Disclaimer: I don't own any thing!

A/N: BTW this story is inspired by "Dog Days Over" by Florence and the Machine.

Her bare feet paddled against the hard wood floor, she took a quick turn around the large table. Knocking over every chair along the way, he tripped over the first couple but soon became aggravated and tried to catch her by flipping the table over into the china cabinet. Glass and porcelain shattered to the floor, the man grunted. The double doors of the kitchen busted open hitting the walls behind them, Lisa skid in, and tripped over her trash can along the way. Frank was not too far behind practically ripping the thin doors off of the their hinges at the other entrance of the kitchen, before she could reach for the gun the large man scooped her up into his arms and squeezed the breath right out of her lungs. She made an awful choking sound as he flung her body into the sink, shattering the window pane. Pain seared through her arm, but she didn't have time to see what happened. He came forth preparing to introduce his right fist to her face, but thinking quickly she grabbed the dirty frying pan and used it as a shield. He had it so hard that it flung out of her hands. This only proved to further anger him, the crowbar man reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of hair, and he practically dangled her in the air. She spied the knife block behind him on the island and began to kick him at the knives. The man flung her to the ground with such force that it nearly made her black out. Her scalp was on fire, but fighter had just awoken, unknown to him she had managed to grab a butchers knife on the way to the floor, with her vision filled with black spots she took a guess and swiftly stabbed it into his knee. The man growled, she'd never heard anything like it. He in return kicked her in the gut and sent her sliding across floor. She hit the stove, and then felt the man tare he robes from her body. Now exposed to whatever torture he had for her next her faced throbbed and she felt tired, as if wanting to give up. He gave another kick to the gut that took her breath away for the second time. She opened her eyes and realized how close she was salvation.

She assumed he must of thought she was passed out, because the man was now preoccupied with getting the knife out of his leg. Lisa on the other hand was gathering herself next to the fridge, and had her hands on her father's shot gun. The great equalizer, her father called it. The man made a grunting sound as the knife came out with a squirt of blood. She pressed the gun to her nude shoulder, and aimed at his head. Suddenly he seemed startled, not prepared for his victim to have a shot gun hidden in the kitchen. The unsure gaze made her feel that must more confident about pulling the trigger. The two remained still, staring at each other for a moment, and then the man took a step toward Lisa.

"One more step and I'll blow your fucking head off!"

She shouted but was enraged and accidently squeezed the trigger. The shot gun blast was loud, and the shell came out and hit one of her breasts. Luckily in the midst of her adrenaline rush she had enough sense to keep a firm grip on the gun. In truth it was the first time she had ever shot it, and she was lucky that it was loaded. She had blown half of his face, but she found quickly that it was sticking the ceiling as the giant body of the man teetered and fell to the floor. Blood squirted out from the open arties and onto her bare legs. Bile began to rise in her throat for the second time that day.

….

After they were done eating Jackson and Peter played the "No I'll get the check" Though in the end it was split right down the middle. Now they were miles away from the diner. Jackson had piled his belongings in the back of Pete's green Mazda. He told Pete that it was just in case his truck got towed. But all reality it wasn't even his truck, and he was seriously considering ditching the well trained sniper on the side of the road sooner rather than later. They were almost into Oregon when Peter turned down the radio and mention that he had to take a piss. Throwing on his hazards Peter parked on the side of the road and started trekking into the woods. Jackson followed in suit. Standing behind Peter, Jackson pulled out his gun and aimed it for the back of Peter's head,

"Heh, check it out I'm giving this ant hill a golden shower."

Peter laughed at the ants as they ran out from their caves, and began to drown in Pete's urine. Pete to Jackson to see if he was laughing to, or he had heard him cock back the hammer on his gun. Jackson was sure it the latter. He could tell the look went from good humor to confusion. This was why Jackson was a better manager then him. If Jackson were him, he'd at least put his dick away.

"What the fuck, dude?"

Jackson smiled and aimed for his knee, pulling the trigger the sound caused the birds in the trees above to scatter into the sky. Pete fell to the ground on top of the ant hill, his own piss seeping into his cargo shorts. The red ants ready for vengeance, came on full attack.

"Ow, what the fuck, I knew that you were pussy whiped!"

He cried holding his knee, and trying to swat off the biting insects that were now eating away at him.

"I'm not pussy whipped."

Jackson stated very calmly to Peter and then proceeded to shoot his other knee. The man's cry of agony was drowned out by his own thoughts. What did pussy whipped mean any ways. He'd never gotten even close hers. Well he very well could have had her in the air plane bathroom. However Jackson was man who thought himself better then petty crimes like rape, or prostitution. He was a good looking guy, and maybe some time in the future when he wasn't on the run, he might find himself a nice girl to settle down with. The killer side of his brain scoffed at his little fantasy. Any way back to the matter at hand, his brain reminded him that he just shot a good friend for a girl who tried to kill him. The killer side slunk back in his subconscious, and called him an idiot. Putting his gun back in his holster, Jackson knelt down to his friend. There were a lot of angry red marks up his arms now.

"Peter, the whole you getting the clearance to take out Lisa didn't make me angry. Oh no because I have up most respect for you. So when I say this isn't personal, it isn't."

Peter tried to flare his arms at Jackson, but Jackson caught the man's wrists and produced zip ties from his jacket pocket.

"You're a fucking traitor."

Peter said looking up him, tears from the painful ant bites welling in eyes. If Jackson had any mercy, he would have just ended the man's life. However on the other end of the spectrum, anyone who thought they could just take his girl without his expressed permission was a dead man. After making sure his old friend wasn't going anywhere, Jackson stood up and looked at the site before him.

"Though if you must know Lisa is my rightful kill, John Scarlett can kiss my fucking ass if he thinks that he can just push the job on someone else. Just because he thinks I'll fuck it all up over some girl with big pretty green eyes."

Peter rolled his eyes in the back of his head, and moaned in agony.

"But you are!" he said writhing in the ground "Shooting me? Fuck Jack I thought you were a team player. What's best for one of us.."

"Is best for all." Jackson finished for him as he clamped Peters legs together with his zip ties. "Well I have had just about enough of that little hug fest bullshit for a life time."

Grasping Peters arms Jackson began to finish hog tying him with a series of zip tips. Then when he was satisfied Jackson unhooked the car keys from Peter's side and began walking back to the car.

"You're just going to leave me here?"

Peter screamed from behind, Jackson laughed, it was the first genuine laugh he had in days. These people needed to know who they were messing with. Jackson Rippner does just stand by while another man tries to take his kill.

"Yeah I am." Jackson replied "As a matter of fact when you are rescued I want you to tell John that I'm not his little bitch anymore."

Jackson then continued walking out of the woods leaving poor peter crying while covered in red ants and urine.

….

Lisa got to her feet cautiously; the room spun around a little slower now, and the black spots in her vision had all but disappeared. Her toes stepped into something on the floor; she chose not to look down. Putting the shot gun on the island, she saw her robe across the room. She tipped toed over the broken dishes and glass and retrieved the robe. Satisfied at seeing it unsoiled, she looked into the small mirror that she had on her refrigerator. Her face was a little red, and there were a few speckles of blood on her chest. Then stinging in her arm had returned in that moment and she lifted it up for inspection. Her elbow was dripping with blood; it didn't look entirely too bad. However she wouldn't know for sure until it was properly cleaned. Then she heard it, another person had entered her home. Terrified, she put the robe on and secured it around her waist. Lisa then picked up the gun from the counter, ready for the next person to threaten her life.

"BONNIE!"

She heard Caroline scream her name, she sighed and put the gun back on the counter. How was she supposed to explain the house, or the dead person in the kitchen? Running fingers through her hair she was made her way to the hallway. Caroline looked more flustered than she did.

"Bonnie! Are you alright. My gosh!"

Lisa held her hand out, and tried to the get the woman to go back out the door,

"Caroline be careful. There's a lot of broken glass in here."