A/N: This is a long chapter! You are welcome! Thanks to everyone who has been reading and commenting, I appreciate it! I do plan to continue this story, I am choosing all of my favorite scenes through Ignite Me. Any requests?

1542 Sycamore.

Two blocks from my mother's home.

I wonder if he chose the close proximity to remind me of my other fatal flaws.

We open the door to the shuttered home, its crumbling state a reflection of the day to come.

My father surveys the room and points to an open door frame, the door hanging on its hinges. "Tie them up in there," he orders the members of his guard flanking us, dragging my father's two severely injured hostages. "Then secure the perimeter. I want to know if she is coming alone. If you spook her I will personally put a bullet in your brain." Neither myself nor the members of his guard are not startled by his threat, I'm sure it is one of many they have heard.

He turns to me. "Go guard the hostages." I obey, walking towards the room. "Aaron?" Clenching my teeth, I turn to him. "If you step out of that room before I command you to, your precious Juliette will not survive the day." I do not respond or give him any indication of how much the thought of a world without Juliette wounds me.

Cobwebs and dirt cover every surface in what must have been a kitchen at one point. I sit on a broken stool. I hadn't had much contact with the two hostages before now, my father had preferred to oversee their torture himself. They had both been unconscious for the journey and had only now woken up. Gagged, they are looking in my direction and I can feel their fear, hatred and disgust.

Ignoring them, I close my eyes, focusing my attention on the other room. My father is determined, curious, and of course, scornful. The last one is directed towards me, and none of these emotions present an immediate danger to Juliette. The thought of her soon being in this same building sends a chill down my spine. It is only recently I have admitted to myself how deeply I care about her and the ache in my arm reminds me my feelings are not returned. I wonder how many seconds it will take for me to run out there if she needs protection. Could I make it in time? Or would he shoot her without warning? Am I willing to die for a girl who hates me? If I interfere in any way with my father's plan, it would be equivalent to suicide. From his perspective, I have made too many mistakes already and the resentment he holds towards me is building in his heart.

But the thought of a world without Juliette is unbearable.

I hear my father stand up and I shoot forward, stopping before I reach the open doorway.

His voice grates against my nerves, ""Oh good. You're right on time."

She's here. In the same house as me.

In the same house as my father.

Unadulterated terror floods my body.

Suddenly I hear a struggle. My heart stops. Something is hitting the wall. I start again towards the door but remember my father's threat. The feelings building inside of me are causing me to think irrationally and I'm spinning out of control. For a few moments I almost believe I am the kind of person she deserves, the kind of person that could take on his father to save her. Instead, I close my eyes, trying to read the situation. He is not angry. In fact, he is curious and in awe of her. She is still struggling against him which means she isn't dead. Besides, I doubt he would kill her without forcing me to watch.

Why doesn't she rip him to shreds?

I clench my fists, standing at the door, ready to run out if necessary. Not a moment too soon, I hear coughing and heaving mimicking the response I had to my father's touch only yesterday. Knowing he hurt her is driving me insane.

Torture is my father's favorite game and his actions could easily be meant to torment me.

He's talking to her and I am overcome with anger. I don't want him to look at her, to touch her, to be anywhere near her.

"I brought you here to teach my son a lesson. I had every intention of killing you," he is saying. "And I preferred to do it where he would be sure to see it. War is messy. It's easy to lose track of who's been killed and how they died and who killed whom, et cetera, et cetera. I wanted this particular death to be as clean and simple as the message it would convey. It's not good for him to form these kinds of attachments, after all. It's my duty as his father to put an end to that kind of nonsense." Cold detachment. Not good. It is the feeling he has before ending a life. The pain in my chest is incredible. Every cell in my body prepared for a fight.

"Why don't you just kill me," she squeaked, her sweet voice driving a knife into my soul.

He says it is because she is beautiful. My heart is beating so fast, as I run scenarios through my mind of how this may play out.

He wants to take her to the capital with him?

Over my dead body.

He's laughing, the noise makes me sick. "Son, would you come in here, please?"

Finally.

I step out of the room.

She takes my breath away. Her sheer proximity is enough to unravel every fiber of my being and drive a knife into my heart. The only thing I ever wanted is the same person who hated me so much that she shot me and left me for dead. Yet here she is just outside my reach. Terror radiates from her pores and I feel my soul pouring through my eyes, taking in every inch of her. My chest aches with needing her. Every ounce of self-control is dedicated to preventing myself from running to her right now to shield her from my father.

"Sit down," my father orders.

I can't move, my limbs betraying me. She's wearing a spandex suit that hugs all the right places, a harness that highlights her chest. But her neck… her neck is red from where my father strangled her. I can't breathe. My father touched her, he hurt her. I'm going to kill him. I wrench away and sit down, unable to look another second at the damage he has done to her slender neck. Never before have I felt so helpless, my father's grip so tight around my spine.

"Tell me, how did you escape?" My father asks her.

"The first time or the second time?" I force my face to remain unreadable. Both times she escaped she broke my heart. I don't feel her hate this time. It has been replaced with nervousness and curiosity.

"Twice! You managed to escape twice!" He laughs grotesquely, "Incredible. Both times, then. How did you get away both times?" I wonder what he is doing, why he is stalling. Whatever his decision is, he has already made it, why waste time asking irrelevant questions? Perhaps he is attempting to humiliate me further. I study Juliette, wishing I could read her mind for some indication that she cares for me. Some indication that I should stop this, that there is a reason I should give my life for hers. Does she care at all? Would knowing her feelings even matter to me? Would it make a difference in whether or not I chose to save her? It is killing me because I already know the damn answer but it's irrelevant. My father is going to win again. He is going to destroy me today and the darkness inside me will become irreversible. I will not recover.

I think of an entry in her journal, "I'm caught around the throat by a pair of hands that won't stop suffocating suffocating suffocating"

I wonder if she knows how much she is killing me.

"The second time was at the compounds. Warner grabbed me and I shot him," she says. I feel the instant burn in my chest and it has nothing to do with my injury. I clench my fists, recalling the humiliating moment when I told her I loved her. I'm not sure any man has ever been rejected so furiously.

"You shot him?" My father says, his tone dangerous. His mood is changing so quickly it is unreadable. I stare at Juliette, keeping my face composed. Her closeness is causing me physical pain. He does this sometimes, plays with his food. He enjoys the fear and anticipation his mere presence provides.

"Yes," she says, looking at me finally. "I shot him. With his own gun." I look down, unable to look at her disdainful face for another moment, squeezing my hands tighter to prevent my whole body from shaking. It's the words she doesn't say that kill me. She hates me. She loathes me. Love is a heartless bastard.

My father is angry. I can feel the fury building inside him. I'm unarmed. I glance covertly around the room, instinctively looking for a weapon. But what would I do if I found one? Sacrifice myself for the same girl who shot me weeks ago? The same one standing here today with nothing but venom in her heart for me?

"The mistake," he announces, "that he always makes, time and time again—allowing his emotions to get in the way of his duty—it's pathetic," he says as turns to me. "Which is why as much as I'd like to let you live, my dear, I'm afraid you're too much of a distraction in his life. I cannot allow him to protect a person who has attempted to kill him." He's talking quickly now, "I can't believe I even have to have this conversation. What an embarrassment he's proven to be."

Before I can move, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a gun, and aims it at her. My heart drops, but instantly, his anger changes to frustration. "I'm sick of always cleaning up after you," He yanks me up, pressing the gun into my hand. "Shoot her. Shoot her right now."

The only person I've ever loved is standing in front of me and I am holding a gun. The only person I've ever loved hates me, wants me to die, tried to kill me herself. Every nerve in my body is screaming with tension. A part of me shuts down as I bring up the gun. I've ended a life a hundred times before. My father has succeeded at one thing, I'm a killer. A war is overtaking my soul. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm two different people inhabiting the same body. I feel the gun, cold metal against my sweaty palm. The feel of it, so familiar. It's as if we're one. And it prompts the part of my brain dedicated to my training, to keeping myself alive, to fight for me to extinguish her. To pull the trigger as easily as I have every other time. My hand is steady, my body knows exactly what to do. To kill someone that hates me, just like all the others.

"Hurry up," says the voice that haunts my waking hours and my dreams at night, "The sooner you do this, the sooner you can move on. Now get this over with—"

Every moment I've shared with Juliette flashes through my eyes

and I wake up.

So what if she hates me? I'd forgiven everything she'd done and everything she could do long before. These feelings building inside of me spark something inside of me. For a second I break away from my father's chains and something darker, an evil stored inside me, reminds me of the real enemy, of the debts he owes. He has stolen my mother, my life, my soul. He will not take Juliette away from me and turn me into the abomination he has always wanted.

I point my gun in the right direction.

But I can't pull the trigger.

I imagine myself pulling the trigger, him falling to the floor and dying. I'm so close to the relief I have always wanted. But inside, I'm still the scared boy too petrified to kill his own father because some small part of him still seeks his father's affection.

He pulls out a gun of his own but I am not afraid of death.

"Point the gun in the right direction, Aaron. This is ridiculous."

"I have no interest in killing her."

"Fine," he points the gun at Juliette. "I'll do it then."

That almost seals his fate. "Shoot her and I will put a bullet through your skull," I promise, my voice steady.

"How charming," he says, mocking me. ""What is it? Does she make you feel brave, boy? Does she make you feel strong?" I imagine the bullet piercing his brain, shutting him up forever.

"Does she make you wish you could be a better man?" he laughs, "Has she filled your head with dreams about your future?"

My heart aches, all at once remembering her hatred, her contempt for me. If I don't kill him, he will end me. In one action I have given everything to Juliette, my entire future. I will myself to make the small motion that will erase him from my life.

"You have lost your mind," he says, "over a stupid child who's too much of a coward to defend herself even with the barrel of a gun pointed straight at her face. This is the silly little girl you've fallen in love with." How dare he insult her. He has no idea the power she could wield. She could rip him to shreds. "I don't know why I'm surprised." I'm breathing harder as I squeeze the gun. I want to pull the trigger, to end this once and for all, but I can't. I can't do it and I never have been able to. He is scorning me for the times I've tried and failed.

"Shut your mouth," I say, my voice low and full of contempt. Pull the trigger, Warner. Pull the trigger.

"You are weak," his disdain for his own son all too clear, "Too pathetically sentimental. Don't want to kill your own father? Too afraid it'll break your miserable heart?"

I clench my jaw

"Shoot me," he says, his eyes dancing, bright with amusement. "I said shoot me!" He lunges for me, digging his fingers into my bullet wound, twisting my arm behind me until I can't help but give him the satisfaction of a small gasp. It feels like he is going to tear my arm clear off and it takes every ounce of the self-control he has beat into me not to scream.

He pushes me and I fall, barely regaining my balance.

"So much talk," my father says, shaking his head. "So much talk and never enough follow-through. You embarrass me. You make me sick."

He hits me full-force. I don't flinch. I don't move. I cannot think of failure. He will not break me. I swallow my emotions, keeping my face perfectly composed. I have trained myself to never show a reaction, hiding my pain as much as possible. Doing so has always given me some semblance of control in the situation when in reality I knew I had none.

"Do you want to threaten me again?" His anger is uncontrolled and unpredictable, but still I know I will not be able to shoot him. My head is spinning too fast for me to form another plan. "Do you still think you can defend your little girlfriend? You think I'm going to allow your stupid infatuation to get in the way of everything I've built? Everything I've worked toward?" He jabs the gun into my forehead, emphasizing each word, "Have I taught you nothing?" he shouts. "Have you learned nothing from me—"

This might be my last moment and all I can think of is Juliette.

Who will protect her if he kills me now?

A/N: Thanks sweetwaterspice for once again helping me unravel the many layers of Warner.

Did I get him right? His motivations for acting/not acting? I'd love to hear all of your thoughts!