"I already pledged my loyalties, why do you feel like handcuffing me? Does it make you happy or something?"
Ilya huffed as the male worked on his own clamp around his hand. Sadly, Ilya bore a manacle on her left wrist, which leashed her to Mello's right wrist with maybe 3 feet in between.
"No, I just like it."
Aqua eyes rolled, and sarcasm oozed of Mello's tone. And with a shove, she was forced onto a rickety stairwell. And the populace below her didn't even seem to notice.
Mello allowed himself to walk in front of Ilya, occasionally giving the chain a tug when she was being slow. The silent walk down the stairs felt interminable, even though the stairs weren't exactly large. They weren't unlike the fire escape in Ilya's old apartment.
Ilya Ryder crinkled her nose at the smell of Marijuana and alcohol mixing together in her airspace. No, it was not pleasant. And yes, it made the poor female want to blow the place up.
"Well?"
A mostly-bald man questioned. Mello had already gotten comfortable on the zebra-print couch with his feet on the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye, Ilya could see Mello roll his own cyan eyes at her. Soon she found out why, because my gave the chain a yank and pulled her to the couch.
"Sit,"
He hissed in her pale ear. And somehow, it almost frightened her. And Ilya wasn't easily frightened, No, no, no, not all. Even when Ilya Ryder stared death in the eye all those times, she was never afraid. She had been known to have a panic attack or two, but panicking didn't mean fear had overtaken her.
"Well, Rodd . . . meet Rider."
"And Rider meet Rodd Los, Jack Neylon, Rushuall Bid, Pedro, Jose, and everyone else in the mafia."
Mello vaguely motioned to people seated on the coach as well as a few on computers.
"Don't care to introduce me, right?"
A man stepped off a wall. He had shaggy brunette hair, and matching coffee orbs. He had been smoking, but smashed the tip of nicotine enlightenment into the dirtied wall before sauntering towards Ilya and the rest of the group.
"I did say 'everyone else in the mafia', didn't I?"
"Jakob."
He said simply, taking the woman's hand in his own. And as she took in his appearance, her clear eyes couldn't help but narrow in recognition.
"Rider."
She said, just as simply. She slipped her pale flesh from his own, fully noticing Mello's grasp on his now-cracked chocolate.
"So, I'm finally meeting the infamous bomber who not only puts the world in fear, but has escaped Kira himself? And it seems this isn't our first meeting."
So grammatically correct, it had to be that Jakob. Frozen eyes didn't widen or squint, but her mouth widened into a smirk.
"I never imagined Rider to be so . . . innocent-looking. I expected a man."
"Innocence is subject to interpretation, isn't it? I would think so."
Some men stayed attentive to the conversation, but others went back to their own business. Mello made it his business to osculate every syllable uttered by either person.
"Such
fate, that we were separated a year ago. But, now we're reunited,
Il-"
And his caramel eyes rolled back into his head and fell
on his knees, and then his back, but his hands groped the air for a
moment until he fell lifeless.
No, Kira had not written his name in that forsaken notebook.
Wisps of smoke still floated from the gun in gloved hands, and blood seeped from Jacob's jugular vein. A death by shot in the throat. And the dealer of Jacob's demise?
A certain blonde who called himself Mello. What did he say about kinship?
There goes Mello shooting people again.
Rod Los had stopped playing with his slut woman, to look over at the young man with confusion. All heads had turned to Ilya, Mello, and the corpse of Jacob.
"He almost said Rider's real name. I was worried about that when he recognized her . . . we can't have any of our member's names leaked to Kira. And you know Rider's at the top of his list."
Mello's demeanor remained perfectly calm, as he licked his chocolate and held his gun in place.
"Got it?"
Those sharp, sharp, sharp eyes turned even steelier. Ilya was unsure; did he do that to prove her trust, or did he actually care? She would put her money on the former.
"One problem, Mello! He was one of our best gunmen, what now?"
A man spoke up, sitting on the couch.
"Can she even shoot a gun?"
Embarrassment made her cheeks flush rose, Ilya didn't know much about shooting any gun. She carried a gun almost everywhere, but never shot it. But, she figured, if push came to shove she could fire it.
"No, I blow shit up, but shoot it."
She aimed her statement to be icy, but still hinted to a bashful undertone.
"She'll have to learn anyway! Mello, you're good with your gun, teach'her!"
A pause, but then Mello decided.
"Fine, let's go."
He pulled her off the couch and up the stairs again, disgruntled at the thought of teaching her. And, Ilya didn't even seem to know that he was holding her hand, not the metal chain.
But this is the Mafia, there couldn't be any romance for Ilya Ryder here, right?
