The cherry glow of the cigarette illuminates the figure beneath the awning. The cold breeze bit even through his heavy coat and flecked him in the rains light caress. He was cold and stiff with discomfort, the culmination of the hours spent waiting in this one place had burrowed inwards with their claws to claim him. The early morning dim clung greedily to the city, the single street lamp barely casting a pinprick in the darkness. Though a pinprick was all the waiting man needed.
The rain relented at last, replaced with a pervasive shroud of mist which conveyed the same oppressive dampness as the rain, but without the clemency of cover. Taking his last drag, the figure grinds the embers of the cigarette into the damp stone beneath his heel. She had appeared at last.
From the house beneath the street lamp she came. She was immaculate. Her hair was tightly curled and dyed a deep but almost natural auburn shade. Even in the low light the brilliant red on her lips and nails stood out against her milky pale flesh. Her hourglass figure perfectly complimented by her practical but form fitting dress and the sharp click of her heels on the pavement conveyed that she was had no time to waste on you.
Having locked the door behind her the determined pace of her steeps rang loud in the silence of the morning. Through the haze the figure followed briskly in her wake. She led him to a cab rink. He followed her in a second car far across the city. For the money he had paid him, the cab driver said not a word. Finally they stopped. A mere span of yards from the river she alighted the cab with the grace only she could manage. Cutting through an alley on foot when he rounded the corner in pursuit she was waiting for him, pistol leveled at his chest.

“Why are you following me?” she demanded coldly. Her voice like moonlight and dancing. Despite that it held no sign of recognition, it felt good to him to hear it again. Hands raised in surrender, he showed her he was unarmed. For a moment he admired her beauty from beneath the wide brim of his hat and almost forgot how to speak.

“It’s been a long time Isabella,” he said, “This how you greet an old friend?”

Confusion became recognition and gave way to anger and fear. He took pleasure at her response. Testing her resolve he took a half a step forwards, but was driven back as her grip on the pistol shifted from casual to professional.
“Stay where you are Logan,” she commanded, “I don’t know how you’re still alive, but you’ve got the wrong idea coming after me.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, baby doll.” Logan crooned menacingly, a sadistic grin curled his lip, “I ain’t come for you at all. I’m looking for Mia. Where can I find her?”

The barest sliver of tension receded from Isabella’s posture, though she didn’t relax her grip on the pistol an inch. Face to face with a dead man, her survival instincts were pushed to their limits. Staring down those terrible pale blue eyes like shards of cracking ice. She directs her words down the barrel of her gun to him, “Last I heard she and Ethan had gone straight. Left the city and started over somewhere up north.”

Silent fury burned in his eyes at the revelation. She gripped the pistol tighter as her heart pounded like thunder in her chest. With slow and steady movements he drew and lit another smoke. With a deep breath he steadied himself, allowing her to relax again. “Where up north?”

“I don’t know, they kept it secret. Can’t escape if everyone knows where to find you. You knew her best,” she answers, there’s something to her words almost sad as she continues, “Logan, I… I never knew things would go as far they did. You have to believe me and I was so sorry when I’d heard you’d died. I comforted your damn Mother at your funeral.”

“I know you did Belle,” the man replied quietly, tenderly. For just a second her grip on the pistol falters, the barrel dipping just slightly. Like a coiled viper he dashes forward. The deafening crack of a gunshot echoed through the alley as he wrestled her to the ground. Blood ran down his arms and stained his fingers as they wrapped her neck with a grip like iron. Her eyes rolled back and her struggles weakened until they finally ceased. For a further minute he throttled her to be certain. Until at last, satisfied, he stood to leave. With a final look over his shoulder at her body he whispered,

“And I forgive you.”

Author: Zairron

I'm writing to build a habit, practice, and be creative.

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