Alora's POV:
The air in the alleyway was stagnant, smelling of old brick and the metallic tang of oncoming violence. Jax looked at his friends, then back at me, his ego bruised and bleeding. He thought he had me cornered. He thought five against one were odds he could live with.
He was wrong.
"Get her," Jax barked.
The boy to his left lunged first—clumsy, led by his temper. I didn't wait for him to reach me. Six years of Krav Maga didn't teach me how to "spar"; it taught me how to end a fight before the other person knew they were in one.
I stepped into his guard, my palm connecting with his nose in a sharp, wet crunch. Before he could even register the pain, I grabbed his jacket, using his weight to pivot myself. I sent a side-kick into the second guy's ribs, the force of it knocking the wind out of him in a ragged wheeze.
"What the hell?" Jax yelled, scrambling back.
I wasn't a "golden girl" anymore. I was a machine of calculated movement. I dodged a swinging fist from the third guy, caught his arm, and twisted it until I heard the satisfying pop of a shoulder straining against its socket. I swept his legs, sending him crashing into the damp pavement.
It took exactly forty-five seconds for the alley to go quiet, save for the sound of heavy breathing and muffled groans.
Jax stood alone, his face pale, his "crew" writhing at his feet. He looked at me, then flicked a desperate, terrified glance back toward the shadows.
"Kieran—" Jax started, his voice cracking.
"Don't look at him," I snapped, stepping over the boy clutching his nose. I marched straight up to Jax, the adrenaline singing a high, violent note in my veins. "He's not going to save you, Jax. He's just watching you fail."
I grabbed Jax by the collar, pulling him down to my level. "Next time you want to 'zip my mouth shut,' make sure you bring more than four idiots and a borrowed reputation. Now get out of here before I decide to actually get serious."
I shoved him back. Jax didn't wait. He scrambled over his fallen friends, shouting for them to get up, and they bolted toward the street like kicked dogs.
I stood there for a moment, chest heaving, my knuckles throbbing with a dull, satisfying ache. I felt like I could take on the world. I felt untouchable.
Then, a slow, rhythmic clapping drifted from the shadows.
Kieran stepped forward. The orange light of the setting sun caught the edge of his jaw, the ink on his neck, and the cold, slate-gray of his eyes. He tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot.
"Impressive," he said. His voice was a low, melodic rasp. "I haven't seen someone move like that since... well, in a long time."
"Save the applause," I said, my voice steady despite the way my heart was suddenly hammering against my ribs. "Your pets ran away. You want to follow them, or are you looking for a lesson too?"
I stepped forward, intent on pushing past him, intent on showing him that I wasn't scared of the rumors or the tattoos or the silence that followed him.
I was fast. I was trained. But Kieran was something else entirely.
As I reached out to shove his shoulder, he didn't flinch. He didn't even seem to move, yet suddenly, the world was spinning. In a blur of motion that defied physics, he caught my wrists, spun me, and slammed me back-first against his chest.
His arms wrapped around my waist like iron bands, pinning my elbows to my sides. The heat of him was a shock—he smelled of expensive tobacco and leather. I thrashed, trying to use the leverage I'd used on Jax, but it was like fighting a statue. He was pure, unyielding muscle.
"Let go!" I snarled, kicking back at his shins. "You coward, let go of me!"
"Shh," he whispered. The sound was a command, vibrating through my entire body.
He leaned down, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. The air in the alley felt like it had turned to lead. My heart wasn't just racing anymore; it was trying to escape my chest.
"You're a firefire, Alora Hale," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Loud. Bright. Dangerous to everyone else."
He tilted his head, his lips brushing against my skin, sending a jolt of pure, terrifying electricity down my spine.
"But I've always liked playing with fire."
Suddenly, I felt his teeth graze my earlobe—a sharp, deliberate bite that made me gasp, my knees nearly buckling. It wasn't a kiss. It was a brand. A physical mark of ownership that cut through the adrenaline like a knife.
"You wanted to teach a lesson?" he whispered, his grip tightening until I could feel the steady, cold rhythm of his heart against my back. "Here's yours: In my world, you don't talk to me unless I let you. And you don't leave... unless I'm finished."
He released me as abruptly as he'd caught me. I stumbled forward, gasping for air, my face burning with rage and a new, chilling realization.
I turned around, my fists clenched, ready to die fighting—but the alley was empty. Kieran Black was gone, vanished back into the shadows of Hollowridge, leaving me alone with the mark on my ear and the terrifying knowledge that I wasn't the one in control anymore.
The hunt hadn't just begun. I had already been caught.
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Author's Note:
This chapter is sponsored by poor life choices and zero situational awareness 🧠❌💀. Alora woke up and chose violence—five times over—then learned the universe keeps receipts 📑😈. Consider this an educational pamphlet on why confidence without context is just arrogance with cardio 🏃♀️🔥. Jax and friends? Filed under regrettable decisions 🥊🪦. Kieran? That's not a man, that's a walking consequence wrapped in tattoos and bad intent 🚬👁️. Moral of the story: winning a fight doesn't mean you won the night. Sometimes it just means you rang the dinner bell 🍽️🐺😬.
-Vaanni🖤