiger leaned his head back at the wall, still not saying anything.
"I don't think that cut will recover with manual aid. She needs professional help." Warren said, wishing the emotionless man would at least pay attention to such critical information.
"Is it too deep?" Tiger asked, finally tearing his gaze from the dried grass to the long-haired guy.
"It is quite deep. I could see the flesh when I was dressing her."
"She let you dress her?" Tiger asked, his brows knitting together forming a frown.
A jealous frown.
"Yeah. Why are you mad though?" Warren raised his brows, an amused smirk hovering over his lips.
"I'm not." And it was gone. The moment he realized he was reacting to something completely childish, he disregarded that tiny bit of flame before it could burn him.
Warren chuckled, amused by himself at inspiring such a reaction from someone who is a full-time robot. He made a mental note to try it again.
"But how are we gonna do this?" Warren asked, referring to the fact that they were going to get her professional help without anyone knowing. And if anyone somehow gets to know, they would be dead meat the very next morning.
"I could pull some strings," Tiger answered nonchalantly.
"How?"
"I know people, Warren." Tiger said, pressing on the word 'people' for emphasis.
"I know that, Mr. Know it all. But DK has his men around the whole country. Even if a single person who knows him or us, let it be an enemy, it will reach that old man and-" Warren tried to explain but got cut off in the middle.
"I will take care of it. Let her rest today. I'll see about it tomorrow."
-----
"Your father has ordered me to ask you, Sir." The man informed calmly, standing at the desk and keeping his gaze neutral on the guy behind the table, with a formal suit and tie, working on his laptop.
"And I told you I do not know. You can say the same to my bloody hell of a father." The guy with the suit answered, resting his arms on the armrests of the chair while trying to keep his calm.
"You were present in the building when Garret was killed. You might have seen something. Anyone?" The old man, who was in his early 50s, pressed his question.
"I wasn't the only one who was present in the building. There were guards, staff and many other people too. If they didn't see anything, how could I?" The guy with a shaped scruff, breathtaking grey eyes and smoothly styled hair asked back.
"Alright. You shall know that if you're hiding something from your father, you'll be bringing your death upon yourself." The old man concluded, his voice turning cold, warning the guy who was just as unfazed as he always had been.
"My father and your boss aren't God, are they?" The old man clenched his jaw at the question, finding no answer to offer.
"You may go, Mr. Brian. Thank you for visiting." The curt words of gratefulness were enough to make the old man exit the office room in defeat.
-----
Warren sat on his bed, guitar resting on his lap, fingers striking the strings with sharp, angry precision. Each note was jagged and harsh, echoing the storm in his chest. He played faster, harder, hoping the raw chords would somehow drain the anger burning inside him. His jaw clenched as guilt gnawed at him, memories clawing skin, fueling the frustration he couldn't shake. The music was his escape, but tonight, it wasn't enough. He slammed his hand against the strings, silencing the noise, but the silence only made the weight of his emotions feel heavier.
He stared at a distance, nothing seemed to distract him, nothing helped to make him feel even a little lighter. The feeling of destruction surged him, once again. He looked down at his hand, the long blue sleeves of his baggy hoodie covering the scars he had given to his skin.
He sighed, wondering if he should go into Tiger's room and check up on her.
A knock snapped him out of his gloomy thoughts. He dragged his gaze to the door, finding Tiger standing with a nonchalant face, his eyes holding something raw and flamy.
"You haven't slept at all or you just woke up?" Warren raised his brows, given that it was so late at night.
"I didn't sleep," Tiger answered in the same monotonous voice.
"What brought you here?" Warren chuckled.
"I need your help in something." Tiger walked into the room, his hands in his pocket.
"Right now?"
"Yes."
"What is it?" Warren sighed, putting his guitar on his side.
"Give me one of your daggers." Tiger's answer was straightforward, clipped.
"What?" To say Warren was surprised would be an understatement. He was beyond surprised. Tiger never asked for a dagger.
"The sharpest one. And break into the CCTV system of Kelle Towers." Tiger said, his eyes shining with something hidden and dangerous intent.
"What are you planning to do at his house?" Warren blinked at him, baffled at the mention of a familiar building.
"I'm just going to have a talk with him," Tiger replied.
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