Dance in his battlefield

ELARA❥ It is deep into the night and only my footsteps are heard down the alley. I should have left earlier, but I preferred the peace of strolling at night, when everyone minded their business and wouldn’t care for a greeting. Okay, I lied. This is the life I woke up to one day. They just watched like they were waiting on me to make a particular decision. They’d stare at my window, follow me around. I had to fix up a timeline that protected me. They stopped last two weeks, but here I am again. My eyes are red rimmed from the cold drizzle that blurs my vision. I hasten my pace, wrapping my coat around my body for the slightest warmth it can offer. My head aches, sobs betraying me. I could hear his steps, like he is catching up. I look over my shoulder to confirm the shadow. It isn’t imagined footsteps. I take a sharp bend at the block, my boot splashing the water beneath it, I break into a sprint. The street light barely does its work. There is a wire gauze fence ahead. Using the block and wall for support, I spring onto it, swinging myself over. A flickering neon sign; ‘D’s bar’ stands a few runs before me, my hope comes alive. I throw my legs even further, like it promises extra miles. My eyes spinning, my throat patched like I had trailed a desert for 90 days without supplies. I run with my last strength into the bar, pushing open the door with my weight. Warm air hits my face, the soft music I do not recognize, the stench of alcohol. The atmosphere is unfriendly but I don't care. “Someone’s following me,” I say, loud enough that it can’t be ignored. I pull forward with an unstable gait, lost in the fiery gaze of the men who are sitting there. “There’s like… like a man and he’s after me,” I explain in a loud voice, gasping, almost choking on my words. Stumbling into a table, the tall glass before one of the men spills. My eyes lock with a man across the table, He sat there… emotionless. “Sorry,” I gulp down on the drink. The bitter liquid burns down my throat as I gulp but again, I do not care. “Oh!” I look at the glass as if I am able to see the content. Everywhere is spinning; I shake my head, struggling to steady myself. Everything spins, the music becomes even slower, my vision blurry until I can no longer see their faces. ๑Macoy’s POV๑ Roger will not look at me. That’s how I know. The door slams open, interrupting the silence. A girl stumbles inside, soaked, shaking. Her tall body, perfectly hiding in her coat. I turn my gaze to the manager who shakes his head in response. The place was booked out. She crashes into our table, Roger’s drink spills. My guard tries to pull out his pistol but that wasn't the time. She looked… innocent. She could be a trap still. Stretching quickly for my drink, I return my gaze to Roger whose jaw dropped in shock. Is he surprised by the way she gulps down or … ‘thud’ The sound of her body dropping on the wooden floor is all the answer I need. Immediately, chaos. Men stood at once, the screech of chair across the wood, the c*****g of guns. The room comes alive with violence as everyone's eyes dart from one man to the other, guns pointing at one another. “So,” I smirk as I stand. “The plan was to get me drugged?” I giggle and then laugh even louder. Roger laughs, a thin and broken sound. Sweat beads drop down his temple. “I guess you never really know your enemy,” I stare down at Mr. Roger who let out a nervous giggle. His face pale, he gulps down the fear and sweat trickles down his temple region. He adjusts his tie but that is the spot I pull. To calmly snap life out of him. His face turns reddish purple, struggling to let out the words ‘please’. “You dare not,” My guard pins a gun to the head of the bartender who aims at me. "It isn't meant to go this way right? Right!" He jolts in fear. “I bet at this point, you don't know which is better: dying at the hands of your boss or dying at my hands.” I lean in on him, propping his jaw up with my finger. “We are close Roger, too close for me not to make your sendoff memorable,” I throw his face to the side. "You really didn't think I was that careless. 3 years of being with me and you underestimate me. I love that,” I laugh, clapping at his ignorance. “I'm sorry… I was pressured.” Roger's shaky voice explanation made me boil even more. “What pressure!” "Family." Roger whispers, looking back up to me.