AN: I like cookies. Just thought I'd share that with you!

Chapter 13

Kris

Dillan. Aw, crap.

"Who's this, honey?" Dillan asked. He never called me that before, so I could only guess he was doing it to make it clear to Brady that I was his.

"Dillan, stop it. He's just a friend, and I'm not having an-" Ew. "-affair. God," I complained.

"You better not," he fumed, glaring at Brady. He looked Brady up and down, sizing him up.

Now, I know the girlfriend is supposed to be all, "My boyfriend can take you down," and all, but I couldn't help but think of Brady walking away from a Dillan-pretzel. Yeah, Brady was that big. And it was sort of amusing at the thought.

"Dude, she offered for me to help deejay this," Brady said, trying to become a peacemaker.

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean you can get so close to my girl," Dillan fired back.

"Dillan! Brady! God!" I screamed, grabbing the attention of the pale family and Brady's friends. Jacob began to walk over.

"Hey, what's going on?" Jacob demanded.

"Tell your retarded ass brother over there that he's too close to my girl!" Dillan yelled.

"Jacob, don't say a thing," I snapped. Dillan looked up at me. "Dillan, we need to talk. Brady, cover for me. Just put a CD in the slot when the song ends."

I grabbed Dillan by the sleeve of his uniform shirt and marched him to the janitor's closet.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed, glaring at him.

"He was getting into your space, and he needed to back off!" Dillan defended himself.

"I didn't seem to notice we had a ton of room in the DJ booth," I retorted.

"We have enough for him to stay away!"

"Until you hear me complain, and he doesn't back off, you will not intervene, understand?!"

"Krissie, I-"

"Understand?!"

"Yeah. I understand."

"Dillan, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you need to back off, okay? I'm not your girl, I'm not your property! There is no need for you to act all possessive around me everytime a guy looks in my direction!"

"Why are you friends with this Brady guy, anyway?"

"Because he saved my life!"

"... What?"

"I was walking in Port Angeles and these guys grabbed me. They held a knife to my throat. If it hadn't been for Brady and his friends, I would've needed a coroner."

"Krissie, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you didn't need to know!"

"I don't want you near Brady, though, okay? You will never go near him again, you hear me?"

"Since when did you control my life?" I spat, backing out of the janitor's closet. I bumped into something hard.

Looking up, it was the black haired man that was snarling with Brady earlier. He looked really mad.

"Stay away from my niece," he growled. What the-? Niece?! Who the hell was this guy?!

"Who the hell are you?" Dillan yelled.

"My name is Emmett McCarty," he answered in a menacing tone.

!!!

Emmett McCarty! My grandma told me stories about her brother, and how close she was to him! And then she told me how he disappeared from his hunting trip. Surely Emmett can't be this young, could he?

"Emmett?" I asked stupidly. Emmett looked down at me, his face apologetic under the mask of rage. He threw me to the side. I landed into warm arms.

"Whoa, there, girl," the boy said. I looked up and noticed it was Harry. He was big, but not as big as Brady, Jacob, Collin, or Seth. His teal eyes showed concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered, straightening myself out. I saw that Brady was approaching. Fern was at the DJ booth, presumably after kicking Brady out.

"Hey!" he yelled, heading for Emmett.

"Wait-" I gasped, trying to pull him back by the arm. I noticed a few families stopping what they were doing to stare at us. Mr. Troy, the club's owner, was heading straight for us.

"Ms. McCarty, Mr. Jones, what is going on?" he demanded. Dillan and I straightened up.

"Nothing, Mr. Troy," we answered at the same time.

"Nothing seems like a whole personal drama being displayed in my club!"

"No, Mr. Troy, we were-"

"Perhaps you can enjoy your drama on your own time," Mr. Troy declared. "I've had enough of your public displays of affection! It distracts you from our business!"

"No, Mr. Troy, I-"

"You're fired, both of you."

I thought I might break down and cry, but instead, I felt heat burn through my cheeks and my fists clench tightly.

"So? Who cares? I hated working here under low wages, selling crappy food to all the good customers here, playing music that is lame and out of style, and, just FYI, roller skating is so eighties!"

Mr. Troy's face went purple. He marched up to me and raised his palm to slap me. I shreiked and flinched away, but his hand didn't make contact. I looked up.

Emmett was gripping Mr. Troy's wrist too tight, keeping him from hitting me. His family was there, too. A skinny, pixie lady held out her phone to show Mr. Troy the three didgits she punched in.

911

"Leave her alone and I won't report you for abuse," she trilled. Mr. Troy pulled his hand back, glaring at me and then to Emmett and then to the pixie lady.

He left, leaving me to finally process what just happened.

My uncle, fighting my boyfriend, so many people, Brady- has the room always been spinning?

"Whoa!" Brady yelled just as the lights of the club went out.

AN: Whoa, I'm feeling dizzy.