Dice’s POV

With every passing second it felt like my middle name had been changed from Layla to Trouble. Having a headache just got a different meaning, but I knew it was relative. The meaning would change once again when Jay would pull that goddamn trigger and the bullet would drill it’s way inside my skull. Hopefully I would die, but knowing me – it was a 50:50 chance. I wasn’t that lucky, but then again Death did keep sending me Valentines written in blood.

I’ve always known I won’t live a long life, but now when he was sitting there, on my bed, pointing that gun at me and eyeing me like a hawk as I pack my suitcases, I realized I’m an idiot. An even bigger than MJ. Who the hell held a gun to my temple and forced me to go to Yale? I knew it was only because of that. People warned me, told me it won’t be an easy life if I go the path of an attorney, there would always be someone with a threath up their sleeve and a bullet to dodge, but did I listen?

No.

Just like I didn’t listen when they told me I couldn’t be a part of the Hell’s Angels. Probably should start listening to people, since I truly didn’t get in that biker gang. Instead I parted ways with Crimson Dragon’s. Should’ve stayed there. No one or almost no one tried to blast my head off back there. Funny actually since they had been in their own love triangle for crime and now when I’m a mere civilian I get in trouble way more often than back in the day. Maybe my insults finally have gotten more advanced. Maybe... Maybe not.

„Your gun is distracting me,” I finally said, refolding the same t-shirt for the fourth time, trying to buy myself some time. It was a shame nobody was selling it.

„Don’t worry about it,” He assured, looking like a lunatic, pointing that metallic piece at me, „You know I won’t shoot you,”

„Then why do you keep pointing it at me?” Being irritated was a slight understatemnt. And dropping to the floor and just playing dead never once had felt this tempting. A reactement of what I’d probably be in the next couple of hours? Yea, he said he won’t fire the weapon, but we all knew how charming my personality could get. Did I fear death? Hell, after all those valentine cards? Death felt like the most romantic thing I could ever experience.

„This way you’re obeying me,” He stated simply, laying back on the pillows and resting his hand over his stomach. I still didn’t quite understand how did he find me, how the hell did he get in without unlocking the goddamn door or why the hell was he willing to take me with him, but I’ve stopped asking stupid questions a long time ago. Kept me alive.

„Funny,” I scoffed, throwing the t-shirt in the black suitcase.

„What is?”

„The fact that you need a gun to feel man enough to control a woman,” I was very well aware of the fact that he had a good foot on me and he had a gun. Pissing him off seemed like the right thing to do.

„I’d thread carefully if I were you,” His eyes narrowed on me.

„Yea? Well how fucking careful should I thread?” The question was more of a yell than anything else. I threw the pants in my bag angrily, before turning my body to face him fully, „You’re basically holding me your hostage, kidnapping me from my own home and dragging to Vegas. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

It seemed like he was measuring me with his look, eyeing me patiently, before he stood up and slowly broke the distance between us. Looked like God had broken the fear switch in me, since I felt none. Somewhere deep down I knew Jay was a good guy and he wouldn’t harm me, but the heavy slap which got me on my fucking knees prooved me otherwise. I spit the blood on the beige carpet, looking at him from the ground. Either I bit my tongue or I was about to lose my tooth, each option was more tempting than the other.

„What the hell’s wrong with me?” His eyebrows shot up as he stuffed the gun behind his belt. „You ruined my family, Dice. You put my bro and my dad in prison and my mom’s seeing a shrink every other day and you dare to ask what’s wrong with me?”

Well, yeah. I would ask again if I wanted to get slapped in the face and probably end without teeth, because in all honestly – what is in fact wrong with that fucking family? The only thing I could give him right now was an annoyed look as I attempted to get up, and boom out of nowhere another slap which got me back on my knees. If my cheek hadn’t burnt before, than it was on fire right now. Oh the fucking joy. I could feel the coppery taste in my mouth and I started really questioning what the hell was actually wrong with me. Shouldn’t I at least try to escape from the predator? Wasn’t that the basic instinct in these kinds of situations?

„Stay on your fucking knees,” He hissed, „this look suits you.”

...what? What fucking look? Being on my knees and with blood dripping down my chin? How fucking sick was he? And how fucking crazy was I to feel oddly aroused by this? Dice, get a fucking grip of yourself! My face is aching, he has a fucking gun, we’re not jumping this guy and fucking the living crap out of him.

Not after I reported him on raping me. Feeling the tempo in which this all was going in, that fact didn’t seem too far from the truth. Maybe the dates would be incorrect, but everything else would fall in place. Look at that, in the end I couldn’t be charged for falsifying the statement. A silver-fucking-lining, aye?

His hand carressed my cheek, the same goddamn place he had just touched, only in a more painful manner. „Say you love me...”

I’ll repeat – what? Was he actually that crazy? A deep wrinkle formed between my brows as I watched his sinister blues. Would you believe me if I said I just saw a glimpse of crazy dancing in his orbs? His hand slid down my cheek and rested on my neck, growing tighter with each passing hesitative second. Maybe choking me was even a great idea, the lack of oxygen makes people do odd things, like confessing their unconditional love for their potential killer. But in the end? A simple ‘fuck you’ seemed as good as anything else.

„Fuck you.” I said right before spitting my bloody saliva in his face. In my mind I was a fucking ninja and had killed him already nine times, so what was stopping me? My kung-fu was strong, deliriously strong if I may add. The only thing I was strong in was throwing a punch or nine, maybe if I’d been in shape I could take him out, but the high-school/college days have long passed where I could take on two or three guys at once. Now, if I was feeling like I did in fact belong to the human population, I could try and talk myself out of trouble. This didn’t seem like the day, tho, since after the kind gesture, I had received a good fist in my face and I fell on my back, seeing stars.

„Great,” I heard him sigh in frustration as I tried to regain my vision. I was seeing black spots and the pain was the last thing I was worried about. „Now look what you made me do. I can’t bring you like this on the plane...”

„Wh-what...” I mouthed tho it didn’t feel like it was me who was stuttering those words.

„That car in the garage, is it working?”

„What?” I was too confused and felt like my head was about to explode and he was talking about some kind of a car?

„The car, Dice,” He bent over. What the hell was he talking about? The Mustang? I got it running a couple days ago, but there was a some sort of problem with it burning the gas too excesively. Which couldn’t be that bad of a thing at a situation like this.

„Ye-yeah... It’s working..” I closed my eyes and swallowed the thick taste of copper, hearing the door to the bedroom close just after a couple of seconds. I had to take a deep breath before I could open my eyes again and realize this is a fucking open window. Too bad the window didn’t actually open. My hand slipped in the pocket of the sweats to pull out my phone. I had to get help, but instead of calling 911 I ended up texting MJ. Why? As much as I wanted to rely on cops, I couldn’t. I shouldn’t and I wouldn’t. I’ve seen the insides of the system and kinda didn’t rely on it. After I was taken to the station for nothing? Yea... I better rely on Crimson Dragon’s.

What had to turn out as a text of ‘Call Duke’, ended as a simple ‘Call’ which I didn’t even know if had been sent in the first place, because out of nowhere Jay appeared, grabbing the phone out of my hand and simply stuffing in his pocket. You wanna know what surprised me the most? I didn’t feel the kick in the ribs I was waiting for. Instead he helped me up.

„So what now?” I wiped my mouth off the blood, before continuing, „After a good beating you’ll buy me flowers to ease the guilt? Such a fucking gentleman...”

He smiled, „No.” Before hitting every bit of air out of my lunges as his fist connected with my stomach, „now this feels better,” I could feel the smirk in his voice as I doubled over in pain, letting my red locks fall over my face. I felt like I was gonna be sick. So this was what MJ was going through? Jesus... Unconsciously I reached out to hold on to Jay, feeling him step away in the last moment, making me stumble in the wall.

Pissing Jay off was a dangerous game to play, but what calmed me down was the fact that when people get mad they make mistakes. At this point I hoped Jay would trip over his own feet and land, preferably, in a grave.

The next thing I knew, he dragged me out of the house by my hair and shoved in the passenger side of the car. I swear, when the time’s right I will kill him only for being as rude to treat a Mustang like it was even less worth than a dog’s shit. When pulling out of the garage, he had no trouble with scraping off the freshly done paint-job and the way he shifted gears was a fully different story.

The fact that I had to sit that close to him, caused a wave of nausea, not speaking about the pain from the good beating earlier. Now I was confused. Why did he want me back in Vegas with him? To beat me to a pulp every goddamn day? Actually? Seemed good enough idea for a punishment.

I didn’t ask for this crap. It felt like luck had turned her back on me completely. So now that bitch was acting all hetero? Well, fuck you too, who needs you anyway? Right now I needed an epic plan of how to get out of this situation, before we had crossed the borders of OC, the shit starts when you realize Lady Luck provides those epic plans and now she’s in to hard bodies and even harder cocks. I lacked on both of those things if you hadn’t noticed, but Jay, however... Look at that smug smirk, does it look like he’s running out of luck? The only thing he’s running out of is patience- my phone’s taking off every two minutes.

„MJ, baby, how the fuck are you?” After a heavy sigh, Jay pushed my phone up to his ear.

If there would be someone standing behind my story, I’d automatically think of this person as a sick bastard. Instead of winding me up with rainbows, ponies, sunshine and butterflies, you put me in a fucking car with a guy who’s got anger issues? What kinda monster are you?

A small, sinister like voice in my head echoed – The worst.

Maybe that was my own schizophrenia screaming, maybe I was indeed going mad, but I realized maybe the author of my life wasn’t that bad. My life had been kind of insteresting, mostly sucked like hell, but it had it’s perks and moments. Very few to be quite frank. Honestly? My life fucking sucks... And realizing it could be just words written on a paper for others’ entertainment suddenly seemed like a whole different level of hell.

My eyes locked on Jay. Was I actually crazy enough to even think of it? Would the author be generous enough to not end me after this thing?

My hand snatched the phone out of Jay’s arm and I managed to scream „Find Duke!” Before Jay hit the brakes, my head bumped in the dashboard and he threw the phone through the open window.

„Dice...” Jay took a handful of my hair, jerking my head back, „Don’t fucking piss me off.”

Yup.

The author is an asshole.

Notes