She stopped the car with a whoosh in front of a big, huge tree, panting and sweating.
Fourth time.
It was her fourth time, fourth attempt, the fourth trial of trying to find a way out of the dense, chaotic forest.
As the trial came to an end, she sat in front of a dried log–the log of the tree she had already seen an enough number of times now to remember it her whole life–with the car with her fourth failure, fourth loss.
A frustrated groan left her lips as hit her hand hard on the steering wheel.
It would've pained her palm, it should have. But she was so burnt out that her body was numb to discover and falter over anything else.
Why would the bloody forest not end?
Why didn't it have any routes?
How was she supposed to go?
Where was she supposed to go? Which direction? Which corner? Which end?
There was no way out of there.
Not for her.
She heaved a sigh, a frustrated, tired, and long sigh, willing for it to take away all of the anger she was feeling and bundling up inside her.
It didn't.
"Ugh!" She grunted, thumping her feet on the car several times like a child, pushing her palm in the middle of the steering wheel as the lavish vehicle horned loudly, annoyingly.
Nothing she could do would take away her frustration, her agitation.
She threw her head back with a jerk, pressing her body into the softness of the seat.
Closing her eyes, she took slow breaths, calming herself down, feeling the soft surface behind her back, listening to the fast lub-dub of her rapid, uneven heartbeats, breathing the sweet fragrance of the air conditioner mixed with a tinge smell of wood and lavenders.
In the moment, she allowed herself to melt in the calm, in the stillness, in the quiet and silence.
She breathed out, opening her eyes, and rolling down the window while still relaxing on the seat.
The evening has spread, faint darkness hugging the tall hunch of trees and their dried branches. Even birds weren't chirping and singing around anymore. There was no noise or sound except her slow breathing, insects, and the gush of winds as it brushed past the heights.
And her mind was back to thinking, speaking out loud to her that all that peace seemed to be leaving her, tittering away from her as the water slipped away from one's fingers.
Why did he do this? Does this make any logic? Does that make sense? How was she supposed to trust him while pulling such an endeavor proposed by him?
It occurred to her that he had given her his car and gun.
Why?
If she managed to make it out of the forest, which she had started to question, wouldn't he lose his car and gun forever?
Even if she managed to find a way out of the forest and escape successfully, how would she return to her country? She didn't have her passport, she didn't have anything with her, no money, no directions, no nothing.
What was she thinking when she took his car? What was she thinking when she agreed to his stupid proposal?
Right. She wasn't thinking about anything. She just saw the chance, took it, and ran.
And now the damsel in distress was lost in the middle of the forest, the dense, confusing forest with no paths or routes whatsoever.
How stupid.
How reckless.
How silly.
She slammed a hand on her forehead, grumbling at her foolishness.
It occurred to her then, he knew. That bastard knew.
That look in his eyes—he freaking knew she wouldn't be able to get out of there, he knew she would be lost, he knew she couldn't run from him.
But what was the reason? Why would he tell her to go if he knew she couldn't? Why would he give her his car, his car which he always referred to as 'my car', the car which was the only thing she had seen him enjoying the thrill of, the car which was so lavish, outstandingly beautiful that it screamed off its expansiveness.
And his gun–the gun which was always, always tucked in his trousers at back, the gun he probably had killed many, many men with, the gun which was the only used weapon of him on a daily or frequent basis, the gun which was the quickest reflex in any times of urgency.
Why did he hand her those?
Just to have them back once because he was aware of her obliviousness, that he was aware of the fact that she knew nothing about the exit directions in the forest?
No.
It can't be just that.
He won't just pull a prank on her to make her know about her vulnerability and weakness. He wouldn't just do that to embarrass her.
He wouldn't.
Would he?
No. He wouldn't. Yes.
Then what? Why did he do that? Why would he do that?
"....I won't come after you," She recalled his promise, his word.
He won't come after her.
Not until she calls him. Not until she fires that gun. Not until he hears the gunshot.
He won't come after her.
That was it. That was the reason.
He wanted to let her know that even when she had his precious car with her, his loaded deer gun with her, his things, his stuff, his belongings, she could have them as long as she wanted to. And he wouldn't come for them, wouldn't come for her until she called him. He will keep his word, as he said, as AK said, as he did. And that would prove to her—why she needed to trust him—because of his steadfastness, his loyalty, his honesty, his promise, his word.
But for how long? Till how long will he be able to hold himself back? If he didn't care about her, she knew he had possessiveness over the two things she had with her, of him, right now.
If she manages to keep herself back, hold herself back, he will be forced to come.
He will come for them, sooner or later.
Will he?
The answer was laid in between the thin string of either this or that, yes or no.
He will or he won't.
Deep down, she knew. He won't. That is why he had set it all up.
But she won't go down without a fight. She won't give in that easily. She won't surrender that easily.
She would wait till she could not.
-----
"What were they doing here, Dad?" A guy in his twenties, tan-skinned and tall, sat himself on the small tool beside the hospital bed.
"You met them?" His father asked meekly, his voice fading at the end of the sentence, weak and cracking because of the sickness.
"No, I saw them,"
"Should've greeted them then," his father said.
"Warren would have killed me," The guy laughed, but his father sensed the sadness, the glim, the hidden hurt behind it.
"Kevin, there are bonds that are meant to be broken just to be mended again. Sometimes you fall apart from someone only to realize what they are meant for you, how much they are worth for you," His father said, Xander, said.
Kevin sighed.
"But I didn't fall apart with him. I...." He left the sentence unfinished, knowing that his father knew what would have been his words if he had completed it. He didn't, out of shame, out of guilt.
"Only Tiger came in the room. He wanted to know about Black Den," His father said, changing the topic.
Kevin was thankful. He didn't want to talk about it.
"What did you say?" Kevin asked.
"I said that I don't know anything besides its name, DK had killed Bennet Hog after he asked him about it. Bennet only discussed with me what he overheard that day, he was found dead shortly afterward," His father replied, sighing.
Kevin nodded.
"Tiger had asked me one more thing," His father looked at him with both a serious and funny look.
"What?"
"He asked if you wanted to work with him,"
Kevin paused, stared at his father unblinkingly, and then exhaled out a breath.
"No," He replied flatly.
"Why not? You have known Tiger since your childhood," His father smiled.
"It's not about him,"
"Then is it about Warren?"
He remained silent, looking down at his feet on the floor.
"Warren has a big heart, Kevin. He'll forgive you, I'm sure," The old diseased man took his son's hand in his, consoling him.
There was a silence that followed heavily.
"He won't...I know he won't,"
Kevin shook his head slightly, denying that the mentioned guy would ever find it in himself to forgive him.
His father smiled sadly, reaching for Kevin's hand which rested on his thigh in a fist.
"As you feel right, I won't force you to do anything."
Kevin exhaled while still not looking up, rubbing his teary eyes with the back of his hand.
-----
Warren paced back and forth in the hall, restless, and worried as the small disturbing noise of some random news channel buzzed in the background.
"What did you even want to prove with this?" He asked Tiger who was sitting on the couch, his hands folded in front, his right ankle resting just above his left knee, watching the television, relaxed and calm. There was no trace of concern on his face at all.
Tiger didn't answer, watching the news about a new murder case silently.
"....A gruesome scene has unfolded at the far edge of the city where nine members of an alleged mob gang were found dead. Seven of the victims were shot point-blank in the forehead, a mark of deadly accuracy, while the remaining two sustained fatal gunshot wounds to the abdomen. The killer left behind no evidence or traces. Police are actively pursuing leads to uncover the motive behind this brutal attack. Stay tuned as we bring you updates-"
"Shut this crap and answer me, dammit!" Warren switched the TV off, throwing the remote on the couch angrily.
"What the fuck is your problem?" Tiger deadpanned, glancing at him with an empty look.
"You and your unseriousness is the damn problem with me," Warren spat, standing at a small distance away from Tiger, just at the corner of the couch with both hands resting on his hips, giving the latter the most murderous look.
"And?"
Warren scoffed.
"Are you fucking serious? It's night already, a girl is out there alone in the wildest forest of the city, all because of you and you are here watching the news on TV about the nine assholes you killed?" Warren hissed, his loud voice echoing through the room, reverberating against the thick walls.
Tiger narrowed his eyes, unfolding his hands from over his abdomen and removing one leg from over the other.
As he got up, Warren watched him taking steps towards him.
"Aren't you being too disrespectful to me these days, War? Do I need to remind you that I lead this fucking mission and you follow?" Tiger growled, standing just a few inches away from him.
Warren clenched his jaw tightly as if restraining himself from punching him, his black eyes flaming with rage as he stared at the latter.
"Well, Mr. I-fucking-know-it-all, I am not going to follow you if you're going to put an innocent's life at sake just for your damn mission," Warren took a step closer Tiger, his calm demeanor long forgotten, replaced by a burning rage he was struggling his best to keep at bay.
"Whose life is at stake?"
"Hers," Warren gritted out.
"The only lives which are at stake are ours, Warren. Mine, yours, and AK's—and that's too because we all agreed to it. She is not going to have a single scar touch her, I'll make sure of that. So, just rest assured," Tiger said, raising his brows slightly to put the emphasis.
"You want me to believe this crap when she's out there alone. There are no men, but there could be wild animals for damn's sake,"
"She won't reach that part of the forest,"
"And what if she will?"
"She won't,"
There was a silence that followed after the little argument. Warren's hard breathing was the only small sound in the Hall.
Warren sighed. Looked away. Stared at a distance, then looked back at Tiger.
"You know what? You stay here and watch this damn TV. I'll go find her myself," Warren declared, turning on his foot, and taking long strides afterward.
"Stop right there, Warren," Tiger commanded, his voice louder and deeper than before.
Warren didn't obey. He put on his shoes at the doorway, reaching out to the knob.
Before he could open the door, Tiger grabbed his wrist, turning him around.
He looked at Tiger with a burning rage.
"Let go, Tiger." He muttered in a low breath, but his voice was a pitch deeper, raspier than his usual tone. Him addressing Tiger as 'Tiger' and not 'Ti' was only when he was serious.
"You are not going to ruin my plan, Warren," Tiger warned.
"Yes, I am,"
"No,"
"I'm not not your puppet. Let go," Warren hissed, jerking his hand away and turning around.
Just as he opened the door, a gunshot echoed loudly.
Warren flinched and halted.
"Stay here. I'll bring her back," Tiger said, taking a few steps back towards a side table, opening the drawer, and pulling out a rifle.
Warren leaned against the door with his back pressed on the pillar, watching him put on his shoes.
"I never met someone as selfish as you," Warren muttered, his voice deep, heavy with displeasure and bitterness.
"Congratulations. Now you have," Tiger brushed past him, earning a very disgraceful scoff.
------
She stared at the gun—which she just fired in the air—in her hand.
She lost. He won. Once again.
She clenched her jaw, resisting the tears of embarrassment and humiliation welling up at the corner of her eyes, stinging, burning, threatening to fall.
She leaned back at his car, her hip resting against the door.
It was late at night. She wasn't sure what exactly was the time. She had heard roars, howls, and deep growls—of animals most probably—from a far extent, faded, and distant.
It was discernible that the animals weren't roaming in the part she was in, but their hurling and roaring sounds were haunting enough. She couldn't risk her life anymore.
The night hovered over like a ghost over the bed, stretching the darkness until she couldn't see anything after a small width. Insects and crickets sang in the luster of the dire, murky land.
She tapped her foot on the dried, crusty leaves anxiously. She wanted him to come but didn't want him to simultaneously.
For instance, she had wished for death. For only a moment, a thought crossed her mind, urging her to ask for death, for closure, for a permanent escape. She dismissed it as quickly as it came, scolding herself that she couldn't afford to die yet.
She played with the small stones in between the leaves with her bare foot, tossing the rocks with her toes to keep herself distracted from the growls that were now more frequent. She would have denied that the dryness of her tongue wasn't the naked fear, that her tensed body and arms that hugged herself weren't because of the anxiousness knotting in her stomach.
She swallowed, wondering if she should just sit inside the car again. But she moved out of it to breathe some fresh air and not let the nauseousness overcome her in the first place. She hadn't recovered from the sickness yet, though she had been in the open for half an hour now.
She gazed up at the tall trees, their leafless, withered branches seemed like scattered threads in the sky. Though the sight made her a little terrified, the glowing moon and the dark passing clouds were a comfort to watch.
Even if no one is watching over you, your God always does. She reminded herself.
She straightened her posture, taking a step away from the car. Just a step distance terrified her but she breathed in, taking a few more steps ahead and looking around. The car was the only source of safety. She was sure that if there was any animal to attack her—which had a lesser possibility of happening as of now—the car was strong enough to take rough thuds and claws.
She roamed around mindlessly, barefoot, anxious, and waiting. A hiss escaped her lips, something poked her right foot.
She halted, her face contorting in pain as she twisted her leg to see. The darkness denied her clear vision. She crouched down on her knee, accessing her foot as her fingers moved beneath her toes, feeling a sharp thorn stuck just behind her thumb toe.
She hissed again, trying to pull it out as it stung more.
She heard someone approaching, the sound as distant, leaves being crushed as they made a crunching noise. Her breath hitched, and her movements paused.
Who was it?
She stood up instantly, looking around. She hurled herself behind a tree quickly, muting the gasp that almost made it out of her mouth because of the sting in her foot. She peeked her head out, clasping the gun in her hand tighter, but it was more for support than defense.
She gulped.
The footsteps couldn't be heard anymore.
Oh, Lord.
Her throat felt parched, her breathing was uneven and rapid, her chest heaving and her toes kept tightening and loosening.
She felt a warmth at her back, a deadly presence.
Scary. Dominant. And intimidating.
Her eyes rolled to the side, her body straight like a statue, and her eyes unblinking.
Was it him? Was it someone else? What if there were any attackers like that day?
She was about to turn around and risk a look. She was almost half turned, but a hand pressed down on her shoulder, pausing her to move.
"Shh, don't make any noise, squirrel," That voice of evil and death whispered, the manly rasp in it washing over her like cold water.
Chills ran down her spine. She felt him closing the small distance, his front just an inch away from her back, his face close to her ear.
He wasn't touching her, not at all. But his body had a warmth that radiated electric waves. She felt herself burning, her heart thumping crazily against her chest, threatening to come out any moment.
She felt a steel coldness replaced by the warmth of his hand. A gun stretched out from the side of her face, slowly moving forward as he rested it on her shoulder, his hand on the trigger–just an inch away from touching her back.
Her body shook in trepidation, sweat forming on her forehead, gliding down through her temple.
What was he doing?
The gun was big, bigger than the one he used on the day of the attack.
She held her breath, he aimed at some random tree, somewhere far away. Her eyes stayed glued to where the gun was pointed, seeing nothing but pure blackness.
She stood there frozen, not moving, not even breathing. The gun on her shoulder felt cold, his hands holding it proficiently, she felt him adjusting the gun a little.
She observed a faint outline of something, behind a giant log—hidden in the darkness, obscure and hardly noticeable. The silhouette moved just a little, the soft silver glow of the moon not bringing much to sight but small spike-like lines.
Before she could register anything else, he pressed on the trigger. The gun fired, and a loud gunshot echoed—louder than the one the small gun made.
She visibly flinched, stumbling back, the sound of the bullet releasing like lightning lingered in her ears, vibrations running over her body like electric currents.
A loud thud followed a screech as if something heavy had fallen to the ground.
It wasn't the sound of something.
He removed the gun from her shoulder, holding it in hand. She breathed heavily, blinking, comprehending, steadying herself although her ears were still ringing and her limbs were trembling.
She turned her face sidewards, and the scent—his heavenly scent—of woods mixed with lavender engulfed her, invading her senses without permission.
His eyes were already on her. Her pupils dilated. His face was just a few centimeters away from her. The proximity only added to her anxiousness.
"Scared?" He asked in his deep, evil, sin-like voice, tilting his face ever so smoothly.
"What was that?" She breathed out, her voice shaky.
"A bear." He whispered.
She turned her face to the place where he fired the gun. She didn't know if she had practically gone blind or if she had imagined it all. She could still see nothing, absolutely nothing.
"You want to see it?" He stepped out from behind, coming to stand beside her now.
"See what?"
"The bear." He walked forward.
She hesitated to follow him. What if he had missed it? What if it was still not dead? What if it attacks them?
"Come on. What are you thinking?" He turned behind, urging her to come forward.
She swallowed dryly, fisting the hem of her hoodie in one and the gun in the other hand, encouraging herself to not be afraid. Maybe it was dead.
She took one step, yelping in pain the very next moment. She had completely forgotten about the thorn in her feet for those few minutes.
"What happened?" He stood there, and by the tone of his voice, she knew he hadn't heard her.
She shook her head, walking forward, trying to not let out a hiss, to not limp in her way.
He stopped at a good safe distance when they were close enough, she stayed behind him. Peeking across his wide back and muscled shoulders, she could see the figure of the bear lying lifelessly on the bed of fallen leaves and small rocks, a hole at the side of his head with blood staining its black velvet-like hair.
She pursed her lips, feeling guilty.
"Let's go back," He said, walking to the left where the car was parked.
She didn't say anything, trailing behind him silently, feeling the thorn dug deeper into her flesh with each step.
------
He parked the car just from where she had taken it in the evening.
She stayed silent the whole time, grieving her defeat.
What power did he hold? Why would he always get his way with her? No matter how much she resisted or fought against him and his devilish demands, he would always win in the end.
Now that she was back, would that mean that she had to agree with him? She knew now that he would always stick to his words, that he would not go against his promise once they had made the pact, but could she risk it? Was it worth it?
She was staring at her lap, playing with her fingers, too occupied in her thoughts to realize anything else.
The door opened, and a light breeze caressed her clothed skin tenderly.
She turned her face while still being lost in her mind. He was holding the door open for her, gazing down at her with no ounce of an expression on his face.
"Do I need to carry you inside, Squirrel?"
She snapped out of her trance–her trance of admiring him for his newfound gentlemanly attitude and hating him for it simultaneously. It was as if her brain submitted all the logical analysis to her heart as to why she should not like him, but does the heart ever understand the language of logical synopsis or facts? If it did, there wouldn't have been that many broken hearts out there.
She stepped out of the car, glancing at him with a hint of anger.
He raised his brows, giving her a 'what' look. She pursed her lips, rolled her eyes, and started to walk up the stairs.
It was fine. She could take that thorn out in her crib. She can handle it till then.
She had just entered inside, about to turn the corner for the room when a hand grabbed her wrist, whirling her around.
"Stop touching me without my consent for God's sa-"
Warren blinked down at her with wide eyes, letting go of her hand instantly.
"Oh, sorry...I was not....I didn't mean to.."
She felt herself shrinking in guilt. She snapped because she thought he was Tiger.
"You are bleeding...." He created some space as he took a step backward, his eyes lingered on the floor.
She followed his gaze, finding the blood trails decorating the floor in red stains.
"It's nothing-"
"What's happening?" Tiger came from behind them.
"She is hurt," Warren informed, his tone bitter, accusing.
Tiger stood in front of her, just beside Warren, considering the blood stains on the marbled floor.
"Come and sit on the couch, little one. I'll put a bandage-" Warren offered, but he never got to reach the end of that sentence.
"I'll do it," Tiger cut him off. His voice was half a growl, half a threat.
Warren looked at Tiger with knitted brows and narrowed eyes, Tiger glanced at him with even more deadly eyes.
Her eyes flickered between the both guys, sensing the building tension. The air around the room suddenly grew heavy and intense.
"Jerk." That was all Warren said before leaving the place.
She gazed at his retreating back till he disappeared behind a corner.
She brought her eyes back to him. His eyes were already on her.
Her heart skipped a beat before it managed to function again.
Why does he always stare at her like he is going to eat her with those foxy eyes of his?
------
She shuddered as his big fingers grazed over her skin. He was holding her ankle with one hand and dressing the wound with the other, moving the cotton softly to clean the dried blood around it. He had already taken out the thorn. She had asked him to let her do it by herself but when she tried, she kept wincing in pain.
She gazed down at him as he sat on the floor on one knee in front of her while she sat on the bed–his bed, watching him cleanse her injury with utmost patience and tenderness.
She would be lying if she said that she didn't feel tempted by him. Just the touch of his fingers was so enticing, so inducing that it made her feel so weak, so small in front of him.
He makes her feel things no man has ever been capable of. He makes her want to do things she never wanted to do with anyone else. He was that much capable of affecting her, of alluring her.
She shook her head, reminding herself that she could have been dead today, eaten by that wild big bear, wretched and ripped to pieces, all because of him. He was no damn gentleman to simp over.
He's only good with guns, not with people.
She felt the bitterness rolling back into her senses, clawing at her skin testily. The realization hit her again like a truck driving over her, crushing her beneath it.
She wasn't sad, she was embarrassed.
She wasn't feeling anxious because she would now have to turn in, but because she once again couldn't do it, couldn't escape, couldn't get her way.
She didn't want him to think that she needed him.
"Choosing yourself isn't an embarrassment," He uttered, making her still.
"Huh?"
"Just because you will have to agree with the deal and make a pact with me now doesn't mean you have let your guard down or embarrassed yourself. You did the right thing in your record. You chose to free yourself. Many people can't do that," He dabbed the cotton gently a last few times before applying the bandage.
She bit the insides of her cheek, caught in the struggle to scoff and smile. What was this man? How did he know what was going on in her mind? How does he always know what to reply with?
"You were silent the whole time. If you are wondering how I know," He glanced up at her for a split second.
She blinked, clutching the sheets in her hand tighter.
She was sure he knew mind reading. Did he have any superpowers? Or does he use magic to do that?
"Do you do black magic?" She blurted out before she could stop herself.
He was done with bandaging her when he spared her a glance, one which seemed a mixture of sarcasm and amazement. She realized that he might not speak much, but his eyes sometimes do. He put all the stuff back in the first aid box, not responding.
She almost regretted asking that but before the humiliation could get to her again, he put both hands on either side of her thighs.
She thought he was just trying to stand up. He did, but while leaning closer to her.
She tensed up, her mouth falling agape slightly as she tilted back just a little. His scent was intoxicating, like winds gushing over her from every side.
His face was close, too close. His eyes were intense, deep, and hard, piercing right through her hazel ones. When she felt too she couldn't continue to look in his eyes anymore, her gaze flickered down on his veiny neck, his sculpted collarbone, catching the glimpse of the tattoo that was peeking out from his black T-shirt, then meeting his whiskey brown orbs again.
"No, I do smooth magic," He whispered.
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