Warren turned around, his eyes deadly, hard, and devoid of emotions. The guys behind Tyler looked at each other, while the latter's lips widened in a coiling, proud smirk.
"Scared?" Tyler chuckled at Warren.
"Are you?" Warren smirked, his face tilting to a side as his locks fell over his forehead.
"Why would I be?" Tyler laughed.
"Then, shall we play something?" Warren's eyes were darkening, hardening, and turning evil every passing second. He stood at a distance, doing nothing yet, but his aura turned into something so heinous, so unholy that it was almost palpable to the skin of the two men of Tyler.
One of the guys kept his hand on Tyler's shoulder, secretly telling him to let the matter off the hook. But Tyler didn't seem to be taking the hint. He was drowning too deep in his pride and arrogance to see the malicious death approaching him slowly, but surely.
"Why not? Tell me," Tyler shoved off the hand on his shoulder, moving towards Warren with his chest studding out as if looking down on the long-haired guy. "What will be the game?"
"Let's have a fight. If you manage to bring me down, you get what you want." Warren uttered, his black eyes turning darker with each passing second, his speech a mixture of sedate venom and smothered indiscernible evil.
Warren knew what he was doing, where this was heading, and how deadly it would end. But he has waited for years for an opportunity like that to let it slip away from his hands.
"Sure. And what if I lose?"
Lost already.
"Then I get to get what I want," Warren replied coolly.
Tyler raised his brow.
"And what is it that you want?"
"Your life." The two words rolled out of his mouth like honey dripping down from his tongue. But all of them knew how much poison that honey contained. He made it sound so easy, that Tyler stared at him for a good while before he got his stance back.
"Okay. Where are we doing this then? Here?" Tyler asked.
"Wherever you wish your death to meet you." Warren smiled—a sweet, venomous smile, one that would melt anyone to death.
There were a few people from afar eyeing them. Warren could sense it, but he gave no fuck about it. He won't show a bit of mercy even if the whole world is watching him kill and take someone's life. He would do it just as brutally as he would do it shielded from human eyes.
"Fine. Let's go to the back road, no one will see, and," Tyler's lustful gaze over Warren's body disgustingly, "we can be alone."
"Sure." Warren shrugged.
"You both can go. We will be at the stalls," One of Tyler's friends said.
"Oh y-yes. I'm starving," The other one let out an awkward laugh.
"Fine, you cowards." Tyler snarled, waving them away.
-----
Hayat and Tiger walked side by side, making their way towards the exit. The wide space denoted for the cause fell short because of the huge crowd.
Although she kept her hands gathered to herself, people still managed to brush past her arms and shoulders. The touches made her cringe inwardly. She wasn't a fan of being touched by even her friends, let alone strangers. To add, guys at that.
A girl suddenly hushed out beside her, her shoulder bumping into Hayat's, making her lose balance as her foot tripped.
An arm encircled itself around her wrist, holding her up before she could fall and kiss the ground.
She tried to steady herself, her hand still in the grip of those strong fingers. The touch felt like it was burning her skin.
She caught a glimpse of the girl turning around and looked at her with an apologetic look. She seemed like she wanted to say sorry but was too much in a rush to stop even for a second.
"Are you alright?" Tiger asked, his gaze scanning down at her feet to look for any visible injuries.
No. I want to go home. She wanted to say those words, but she just nodded at him.
He pulled her closer to him by her wrist lightly. The suddenness of the act made her blink up at him with wide owly eyes.
"Walk closer to me," He said, turning around and leading her out with him, his hand still holding hers firmly but not painfully while she followed behind him silently.
When they reached the parking lot, he opened his car's door.
"Get in the car. I'll go and get Warren," He instructed, as she mouthed a small 'okay' and sat herself on the passenger seat.
He closed the door with a thud. She thought he was about to go but he tapped on the glass of the window. She frowned at him confusingly, rolling the window down.
"What?"
"Stay inside, and don't make any fuss. Understand?" With a small raise of brows, he concluded his order.
Duh. Did she look like a kid to him?
She gave him a tired, 'Are-you-serious?' look. He seemed unfazed as he turned around to leave. She just stared at his back, muttering incoherent words.
-----
The air was thick with tension, tinged with the distant hum of music blending with cricket chirps. A faint breeze rustled the leaves, the only witness to the brutal duel unfolding deep in the forest clearing.
Warren circled Tyler, his eyes locked on his opponent's every move. Tyler knew it was either today or never. He also knew that if he failed, his friends wouldn't find him alive. But his ego didn't let him step back. His pride was too big in front of the guy he had once knocked down and abused, the possibility that the latter would remember what he did to him back then would be a help, although he knew what kind of name Warren was.
Warren was no more a petite, angry young boy who was thrown into the ocean of sharks. He was a calm, ruthless, and sharp sniper.
Tyler's knife glinted menacingly under the weak moonlight, moving with practiced precision. He struck with deadly intent—swift, calculated jabs aimed to end the fight fast.
Warren dodged with fluid grace, each movement precise, conserving his energy. He knew Tyler's fighting style: relentless and lethal. But Warren's mind worked like a hunter's trap—patient and sharp.
Tyler lunged again, his blade slicing the air dangerously close. Warren narrowly twisted out of the way, his boots skidding against the dirt. Tyler snarled in frustration, his breath ragged. He hated missing. He hated losing.
"You slowing down already?" Warren taunted, his voice calm, mocking.
Tyler's jaw clenched. "Shut up."
Another brutal slash came, this time wild, lacking the deadly elegance of Tyler's earlier strikes. Warren smirked internally. The frustration was seeping in, clouding Tyler's judgment.
Just a little more.
Tyler charged with reckless fury, his blade aimed at Warren's chest. But Warren anticipated it, sidestepping and locking Tyler's wrist in a brutal twist. With a harsh grunt, Warren slammed Tyler down onto a half-cut log, knocking the knife from his hand with a harsh metallic clatter.
Breathing heavily, Tyler glared up, pinned and defeated, his chest heaving with anger and exhaustion. Warren loomed over him, his face unreadable, his grip firm but controlled.
The distant music played on, indifferent to the raw violence that had just unfolded in the shadows.
"Ugh. Move, Warren." Tyler struggled to get away from Warren's deadly grip, pushing his body up. Warren pushed him down again with twice the force, his one hand pressing down on Tyler's chest, almost close to his neck.
"You're not in the place to order me around, Tyler," Warren said, his hair falling on his face creating shadows in the dim glow of the moon.
Warren's hand presses deeper into his chest, his other hand resting on Tyler's shoulder. There wasn't any space for the latter to even move a muscle. Warren had grown stronger than he was ever before. It was nearly impossible to knock him down in any way now.
"Do you not remember what I did to you back then? Don't forget I can do it now too," Tyler threatened, chuckling in half defeat while desperately trying to move away. His back had started aching due to the uncomfortable position, the edge of the log digging into his skin every time a breath left his lungs.
He couldn't even breathe properly anymore.
"Uh? Go ahead. Let's see who fucks who this time." Warren tilted his face, his one brow lifting mockingly.
"Let me go... agh.." Tyler exclaimed as he felt the sharpness of the crooked wood scratched his back.
"You had the time to back off before. You lost it yourself."
"What do you want?!" Tyler yelled in frustration, although he very much knew the answer.
"You know what I want, Tyler," Warren smirked again, the evil that radiated off his body, the hidden promise that rolled off his tongue, lingering in the soft ruffles of cold air around truly frightened the life out of Tyler's senses—a life he wasn't sure belonged to him anymore.
"Now, tell me. How do I take your life?" Warren held his knife in front of Tyler's face, giving him the courtesy to visually experience the sharpness of the metal before he could feel it physically splitting his skin open.
"A cut on your neck or a stab at your chest?" Warren's lips upturned in a devious, malign smirk. His eyes were dark and menacing, the flame of ferocious vengeance shining so bright even under the utter darkness.
"Warren, l-leave me. I'll do as you say. Please..just.." Tyler breathed out, his eyes wide and restless, flickering between the metal's sharpness and Warren's face—a face so pretty, so deadly, a beautiful blend of unnatural beauty and implacable menace.
"You'll do as I say?" Warren asked, his smirk faltering, his eyes dark, but his deep voice turning innocent, fakely decent as if he was ready to give in to the dip.
As if.
"Ye... yes."
"Then beg me to spare you," Warren muttered lowly, his tone falling a pitch lower, a little huskier, and much darker.
Tyler knitted his brows, his lips trembling in fear, as his legs shook violently against the rocky path. His gritted teeth indicated he was dying to be spared, to be forgiven.
But Warren was not the forgiving Warren anymore, not at that moment, not for that specific stance. His demons were lethal, unforgiving, and unsparing to any soul that had ever wronged him. And today, his demons were controlling him more than his mind, running in his nerves like blood.
"P-Plea-ase...." Tyler pleaded through all his being, his moist eyes, trembling limbs, quivering lips, and fading soul.
"Please what?" Warren raised his brows, his hand pressing torturously on Tyler's chest. Tyler felt out of breath, Warren's hold was so powerful that he almost felt his ribs sinking in his lungs. It was painful to even take a small intake of air for him, there was no passage for the air to move down or exhale out of his body.
"P-Pleas-se....let m-me go..."
Warren chuckled, the smile playing on his lips just as the death played on Tyler's head—evil, and dark.
"Aww, look at you being so weak and vulnerable under me. All your bravery went out of the window, hm?" Warren spoke with utter sarcasm, his words mocking, and derogatory.
Tyler bit his lips. He couldn't take it anymore. His body was shaking. His attempts to move were in vain, as Warren's arm held him down like he was not a human but a pile of feather papers. He was sure his back was bleeding from the scratch of the wood, his body shaking and trembling as sweat formed all over it. The chilly night air felt like the sharp blows of a storm, and he was sure his soul would be gone with one of those heavy-flowing winds.
"I a-am sorry.." Tyler muttered, knowing it wouldn't work but hoping it would.
Warren stared at him for a couple of seconds. His eyes fixated on the defeated guy with something so vague and unperceivable. Then an emotion—dark and sinister—passed across his eyes. His smirk faltered a little, his expression turning more deadly and amoral, the wickedness on his gorgeous face was the epitome of an elegant nightmare, exquisitely dangerous.
He bent down to Tyler's face, bringing his face close to him as Tyler's eyes widened twice their size, his short breath getting stuck in his throat as he heard Warren whisper in his ear huskily.
"Fuck your sorry."
Tyler closed his eyes as regrettable tears formed at the corner of them. He knew there was no going back. He knew his life didn't belong to him anymore. He knew he was going to pay for what he was so proud of doing. He had underestimated the guy he had once abused and left to die. He underestimated the karma. He underestimated the God.
For the moment, he wished he could turn back the time and take his words back, take that challenge back. He was aware that he would not be killed just like that, that he wouldn't have an easy death.
Warren pulled back from him, moving his dagger right in the middle of Tyler's neck.
"N-No...please..no.." Tyler shook his head, trying to move desperately.
"Shh...don't move," Warren pushed him down further on the log, keeping the sharp edge of the shining blade just above Tyler's lips. Tyler pursed his lips instantly.
Warren dragged his knife slowly, torturously, through Tyler's jawline to his chin, down to his neck, its sharp point poking Tyler's skin but not creating as much of a slight cut but a light scratch. Tyler could feel how much that dagger would damage him when just a small pressure was grazing his skin.
"War-Warren, p-please..." Tyler pleaded, his tears gliding down his temple from the corner of his eyes. He was terrified. He was terrified of the guy holding a dagger on his neck, terrified of the way he would be killed. He was no glib, he knew how the assassins with mastery of sharpness kill.
"Please, die," Warren smirked, his knife pressing just at the middle of Tyler's neck.
"If I cut you here, you'll die instantly," He said, the husk in his voice rolled out of his tongue like honey, lingering in the air with a promise of impending destruction.
"And I usually like to go for the same, but," Warren moved his knife further down on his neck.
Tyler swallowed, knowing where this was going. And much to his dismay, he knew just how much pain would be inflicted on him in the next few seconds, and he wouldn't be able to do anything in his defense.
Warren's knife now rested just above Tyler's collarbone, angled at the right side, just where his neck joined his chest part.
"If I cut you here," His eyebrows raised in fake innocence, his face reflecting the same. Yet, there was a hint of viciousness—dark and psychotic, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction and evil intent as he continued, "You will die a slow, excruciatingly painful death. The ait wouldn't reach your lungs, your insides would burn in pain, and you'll be trembling and dying for death."
Tyler blinked, he stopped trying to move and save himself, not that he could, or he had a chance. He was trapped, terribly. And he himself was the reason for the dreading end which was closing on him with each passing second. He just accepted that he can't run away now.
"And guess what? I'll give you just that. Might enjoy watching you too," Warren smiled.
Smiled.
Tyler shut his eyes, feeling the blade dig into his skin. The small sting became unbearable pain when the sharpness seeped inside, tearing the skin apart. Tyler screamed in agony as his blood flowed like a fountain, his nerve was damaged to the core.
"Let's go for a second round, shall we?" Warren moved the dagger to the left side, angling it the same way he did previously with the right side.
"Stop please!" Tyler's scream came out muffled and hoarse, a plea to be spared. His clothes were soaking red in blood, his body trembling hysterically as he ran out of breath.
Warren only gave him a raise of brows, one that disregarded his cries while his smile never faded from his face—that pretty, sinister smile of his that could melt anyone, either in love or in death.
Not even a whole quarter of a second passed before that blade split Tyler's neck one more time.
Another scream.
Another cry of pain.
Yet, there was no sign of any mercy on his face that would insinuate any kind of human conscience or remorse. All that his face held was a smile—a satisfactory smile, one that you get when you know you have done your work outstandingly, and perfectly.
Tyler kept on grunting and crying in agony, blood rushing out of his lower neck like a river of red, painting his clothes and body in the same shade. Warren grabbed him by his collar and tossed him on the ground like an empty can. Tyler doubled over on the muddy road, laying back flat on the irregular surface formed by rocks and stones, cupping his neck and breathing heavily.
"No one's coming, baby. Scream as much as you can," Warren slid his bloody dagger back in its cover, hiding it at his back just like he always did.
Turning around to leave, he halted in his steps, finding a familiar figure watching him with indescribable eyes.
"How did you find me?" Warren asked.
"I'll always find you," the reply came.
"Yeah, the great Mafia Assassin of The DarKane," Warren rolled his eyes, walking towards him while shoving his hands in his pockets coolly.
"Are you just going to leave him there?" Tiger asked when Warren passed by his shoulder.
Warren paused, looking over from his shoulder.
"Let the insects have their meal."
------
Hayat waited for a while, but it felt like an eternity. He was not coming, not alone, not with Warren.
"God knows where he went," She muttered to herself, looking out of the window towards the people outside taking out their lavish, expensive-looking cars. She didn't have much interest in cars but the sight of such luxurious possessions was captivating to her eyes.
But how long would she have kept her eyes on something she wasn't naturally fascinated by? She got bored after a while.
And, yes, he still wasn't in sight. Those two guys were nowhere to be seen even in the farthest view.
She sighed, remembering his words to not go out but...
Who was he to order her around?
And who was she to him to obey his commands?
She opened the door and stepped out of the car. The cold air engulfed her instantly. She hugged her arms around herself, rubbing her palms up and down on them a few times to lessen the chills on her skin.
"Ah...my head's paining-"
"For god's sake, bro. Walk properly," There was a group of five boys walking in her direction, not specifically to her but to their car which was parked in the same lane.
She watched the two guys helping a drunk guy who was tripping every second and couldn't walk properly. Other two boys trailed loosely behind them.
The drunk guy's gaze fell on her, her eyes met his hooded ones. She looked away in the opposite direction. She didn't like the look on his face.
"Hey, beautiful. You're alone here?" The drunk guy asked in his slurred voice when they were in front of her.
She looked at him with a frown, suppressing the urge to scrunch her nose at the disgusting smell of alcohol and cigars that reeked off him.
"Come on, man. Let's go," One of the boys who had his arms around his shoulders for support urged him anxiously.
The drunk guy removed his hands from his friend's shoulders and took a tripping step toward her, almost doubling over and falling to the ground.
He was too drunk.
His sight was painfully disgusting to watch.
"Come with me. I'll take you on a good date," The guy said with a smirk, his eyes hazy and dropping down, his cheeks flushing red, his speech slur and his body struggling to stay in one place.
She said nothing, looking over at his friends to indicate to them silently to take him away from her and keep it moving.
"Zack, come on," One of the guys who was walking behind them grabbed him by the hood of his jacket.
"And we can have some fun later..." The guy named Zack, drunk and wasted shoved his friend's hand away from him. His eyes moved down on her body disgustingly.
Cold chills crept down her skin, her fingers curling into small fists.
What the hell was he doing?
"I already had a lot of fun. You can keep your offer to yourself," She replied in a stern, curt voice.
"Let's go, Z. She's not interested in you," The same guy who grabbed him by the hood chuckled, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from her as the other guys laughed too.
"Whatever. Whores like you turn over in the back seat of my car-" One of his friends kept a hand on his mouth, shitting him up. But it was too late. Those words were already out, stinging somewhere in her heart.
How dare he?
"I'm sorry. He is just drunk," The guy who stopped him apologized as they all pulled him away.
Her feet were itching to move, grab him by his collar, turn him around, and slap him hard across his not-so-handsome face.
"....don't make any fuss. Understand?" She remembered his words.
She just stood there, swallowing the lump in her throat, watching his friends drag him towards their car.
"Whores like you turn over in the backseat of my car-"
She pursed her lips, the disrespect poking deep in her heart. She had been called that before when she was the one being abused and forced. How did she become a whore?
Who were these men to label her with such a degrading remark?
What right did they have to call her that when they themselves whored around all the time?
No one.
No one had the right to disrespect her or raise a finger against her character.
No. Fucking. One.
She marched up to the group of guys, stopping just behind them.
"Apologize," She demanded in a loud voice, clear and firm.
The guys turned around. The drunk one leaned his back against the car, watching her with the same smirk. Though now, it contained a hint of mockery and disregard.
"What?" He pretended to not hear her.
"I said, apologize. Right now," She folded her hands in front of her, giving no ounce of fear on her face although her skin was burning.
"Apologize for what?" Zack, or whosoever was he, laughed as if it was a joke to him.
His friends seemed so done with him.
"For what you said,"
"And what did I say?" The smirk on his face was so detestable. She clenched her jaw, it was clear he was trying to get her to lose control.
But if he wanted to get knocked back into reality that badly, she could do it without much effort too.
Actions are always louder than words.
She unfolded her hands, the corner of her lips turning upward in a small smirk as she took steps closer to him.
He watched her, still drunk and hazed, drowning in the pool of intoxication.
She straightened her arm, looking at him straight in the eyes, not giving him any sign of what was coming next.
The very next second, his face flew sidewards as his cheeks instantly turned red with the imprint of four straight, long fingers.
His friends gasped, shocked at what had happened in a flicker of seconds.
"A whore. That's what you called me," She said, enjoying the marks of her fingers on his cheeks.
He cupped his cheek, his eyes wide and in shock, bewildered.
When he met her gaze, it seemed as if that slap swept off all his dizziness.
He scoffed sarcastically. His friends just stood there watching everything unfold.
"Look, you bitch. Get away from me before I-"
"Before you what?"
That familiar voice, that voice of evil, spoke from behind.
She turned behind, finding him walking towards her alongside Warren.
"Take your woman back," The guy said, rolling his eyes.
Tiger's gaze involuntarily met hers. She remembered he told her to stay in the car and not create any drama. His face was neutral, with no hint of any expression.
Yet, his eyes themselves were commanding. She felt herself sinking into the invisible ocean under the weight of those foxy eyes.
His lips stayed silent, unmoving. But his eyes told her to come to him, to leave the group of all those imbeciles and go to him.
And she did.
She knew the guy was too high in his ego to apologize to her. She slapped him across his face, with all her strength and courage, leaving the marks of her fingers on his skin yet a part of her wasn't satisfied.
"What actually happened?" Warren asked worriedly, walking beside her.
She did not say anything. Her brows knitted into a tight frown, her face straight and stern, her eyes flaming and burning, her features hardened in anger and disquiet.
When they stopped at the car, she wondered with whom she was supposed to go with now.
"I have parked my bike a bit far-" Warren started but got interrupted by that same low, deep voice of evil.
"She's going with me," Tiger stated.
"What?"
She looked between both the guys. Warren looking at Tiger while Tiger had his gaze fixated on her.
When her eyes intently met his foxy ones for longer than a second, she felt a tinge at her heart—a twitch, a pull that tugged at her heartstrings.
What was it?
How.. And why does he make her feel like that?
"Huh?" She asked in a haze, a tad confused about what he was trying to do now but lost in his eyes and how they made her feel something in her chest.
"You came with him. So, you'll go with me now." He answered, his eyes not leaving her.
Warren glanced at her with a slight frown before looking back at Tiger again.
"Wait. And who made this rule?"
"I did. Any issues?" He finally tore off his gaze from her and spared a glance at Warren. His eyes were deadly and hard as if he would kill the latter if he said yes to his question.
"No....." Warren chuckled awkwardly before his mischievous eyes met hers.
The smile on his face was teasing as he raised his brows at her slightly. She knew what he was doing. He was teasing her about Tiger.
Truth to be said, Tiger's resilience for her to accompany him and not Warren had caught her off guard too. Why wouldn't it? The only thing she had ever seen him get possessive about was his car. She wouldn't say that he was being possessive over her, but he sounded more than just that, almost territorial.
"Fine, then. I'll get going," Warren tapped on Tiger's shoulder lightly before leaving the place. It was probably only him who could be that physical with Tiger.
"Where the hell you drop the damn keys?"
She looked over at the faint noise.
The same guy and his friend. The other three probably went already as few cars passed in the meantime. The guy probably couldn't find the keys to the car. He looked stressed, opposite of that drunk jerk who was still looking at her. She didn't know what was in his eyes—anger or lust, or both. They were quite a bit far, she couldn't make out his facial expressions although the lights were doing their part nicely. Yet, his eyes on her made her uncomfortable.
"Get in," She flinched at the sudden invasion of voice between her thoughts. When she turned her head to Tiger, he was holding out the door for her.
She sighed, her eyes itching to look back but she didn't. Instead, she stepped ahead and settled in the passenger seat.
He shut the door, and leaned in at the window, his arms resting on the edge of the glass.
She fought the urge to back away. His face wasn't that close, but couldn't handle even that much of proximity.
"Now tell me. What did those bastards do to you?" He asked in his manly, deep voice of evil and sins. His whiskey, fox-like eyes searched her face with a look so sleek and indescribable.
Did he really ask her that? She didn't expect him to take interest in the 'fuss' she created when he asked her not to.
"He said..." The words felt heavy on her tongue, her inner self holding them in. The term was so derogatory and awful that she wouldn't ever use it for her enemy.
Tiger raised his brows, urging her to go on. It was just a slight movement of one of his facial features, but it was comforting and encouraging in so many ways. As if his eyes knew how to talk, and he didn't know that his eyes could show emotions his face couldn't, and convey words that his tongue wouldn't.
"He called me a whore and...he said that..." She swallowed, wetting her lips as the words stopped on the edge of her tongue.
His face stayed the same—expressionless. But she noticed how his eyes darkened, hardened, and glistened with an indiscernible flame of wrath.
"He said that whores like me turn over in the backseat of his ca-"
"That's it," He leaned away, circling his car and getting in the driver's seat.
What......? She watched him confusingly. What was he doing? He wouldn't just drive past the place after asking her what had gone down, would he? Was that something unimportant for him? Did he not find it abusive or insulting for a woman? Perhaps. He might have heard things way worse than that for a woman. Of course, he doesn't find it that much of a big thing.
He started the engine, taking the car out of the parking line.
Why did she even tell him that? She felt like a fool now.
He stopped the car just after the line of the parked section, in the middle of the space where cars go from. When she looked out of the window, she could see them both still there, trying to figure out how to get home while the sober one was accusing the one she slapped earlier of their situation.
"Was it the one whom you slapped?"
She turned her face to him. Did he see her slapping that guy? What will he do after knowing that?
She found him waiting for her response. She nodded, confirming his question.
He opened the door of his side, about to exit.
"What are you doing?" She asked hastily, her voice laced with worry.
"Watch." He said and shut the door with a thud.
She watched him as orbited around the back of his car, taking something out and sliding it into his back pocket. She had her neck craned back, in a state of confusion and concern, she couldn't quite figure out what was he doing. Then, he circled through the front of the car, walking straight toward those guys.
What was he doing?
They noticed him coming to them and instantly became cautious, looking at each other.
Of course. What mighty power would those 5'7" guys would have against that 6'2" him?
"You should check at the administrative office. They keep the keys if guards for anyone find any," He suggested the sober one, but his eyes were on the second guy.
The other guy looked at him suspiciously, contemplating. After a moment, he nodded and told his friend to wait for him while he went to check for the keys at the office.
Now, only Tiger and that guy remained in the whole parking area. The cars surrounding them, the air chilly, and the night heavy with darkness.
"What is your name?" Tiger asked the guy who seemed to be a little sober now. That slap probably worked really well.
"Zack. Why are you asking?" The guy slurred, uninterestingly.
"Just so I know whose jaw I'm breaking in the next second," Tiger answered. The guy straightened his spine in short-formed fear.
"Wha-"
He didn't even get to register before a harsh blow met his jaw, sending him straight to the ground.
She gasped, her fingers clutching the edge of the window glass.
What did he just do?
She watched them quietly in the distance, her heart beating against her ribcage rapidly.
The guy groaned in pain, holding his now dislocated jaw with the corner of his lips bleeding. He had his mouth open, trying to fix the dysfunction of his bones that had now shifted to a side uncomfortably.
Tiger grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up.
"What did you call her?" He asked in his deadly, deep voice—a profound accumulation of all the evil in the world.
The guy was still recovering from the punch. His eyes were restless yet drooping, the alcohol still running somewhere in his body, making him dizzy.
"I don't re-remember..." His mouth was hanging open as he responded.
"You don't? Let me remind you," Another punch to his abdomen, and he could take no more.
He slid down against his car, coughing blood from his mouth hysterically.
She blinked, her throat dry as a desert, her eyes wide twice their size, and her lips formed in an O shape. Although the sight was tremendously edgy, a part of her enjoyed it. A part of her was happy that her ma—Tiger—was avenging her. A part of her was fleeting in the air to have a man by her side who would stick to his words no matter what.
She couldn't hear what they were saying but had a faint idea.
Zack was on his knees, and his hands rested on the ground for support, he was still not able to process anything clearly.
"You called her a whore," Tiger kept his foot on one of his hands, forcing pressure on his fingers as Zack let out a scream of plea—a plea to be spared.
She gulped a lump in her throat, looking around and back to check for anyone witnessing them. Wouldn't he be in danger if someone catches him fracturing someone's fingers for a lifetime? Did he even care?
It was late at night, and the event was on the verge of being closed down. Fortunately, there were fewer cars than before. But she noticed that no one was coming in to take their cars out anymore.
What was happening?
Tiger squatted down, his foot still pressed onto Zack's hand, crushing his fingers severely.
"You know what is a whore?" He adjusted him to sit on the ground by his collar, making him look in his predatory, foxy eyes. Zack yelped, a stain of blood trailing down from his mouth to his chin, further down to his neck. He swallowed when his gaze met the burning, flaming one.
Those eyes weren't just eyes, they were the trap of a hunter, the threat of destruction, the promise of death—relentless, merciless, and filled with venomous wrath and evil.
"The ones who turn over in the backseat of your damn fucking car," He removed his foot from over Zack's hand. The guy instantly clutched his hand with the other one, crying in agony.
"She didn't do that, did she? What that makes her?" His question was demanding, his voice as hard as steel, deep and unyielding.
Zack didn't answer, but the way his body was trembling in fear as the realization dawned upon him gave away.
"A woman. That's what she is, got it?" His gun was already on the guy's forehead. The latter's eyes widened at the sight of the dangerous weapon. He shook his head as if pleading to be forgiven, not being able to form words as a fresh layer of tears glistened in his eyes.
"I-I am s-sorry," He managed to stutter out, putting his fractured hand on another one, holding them together in front of his chest.
"Apologies mean nothing to me," Tiger said, his finger finding its way to the trigger.
"N-No...p-please. I promised my m-mom. I promised to re-return back home safely," Zack pleaded, his tears soaking his flushed cheeks.
Tiger paused. An emotion flashed through his eyes, faint and unrecognizable. It disappeared just as quickly as it came.
The environment stilled suddenly as if the air stopped moving, an unnatural stillness that prickled against the night.
Tiger put his gun down, his face neutral of any emotions. Zack sighed in relief, thinking he was forgiven.
"You didn't promise the safety of your car though, right?" tiger asked him, a ghost of a small smirk playing over his lips. Zack looked at him with a mixture of fright and confusion.
Tiger stood up, reaching into his jacket and taking out something that looked like a tiny key fob. He dropped it to the ground, taking a few steps back.
The confusion on Zack's face intensified when he sensed a smell—a familiar smell of fuel. He took a sharp breath in, leaning down to see his car's fuel tank leaking from beneath. A small round-shaped structure resting just at that spot, getting soaked in the propellant liquid.
When did he slide that under the car?
He turned his gaze at Tiger almost instantly, finding him holding a remote in the air, his thumb hovering over the red button. He scooted away from the car promptly, instinctively.
Tiger pressed his thumb on the button. And it didn't even take more than a couple of seconds before a blast echoed through the wide area, the car blowing up as the fire spread from underneath to the top slowly, engulfing each part of it in its deadly flames.
Zack watched his car burn down to ashes, the fire damaging it for the worse.
Tiger turned around, walking back to his car, to the woman inside it—the woman whom he promised her protection and safety.
When he met her gaze, he knew from her expression she had watched everything he had done. Perhaps, she was terrified too. But he didn't care. He only cared for his words, his promise to her, and her—her safety—and nothing else.
The car behind him burned, a few of his critical parts exploding into the air as they met with fire. It was good that the car didn't have any other cars parked beside it so the fire didn't damage anyone else's property.
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