Somewhere Between Love and Revenge

A Not So Pleasant Fight

Anton had hoped this party would bring them closer, but he decided to try the silent treatment to see if it might work on her. He didn’t pester her, and if he was being fair, she had already done a lot by agreeing to be his date on short notice.

Well, it wasn’t exactly short notice. He had been informed weeks ago but was only reminded by Jones last night.

Honestly, he had completely forgotten about it and probably wouldn’t have remembered at all since he hadn’t taken it seriously.

eck

Since he hadn’t planned for the party, he didn’t have time to think of a present and simply gifted Jones a check for ten million dollars.

He found the party boring and wondered if he was the only one who felt that way; he didn’t know Mia hated it even more than he did.

He entertained anyone who approached them and hid his frown whenever someone showed interest in Mia—surprisingly, she even gave out small smiles.

As people began dancing, he decided to try his luck.

"Nat, can I have a dance?" He gave her a simple, genuine smile.

"No, thank you."

He didn’t press on. In fact, he was beginning to get tired of her attitude, but on the bright side, at least she had turned him down politely. That was an improvement.

Later on, she gently whispered to him that she needed to use the restroom. Her voice was so soft and innocent that he wished her attitude matched it.

"Okay, but please come back quickly." He couldn’t hide his smile—maybe she was beginning to warm up to him.

He wanted her to be around him, though he couldn’t quite place the eerie feeling tugging at his heart.

Minutes later, he got a text message from Jones.

Jones: Come outside. We need to talk about something important.

Anton: If you want to talk, I’m at my table.

Jones: It’s noisy inside. That’s why I suggested talking outside. It won’t take more than five minutes. Strictly brief.

Anton didn’t have anything to lose—or so he thought—so he looked around, got up, and headed for the door, hoping to return before Mia returned.

As soon as he stepped outside, he spotted Jones standing alone, the cold breeze blowing his brown hair lightly as he puffed a cigarette.

"Mr. Hugh, I’m glad you honored this abrupt invitation. Sorry to be—"

"Just skip to the point," Anton snapped, not in the mood for small talk.

"Okay, your wish."

Before Anton could process the shift in attitude, something cold and hard struck the back of his head. Instinct kicked in, and he tried to dial a number on his phone, but before he could even pull it out of his pocket, he blacked out.

"Take him out quickly," Jones ordered.

"Yes, boss."

One of the men flipped Anton over his broad shoulder and carried him to the backseat of a brown truck. Jones gave him a nod, and the vehicle sped off while he headed back inside.

*** *** ***

The wind blew Mia’s hair violently as she sped down the road.

She glanced at her phone, watching the red dot move—Luther had connected to her device so she could track Anton’s location.

She was getting closer.

Suddenly, the dot stopped moving. Mia slowed down, scanning her surroundings. Once she was sure she was close to where the red dot indicated, she stopped the bike and stepped down.

Walking a short distance, she began to hear voices.

The road was eerily deserted, with tall trees on both sides. It was barely wide enough for two cars to pass at the same time unless one drove along the bushy path.

It looked like the woods but smaller. A perfect place for homicide, she thought grimly.

She spotted four men talking—some exhaling cigarette smoke, others just breathing out visible puffs in the cold air.

She hadn’t felt the cold until now, and her dress wasn’t helping.

Hiding behind a tree, she listened.

"I think we better call the boss to ask if he has any last words for him."

"He already gave the order to have him killed. He never said anything about last words."

"But you know how the boss is. He might—"

A ringtone interrupted.

It was Spike’s phone—Jones’ best goon.

"Hello, boss," Spike greeted in his husky voice.

"All done?"

"Will be in a minute."

"Good."

The line went dead.

"He doesn’t need any last words, Tony," Spike said, eyeing him.

He took out his shotgun, spinning it in his palm.

"Bring him out."

Boas opened the backseat door and dragged Anton out by his legs.

Anton groaned weakly, his hand reaching for his aching head as he began to regain consciousness.

Spike pointed the gun at Anton’s head, about to pull the trigger when—

Smack!

A lipstick tube hit him directly in the eye.

"Gahh! What the hell was that?!" he yelled, squeezing his eyes.

Anton’s vision became clearer, and he quickly assessed the situation. He knew running was pointless—they’d shoot him before he even made a move. Maybe they could be bribed? He was about to begin bargaining when—

"Drop your weapons, or I’ll blow his head off."

All heads turned toward Mia.

Anton included.

Everything had happened so fast, it was almost unreal.

Mia cursed internally. She hadn’t brought a weapon today in all days. She rummaged through her bag—only to find the lipstick she had used to distract them.

Thank God that lady at the beauty salon insisted she carry this.

Aiming carefully, she had thrown it at Spike’s right eye before using the moment of distraction to sneak up and disarm one of the goons.

She covered his mouth with her left hand, yanking his gun away with her right.

Now, everyone stood frozen.

How?

"Drop your weapons. Now."

The others hesitated, looking at Spike for orders, but he seemed unfazed.

"Boss, please. Don’t let her kill me," the man Mia held pleaded, her elbow curved tightly around his neck.

"Hey, what do you want?" Spike asked, his gun still pointed at her.

Mia signaled Anton with her eyes to come closer. She couldn’t risk him being used as bait. But he was still very weak.

"I said, lower your weapons." Her voice was firm.

Spike sighed and exchanged glances with Tony. He had a family to think about.

With a nod, the three men lowered their weapons.

Mia began stepping backwards, dragging her hostage along, Anton following closely.

Then—

Anton stumbled on a stone and fell backward. Hard.

In the second Mia glanced at him, Spike seized the moment.

By the time she turned back, he was no longer where he stood.

He was beside Anton.

A gun pressed against his temple.

"Get up, champ," Spike ordered. "There’s no saving you today."

Mia clenched her jaw. He was fast.

Great. Now I’m tangled in this whole thing. Officially.

"Hey, Missy," Spike clucked. "Drop that gun, or I’ll blow his head off."

"L-look, we can work something out, okay?" Anton stammered. "J-just name your price. Whatever he paid you, I’ll triple it. I-I promise."

"Generous offer. But no, thanks."

"Drop the gun," he repeated, and this time she obeyed.

"You know you are too pretty to be tough, why don't I take you for a drink after this? But if you are so adamant about saving him, you might join him on his 'journey' as well. So what do you say sweetheart?"

Mia and Anton were held by their hands backwards. While the other guy had his gun pointed at them.

They were four goons in total—two were slim or maybe sleek while Spike and Boas were broad-chested.

Mia’s mind worked quickly, assessing their surroundings.

First of all they weren't tied—Thank God. They were just held or better said their hands was twisted behind their backs.

"First of all don't call me sweetheart. Secondly, there isn't going to be any drink with you, not today, not never. And third of all,I'm not scared of you, drum face"

Anton wanted to tell Mia to shut up, but she was not going to listen to him anyway and she probably might know what she was doing. It didn't look to him like it was her first time having such an encounter.

Spike was dead furious at this point.

He pointed his gun at her, Mia quickly kicked it with her leg, it landed in the bushes.

She flipped backwards freeing herself and immediately punching Anton's captor.

She pushed Anton in between two trees, then faced them.

Spike collected Boas' gun leaving him with a pen knife as his weapon.

He was furious!

Before he could even point the gun, she did a flip, punched him on the face, the gun spralling away and his face now on the floor.

Boas attacked her next and she kicked him in the groin.

Ouch!

He crumbled to the floor hand between his legs.

Anton watched from behind the tree, it was actually not a fun sight. Dramatic, but not fun.

He wanted to help out but had seen the look on her face when she pushed him, it told him to stay put. Besides, his head still ached and he knew he wouldn't be of much help even if he was to step out— so he did what her eyes said. Stay put.

Mia looked behind her at the two goons and immediately she saw a knife flying towards her.

Without thinking, she caught it mid air with her left hand.

That was a rough move!

She felt something flow from her hand, it was warm and sticky.

Blood.

She frowned and almost hissed at the pain she felt but ignored it—she wasn't done yet.

She turned back and planted the knife in Spike's chest, who was about standing up. He growled in pain.

She looked around for a weapon to use for defense but none was close by. Then she remembered something—her hairpins.

She pulled out the two silver hairpins from her hair and smirked.

With one jump a hairpin was stuck in Tony's chest. Deep.

She was angry, but she didn't know why.

The last goon was the real victim. Mia poured out her anger on him.

She scratched and stabbed him with the hairpin at different parts of his body.

Anton wanted to pull her back but he wasn't sure that was a good idea.

Mia let the hairpin fall from her bloody hand and started punching him. Fiercely.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, without looking, she held it and flipped him over. It was Boas.

She turned him over, sat on his stomach and began raining punches on him.

It looked like she was a programmed robot.

Anton couldn't take it anymore, he came out and tried pulling her but she felt as though she was magneted to Boas. She wanted to punch Anton as well, until she heard his soft pleading.

"Nat please let's leave here" he said in her ear and pulled her up—she let him pull her up.

She was a mess right now—her disheveled hair, bloody hands, torn sleeves and no shoes on her feet.

She was angry, and she knew it—he knew it as well. He knew she wasn't angry because they had tried to kill him. It was something else and he could see it in her eyes, under the bright moonlight.

Mia disentangled herself from his hold and staggard forward—like she was drunk.

Actually she was drunk, but with anger.

Anton stopped and watched her walk futher away, he looked back and saw four men groaning in pain; Spike trying to remove the knife from his chest.

He figured he should call the driver to come pick them up.

He touched his trouser's pocket but his phone wasn't in it.

He looked at the brown ugly truck distance away, it was worth a shot and besides he was feeling better now.

He walked over to the truck the four men still groaning. He looked into the truck and saw his phone on the other side. As he opened the door and made a stretch to grab his phone Spike pulled his left leg making him fall on the floor. Hard.

He landed with a groan.

Mia who was dwelling in a world of her own seemed to come back when she heard Anton's groan.

Shoot!

Why did he go back there? She thought angrily as she began running towards him—she had covered a long distance already.

Spike had succeeded in pulling the knife out of his chest and tried plunging it into Anton's. Anton rolled over then used his right foot to hit him in the face. He stood up quickly and collected the knife from Spike before successfully landing a heavy punch on his face.

That felt good!

He had wanted to do that before and now that the opportunity presented itself, why not?

He landed a couple of punches on his face before quickly picking his phone. He made sure to land another punch before jogging away.

Mia stood watching the show.

'He was a good fighter though.' She thought.

"I went to get my phone" He informed once he reached her.

"Hmm"

He called the driver and told him their location—with Mia's help —and now they were left walking side by side. Awkwardly.

"Thank you"

"Huh?"

"I said thank you for saving me. But how did you know about all this?"

"I just..." She raised her hand a little and Anton caught a glimpse of the 'blackish' substance on her palm under the moonlight.

"Nat you're hurt" he said grabbing her hand.

"I'm fine, its just a small cut"

"Small?" He shot her a death glare.

He let his fingers trial on the blood and found that it was still flowing, still warm.

"You're bleeding"

He stopped, pulled off his tie and used it to wrap her bleeding hand. Affectionately.

Mia watched him care for her injury with utmost care and affection, a rush of emotions went through her which made her uncomfortable.

Immediately he was done, she pulled her hand back.

"Thank you" she managed to say

Anton was surprised, but then smiled

"You don't have to thank me, it was my fault you got injured in the first place"

Mia didn't reply—it was true anyways.

Again there was awkward silence, and the cold night breeze blew over it. Anton felt the cold despite his jacket and he wondered how Mia was feeling since her dress was light and messed up.

As expected from a gentleman, he took off his jacket and gave it to her.

"No thank you" she shrugged it off her shoulders.

"But the night is cold, aren't you cold?"

"No"

"I know you are. Please take this so you don't catch a cold"

"I don't catch cold. I'm kind of immune to that"

"Okay. Immune. That's cool but please just take the jacket"

She didn't want to argue much, so she accepted it.

He helped her put it on since she was injured.

Another awkward silence.

At this point they had reached where Mia had parked the bike.

"Nat, I don't want to stre

ss you but I'm curious to know how you..."

A car drove towards them, and he sighed.

"I guess we'll have to finish this conversation at home"

Anton opened the back door for Mia— after nodding to the driver to not bother—and she slipped in quietly.

He entered also and the drive home was awfully quiet; each drowning in his or her own thought.