Hiiiya, hope you like. (; AN: This is not a new chapter, my beta just made fantastical changes that I forgot she was making. (:

Chapter 1

Part 1

Kim was looking at the lockers then at her feet when she saw him pass. Her heart escalated. He looked; she saw it. She knew she had seen it: the glint of his eyes.

But he didn't stop. No, he kept walking until he was camouflaged in a hoard of beanies, lip-smacking, and I-Phones. She let out a breath. So close, so close to those eyes.

Sure, she didn't know the boy—as her friends often pointed out—but she still ran, and she still tried. Kim couldn't imagine doing otherwise. He was a mystery, and she had to know him.

Grace leaned against the wall, her eyebrows raised in mock confusion. "Did it again, didn't you?"

Kim rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"Mark's gunna be pissed," she contemplated, smiling lightly. "He told you to stay away from him, didn't he?"

Her hands balled into fists. "He's not my dad."

He was starting to act like it though, and they both knew it.

Grace pursed her lips. "Is it strange to like a guy…" she gestured sheepishly, "like him?"

Kim laughed, "Yes."

Grace was the only one who supported her prying. Not that is was a good thing, probably far from it.

At least she had someone to count on. The Karate Geeks were all a bit weary around the subject, and Mark was an absolute time-bomb. Anytime she so much as mentioned his name—they'd all quiet, shaking their hands dismissively.

They were protective, and she was okay with that, as long as it didn't interfere with her life.

Mark was doing just that.

"Well, at least school's over," Grace said.

"Yeah, at least that."

She felt a tap on her shoulder, a quick persistent one, and she sighed. Mark. It was always Mark. No one else would touch her like this, for obvious reasons.

Kim spun around, her eyes narrowing into slits. She was pissed, why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't he leave her alone until she at least regained her composure? "Go away."

He was smiling that blasted smile of his, his hair curling around both ears. Her heart fluttered. "I'm not speaking to you until you apologize."

She was sure he'd yell at her and cuss her out like he had the last time. What she was not expecting was the defeated look in his eyes. He seemed tired, and… sad. "I'm sorry, Kim." He paused, smiling at her sheepishly.

"Not me," she said stubbornly. "Him."

That seemed to do it. He crossed his arms, biceps bulging. This was the Mark she knew. This was how he was supposed to act, like he was pissed and irritated and confused.

He seethed a few minutes before answering, "No."

She yanked her hair. "I mean, seriously. He wasn't going to do anything."

"You don't know that," He grumbled, his face millimeters from her own.

She suddenly felt self-conscious. They were so close. So close, she could smell the vanilla of his hair and the honey off his teeth. A sardonic smile switched into place.

"I'm just gunna leave now…" Grace said, edging away.

That brought her out of it.

She was mad at him; she had to be. After he kissed her...

Mark wasn't making it easy.

She realized they were still nose to nose, and a whimper escaped her throat. The noise lurching through the now empty halls. He hadn't missed it—he couldn't have, and her cheeks reddened underneath his gaze.

Oh god… that wasn't good.

Yet she couldn't slap him. He deserved it (when didn't he?), but every time she moved to unfurl her fingers they clamped shut again. This wasn't normal, slapping came swiftly; it was almost as natural as breathing, and Mark knew this because, as unfortunate as it was, he knew her.

After minutes of heavy, awkward silence, Mark smiled, and not one of those smirks he oh-so-loved to wear but a real smile. A smile she hadn't seen in a very long time.

And she loved it.

"We should probably get going," she said, looking at her feet.

"Yeah."

oOo

The trophies glittered in the sunlight. However, she wasn't looking at those. Instead she looked at the pictures. They looked so happy together, she thought, looking at the gang, and lazy. There was pizza strewn across their laps and a half empty cup of Coke on the floor.

Mark's girlfriend, Kelly, hung from under his arm. She didn't participate at the dojo, but she went to all the tournaments. She was pretty nice, but she still had an edge Kim didn't like. Whatever it was, she didn't let it bother her. Kelly was Kelly, and that's all she needed to know.

Mark was in the locker rooms, changing for his date. He normally walked her home after school, but, as of a few weeks ago, their trips were close to non-existent. She wanted to see him more, and she'd said as much over the past few weeks. But due to recent plans with his girl, he'd often cancelled last minute.

So she waited for him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

When he finally walked out, he looked excited. They were going to an Italian restaurant, a special outing for their one year anniversary. Her job was to inspect him. Make sure he looked good enough for the 'lucky lady,' as he called her.

He definitely exceeded expectations. Mark's hair, once long and wavy, was neatly trimmed around his face, a black shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. He smelled nice as she could tell; whenever he did, there was this air to him, like a bird set out to fly.

A large bouquet of roses were behind his back in the shaking form of his hands.

The air swept from her lungs.

"So, what do you think?"

It took her a moment to answer. Cheeks flaming as she hid behind her hair. "Uh, okay. You did a pretty good job."

He returned to his normal, straight-faced self. "That's good. I was starting to worry, you know, with the whole tux thing. She specifically asked me to wear it, and God knows I could never do that."

"You think?"

He looked at her seriously. "I know."

They laughed a bit, and, once she'd reassured him enough, he left her alone in the dojo.

What would she do with that boy? That stubborn, overly protective boy with the goofed-up smile and erratic temper? He was too good for Kelly, but if he wanted her, there must have been something worthwhile. Gosh, Kim didn't know what to think. It was all to fucked-up for her to see through.

When she walked out the doors, she wondered what it would feel like to love. What it would feel like when she herself found that special someone, as Mark had with Kelly.

oOo

Jack stepped from the car, greeted by the warm, yet cool breeze of California air. The house was small, smaller than any he'd been in in recent years, which said much about his life. There were large, obese holes in the windows, and he could tell it smelled of cigarette butts.

The man would be there any minute now, giving him stats on people with characteristics similar to his own. If he wasn't, then Jack would know what happened, and he'd regret telling him further.

He reached for the handle, his fingers grazing the knob before he heard the gunshot, resounding like thunder in the night.

Shit.

Snatching his hand away, he booked it to the truck—a junkie he'd fixed a while back. The man could wait. The stats could wait. He had to get out of there, and fast. Police were an obstacle he didn't need to face, especially when he was this close.

He grasped the steering wheel. Another shot, seemingly closer to his whereabouts. This was a bad neighborhood. It wasn't for him, it couldn't be.

Gunning the engine, he took off down the street leaving dust in his wake. Not for him, not for him, not for him. He didn't know where he was going, and honestly didn't care. Out was what he wanted, and if he could get that, he'd be set for life.

Jack had given them a chance, those fucking pansies of police, and they'd denied his claims. He hadn't killed his father, and if they couldn't believe it, that was their problem. He wouldn't die for their mistake.

But Jack would die finding his father. No matter what they said, Robert wasn't dead, at least not yet.

oOo

Kim walked hours before she finally reached her house. There were lights on, and her heart warmed at the sight. Her aunt was probably worrying; she always did when Kim came home late.

She stepped on to the mat, ringing the doorbell insistently until Maggie, Aunt Sheara's daughter, opened the door. She was around Kim's height, and had recently left for college. Kim furrowed her brows. Something was up.

Aunt Sheara's voice rang from what she guessed was the kitchen. "What are you doing out there? Get inside before one of yous catch a cold."

Maggie widened the door.

The plush couches were torn, glass sewn into the leather fabric. A bottle of alcohol was half empty, hanging precariously on a lamp shade. The rest probably spilled on the floor—there was a dark stain on the carpet. She could hear the radio spewing static.

"What happened?"

Maggie went on to tell her of Sheara's most recent episode, disguising none of her worry. "She was talking about your mom," she said. After that, Kim wanted to drink some liquor herself. Blood. That's all she saw. The crisp white of a table cloth, then the gruesome red stain.

She couldn't handle this. The thought of holding her aunt's hand sounded sickening, like watching a horror movie on replay. Talking about her parents, even for her aunt's sake, was something she could never, under any circumstances, do.

"I—I need to go. I forgot something in the…"

Maggie nodded. "My mother's a drunk, not a psycho. I can handle her."

Kim walked back, smiling sadly. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Aunt Sheara didn't used to drink. She used to be someone you could count on. Not that she wasn't anymore. When she got like this—over the death of Kim's mother, her husband, or Kim's dad, for instance, that's what took it too far. That's what dipped her over the edge. It didn't happen often. When it did though, she could never stay.

Maggie threw her a pair of keys. "Take my car."

Kim looked at the van, waving before jumping in the front. "Whatever you say, but if I dent it, I'm not paying."

"Of course you're not," She said, rolling her eyes. "Because that's soooo fair."

Kim flipped her hair. "Yep."

Maggie laughed, though it sounded forced. She really loved that van. "Get my car back in one piece."

"I know what I'm doing."

"You're seventeen. If you don't, you're dead."

Kim shut the door, figuring the sooner she left, the sooner she'd breathe. Her stomach clenched and grumbled in silence. She was hungry as hell, but, with only twenty bucks in her wallet, anything fancy was out of question.

oOo

Twenty minutes later, she sat at Taco Bell, stuffing a burrito in her mouth. Manners? What manners? She could feel meaty juices rolling down her chin, and she savored the bits purging her hunger.

She wondered how the staff maintained such a quiet, carefree atmosphere. It was like her fears had been quelled by a summer breeze. Silent.

Almost. There still wasn't a hand rubbing affectionate circles on her back. She wanted to call Mark. Ask him to be that affectionate someone. But for fear of interrupting their date, Kim declined the idea. Mark was a friend, nothing more, and sometimes she had to remind herself that.

She had a feeling it was because of the kiss.

It was under the bleachers, just a peck on the lips, probably less than a few seconds. It felt like minutes when it happened. So clear, so flush against her. She fantasized this often, though Kim knew she shouldn't. It was only an accident. It was only her tripping over her shoes, and, besides, he had a girlfriend.

SCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCRrrrrrrrrRRRRREEeeeeeeeeeeCCCHHhhhhhHHHHHhhhH.

She jumped from her seat.

There was a truck in the back of a van.

Maggie's van.

Fuck.

Part 2

Jack cursed under his breath. What the hell had he done?

All he remembered was hearing the sirens and hitting the road. Next thing he knew, a terrible grating of metal then an airbag almost immediately followed by two horns blaring in unison.

A rephrasing of the question was in order: What the hellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll had he done?

He tried to calm himself. The entire front half of his vehicle—he wasn't sure he could call it a car, even beforehand—was just buried in a minivan. His windshield was just shattered on his lap. His mom was just gunna have a bitch fit when this was over.

Well, technically the police would. His mom thought he was in China.

Warm trickles of blood ran down Jack's face, a cut shrouding his cheek. It seemed to be the extent of the damage. Thanks to the height of his vehicle, he had avoided serious injury. Guess it was good for more than scrap.

He stretched like a cat before hurtling out the already open door. He wished he was shocked, but, unfortunately, he'd crashed up to seven times this year. His family's rich inheritance covered the cost.
Jack stood wobbly at first, but he quickly slipped a hood over his head. No one could know he'd been here much less who he was.

Then he saw the girl, or rather, he heard her. She was screaming and cussing, all the while pulling her long blond hair. Jack had to correct himself again. His mother's bitch fits weren't close to this one. She looked like a hurricane ravaging the Florida coast. Not someone to mess with.

He would have stopped for a much needed chat—her sanity being the primary subject, but he thought better of it. He felt somewhat bad. Not enough, though, to pay off the damage.

He must have spaced out a while because the next thing he knew, a fist, very small he would add, collided with his uncut cheek. A string of curses left his mouth.

"What the hell was that for?" He shouted, his voice muffled by the horns.

From under the hood he could see the girl, hands set on her hips. She was cute, prettier than most from what he could tell. He almost rolled his eyes before remembering the whole "can't get caught" agenda on the calendar.

"Sorry, ditz, gotta go."

Jack was about to leave when he felt her grip on his shoulder. "What did you just call me? Because I'm pretty sure you ran into my car, lazy ass, and tried to get away with it."

It was a dick move, but now was not the time for rivalry, especially from a girl. If someone called 911, he was screwed.

Shrugging her hand off, he grabbed her shoulders, roughly throwing her away.

…And off came the hood.

ShitShitShitityShitShit.

He assessed the situation. They were at a Taco Bell. People in dark purple uniforms held phones, and most were directed at his face. There was also another one, seemingly calling the police, and looking at his jittering movements, for more than a regular accident.

The girl glared at him, bringing herself from the ground. "I know karate," She said. "Do that again, and I'll bend you like a corkscrew."

She was lying. He could tell by the way her voice dwindled at the end, yet now wasn't the time to call her bluff. His picture was in every newspaper and every news channel in the U.S. He was somewhat surprised that she hadn't recognized him.

The police would be there any minute.

oOo

Kim wasn't surprised when he ran. She was surprised, however, when she heard police sirens and not just the normal two.

There were ten of them vibrantly lighting the road. She cursed under her breath-she'd have to soap her mouth with the vulgar language she'd recently acquired.

She looked back at the Taco Bell staff only to find them rooted in place, like scared little-

That's when she recognized the boy and not from school either.

He was Jack, the Jack, The Jack Brewer.

She'd let The Jack Brewer-murderer, womanizer, and mechanic (she didn't know how this applied)-escape. What kind of fool was she?

Putting on a burst of speed, she followed him. Sure, she'd just started Karate. Sure, she didn't know a damn thing about criminal 'safety.' Sure, she was going to die, but she couldn't help but follow. The shame branding itself on her forehead was much too annoying to simply wipe off. This would be the second time she'd strayed at the mercy of a killer, if she let him leave that is.

His figure swiftly maneuvered the alleys, like a panther in his sleekness. Kim stumbled after him, grappling Ella—her phone—while maintaining a steady pattern of hampered breathing and stiff movements. She tried not to notice her own lack of agility, but it was hard when she was staring at his back.

She finally pressed CALL.

Thanks to my new beta, LivMore, for being swasome (:

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