This chapter was previously posted as Chapter 10, before I realised that I had in fact missed out an entire bloody chapter. So, depending on how current this story is, you may need to skip back one and read the new, REAL, chapter 10. I apologise profusely, and will make up for it with Chapter 12, which is half done, and a very soon-to-come ending that none of you will have guessed. ;-)
The drunken shenanigans of the previous night had apparently put Bryce in the partying mood, because he had insisted that we go clubbing the following night. I was up for that, though I was pretty adamant that I wasn't drinking.
It's a little known secret that when guys are getting ready to go out and there are likely to be girls to impress, they spent just as long on their appearance as the aforementioned girls do, if not longer. In my case, aforementioned girl was Lara, and I spent no less than two hours getting ready, most of which was spent trying to decide what shirt to wear. In the end, I went for my favourite, one of five I owned that were all exactly the same (I really liked them), one of which had been destroyed by Boaz in Prague. On the one hand, Lara might notice, and think that I was an idiot. On the other hand, it might just give the impression that I didn't care what she thought, making me seem cool and casual.
Twenty minutes was spent on my hair, going for the tousled but sexy look, and then another three minutes were spent changing my pants because no matter how cool and casual it might make me look, Lara would definitely think that I was an idiot if I wore the same ones as in Prague.
Lara, ever the superhero, managed to achieve aesthetic perfection in just forty five minutes, which possibly just made me look like an idiot.
She presented herself at the top of the stairs and Bryce and I, apparently either with the same sense of humour or a bizarre telepathic link, both wolf whistled in jest before realising what the other had done and laughing at each other. Lara just looked long suffering and clattered down the rest of the steps.
"Looking good, Bryce," Lara grinned, as we lounged in the back of her 4x4 on the way to the club, Hillary driving.
"Ah, well, there're girls in clubs," he replied, slouched in the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before with his hair even messier than usual.
Laughing at his own joke, he tried to kick Lara's shin playfully, but she pointed her stiletto heel at him and warned, "Heels!" I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the pair.
"Go clubbing often?" I was asked and then, before I had a chance to answer, "Didn't that shirt get a huge hole in it courtesy of Boaz?" She'd noticed. Did I look an idiot?
"Only when I'm going incognito to follow someone, and yes, it did, this is a different shirt."
"You have two shirts the same?" she asked, obviously not knowing what to think. DonotthinkI'manidiotDonotthinkI'manidiot.
"Actually, five," I admitted, hoping my outward demeanour was cool and casual. All I got were two odd looks so I countered, "What? I like this shirt, and in my line of work clothes don't last long." Lara just laughed good naturedly and lay down on the seat, her head propped in her hand.
I let out a sigh of relief. I think I'd gotten away with it.
The club was fun. Lots of fun, actually. The last time I'd been to one for a night out rather than to conduct surveillance, I'd still been in the Legion. I smiled to myself at that thought, remembering the guys from all over the world, most of whom had joined up because they didn't have a clue what else to do with their lives.
Joining your own country's military suggested some sort of purpose, protecting your own, but these people had no purpose. They'd left school or college or barely started careers confused and directionless, and wandered off to France in search of adventure because there was nothing else going on. I'd been the same. In the Order, you were trained for the Order. No matter what you did in your life, be it got a normal job or started a family or whatever, you were always for the Order. Once I'd escaped that, I had no clue. My father had been pretty high ranking, one of the counsellors, and I'd finished school with no career plans because it was more or less set that I'd follow him, making my career the running of the Lux Veritatis. So, the Legion it was. Communication outside of the Legion was restricted for the first few months, the life was hard but rewarding, and it made good use of the combat skills I'd always shown a talent for. One of the few things in the Order I had found easy, actually.
My train of thought was cut short as it became my turn at the bar, and the evening continued without further ponderings.
It was at the end of the night that the trip stopped being fun and instead became bad. Really bad. We were hanging around waiting for Hillary to come and pick us up when three guys, looking to be mid twenties and way off of Lara's radar, started hassling her. She declined their offer of a lift home twice before one of them went to grab her arm.
"Leave her alone," I ordered, fixing the guy with a hard look.
It had no effect, he just brushed off my words. Lara stood up straight, staring them down and daring them to do something. I took that to be a sign that they weren't to be tolerated any longer, and pulled the one who had spoken round to me, landing a punch on his jaw.
He staggered back, clutching his face as his longish blonde hair fell over his eyes, and his friends jumped me, one landing a blow to my still tender stomach which nearly floored me, and the other going for my arms to stop me from fighting back.
Bryce chose the blonde still reeling from my punch and Lara pulled the one who had hit me away and kicked him to the ground as they intervened. Realising that it was three against three, the ginger haired kid that had been holding my arms took a couple of steps back, getting ready to face me.
I took the offensive, landing an uppercut to his chin with my left and quickly following it with a blow to his stomach with my right. He staggered back as I knew he would, and I took advantage of the change in our relative positions to use my left elbow on the side of his face. He fell back against the wall, his legs bent out, giving me enough room to step forward and sweep his feet out from under him with my ankle. He fell, landing heavily, and I stopped my onslaught to give him a chance to bail. Ginger took it, tearing off down the street, yelling a retreat to his friends, who also surrendered, running into the darkness.
"Everyone alright?" I gasped, clutching my painful middle. Lara glared at me, her eyes blazing, and I looked back her confused.
"What?!"
"You had to start a fight, didn't you? Couldn't just leave it alone!"
"Well, I'm sorry if my concern was misplaced!" What was her problem? She'd made out she was just about to start one, all I did was take the opportunity to give us the upper hand by attacking from behind. I'd helped out a friend, I certainly hadn't done it to impress her, if that's what she thought. A woman like Lara didn't need knights.
"It was!" she yelled in answer, and then, when I stayed quiet, said icily, "I appreciate the help, Kurtis, but you don't have to beat someone up when you can just as easily talk your way out of it. Just because you can fight doesn't mean you have to. What's wrong with the smart option?"
The comment angered me and I stepped towards her, threatening. "And what's that?"
"Talking, Kurtis. Draws less attention to yourself, allows you to concentrate your energies elsewhere. I'm amazed you've survived this long if you want to solve everything with violence."
God, it was my father all over again. "I've survived this long because I don't let anyone mess me around."
We glared at each other, breathing heavily from the exertion and practically begging the other to start something, but Hillary pulled up in the Land Cruiser. We piled in wordlessly, and Hillary, quickly picking up on the atmosphere, allowed the journey home to take place in angry silence.