I

There is a common saying in our world. There are two kinds of people in this world, my friend, those with loaded guns and those who dig. It's an age old truth that whoever holds the weapon holds the power. But somehow I didn't feel all too powerful standing there, even though I was holding one of the most powerful hand-weapons known to mankind. The man in front of me was smirking, obviously not impressed either.

"Ya gonna pull that trigger or what, sugah?" he leaned onto the wall, pushing his thumbs into his jeans. Oh I was tempted. I aimed at his head, picturing his pretty green eyes blown to smithereens, that sculpted face fractured. A trickle of sweat ran down my spine and my hand itched with the desire to wipe my forehead.

Show no mercy, they had said. Well I wasn't feeling merciful but I was no killer, either.

"Move," I gestured towards the door with the gun. He paused for a moment, my hand clutched the gun a little tighter and then he moved. I let out a breath and followed him. The room was bathed in orange, the setting sun trickling through the blinds. There was only one bed covered with a thin, graying bedspread and a very uncomfortable looking chair inside. Next to the door, there was a small dresser with a jug of water and a muggy glass on top.

"Cozy," he said and sat on the bed. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I was getting a headache and the dull air in the room didn't help.

"Open the window," I nodded towards the blinds and lifted the gun straighter.

"Getting hot, sugah?" the smirk was back but he did as asked. I didn't reward him with a reply but pulled the handcuffs from my back-pocket. When he turned back towards the room, he frowned at the sight of them.

"Is there really any need for those?"

"Get on the bed and lift your hands up," I hissed. He gave a laugh.

"Now that's a nice command from a pretty lady."

"Go on, get," I heard my voice betray my frustration. My back was wet, the shirt clinging to my skin. I needed some water. But first things first. As he leaned on the bed, raising his hands towards the wrought iron head-frame, I threw the handcuffs on the bed.

"Tie your other hand up."

He looked at me, his eyes piercing. I kept my face still, the gun pointing at him. Finally, he blew out some air and grabbed the cuffs. When he was done, I asked him to yank the cuffs. The iron didn't even budge. Good.

"I assume you've got the key," he said and leaned back on his arm. If anyone had walked in, they would have assumed he was ready to seduce a lady, laying on the bed in his white wife-beater and worn jeans and boots, his hair mussed up, his picture perfect lips curled into a pout. It wasn't hard to imagine how easy it had been for him to get out of trouble with those good looks. I had heard that once, he had even faced a jury, but they hadn't been able to convict him because none of the females in the jury had believed him guilty.

Satisfied he wasn't going anywhere soon, I walked to the dresser, lay my gun on it and poured me some water. I sat on the chair, slowly letting the liquid smooth my tight throat. My hands had a slight tremor so I rested them on my thighs between the sips.

"Care to give me some of that," his voice sounded raspier and he coughed. I smiled at his theatrics and raised the glass in his honor.

"Not enough to share," I swallowed the glass empty. His eyes never lost their sheen as he nodded.

"May I ask my captor's name, Miss?"

I had heard of how he had tricked all the people who had tried to bring him to justice and thought it best to remain silent.

"Very well, I'll introduce myself first. My name is Edward A.M. Cullen but you may know me better as Angel Eyes." I humphed at the nickname. But of course it wasn't a reference to his nature but to his looks. A fallen angel if there ever was one.