| Subject: Chapter 268 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 268) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, November 29, 11:40:06pm
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
She was just thinking into this fact again, as she came around the corner toward her car--only to find a very unwelcome, and unexpected, sight. Another car was in front of hers, blocking it--one she recognized all too well; her gaze narrowed, Fredericks rounding the corner behind her to break into a run--until her hand stopped him, her look intent, as she approached. Whatever the man wanted, she would handle it; something in her firmed all the more completely. There was no way that she would ever let herself be intimidated again.
She never had been, really--not by this man, at least; the fact was surprising, this enemy far more dangerous than any of the rest. Still, she strode right up to the open back door of his car, glaring down at her father, as he sat there so supposedly aristocratically; her glare intensified. But aristocrats' henchmen were usually far better heeled than his.
She merely stood there--just out of grabbing distance--watching him with hatred, her purse held in front of her like a shield. "What do you want?" she inquired without interest. It was clear that she intended to rid herself of him as quickly as possible.
He saw her plans, was glowering--eyes falling to the, increasingly significant, bulge of her belly with great distaste, her purse unable to hide it from him. The sight nearly made him ill--glare returning to hers. "I wish to talk some sense into you." He wasn't the type to be intimidated by anyone's threatening looks.
Neither was she, becoming more her father's steely daughter all the time; she wasn't afraid to cultivate such instincts, if they helped protect those she loved. "I have sense. That's why I've told you to leave me alone." One eyebrow rose. "Anything else?"
Her absolute dismissal was goading--but he didn't rise to the bait quite yet, the breath he let out his lingering attempt at calm. He leaned back further, letting her see the man beside him more clearly--moving on with his plans. "I wanted you to meet someone."
Her look didn't change, even if her stance did, now holding herself on one hip, the other leg pointed out; it was nearly a pose--although she was generally too hard on herself to notice how perfect a model she was. Still, right now, it cried dismissal and disgust, told him just how little interest she had in being the vision of the proper lady he wished to beat her into; her gaze barely grazed over his companion, utterly disinterested. "Did you hire another bodyguard?"
There was a soft snort at this, Jones thinking--despite himself--how very much she reminded him of her mother. But the smile was thin by the time he turned to her. "No." It became crueler, more intense, as the look tore in--and he wasn't certain whether to be proud or annoyed when she wasn't ruffled at all. "This is your future husband, Mr. Enquist."
The introduction gained no reaction he would have liked, even as Dorian tilted his head and gifted her with a rather worldly and polite, "Hello." Nikita was giving a snorting laugh, even as she was amazed that the man could manage so much with just one word--her mind turning. There must be some sort of school which taught killers to be dapper.
Her reaction held none of the qualities her father would have liked, she saw clearly--was not angry, or frightened, or submissive. Instead, she laughed in both their faces, shaking her head. "You've mistaken me for someone else. I have a husband I have every intention of keeping." Her look moved in, the smile still on her lips. "I'll happily see you dead, before anything else occurs."
The threat was delivered with absolute truth and good humor--her gaze a challenge he hadn't seen before; it was the first time she had made her intentions quite so clear. It rattled him a little, his anger starting to show; he had to work hard to keep it somewhat hidden. "You've never hurt anyone in your life. You wouldn't know where to begin."
This response hadn't, on reflection, been the wisest of courses--the challenge met in full. It was only a heartbeat later that Nikita had opened her purse, the gun now in her hand--and aimed dead at the center of her father's forehead. It took a staying hand from the businessman to keep his various guards in line--preventing a Mexican standoff in the middle of a Hollywood lot. His daughter merely shrugged, still disinterested and truthful. "I've had lots of time to practice." Her eyes almost danced. "Try me."
The pair just stared at each other after this, the moment stretching painfully, before Jones finally found his voice--seeing whether long-suffering irritation would put her in her place. "You should be damn grateful I've let you go for so long. You've been nothing but a burden and a disgrace and yet . . ." The gun cocked, aimed all the more clearly at his forehead; he took in a deep breath, used to being under fire. "And yet you wave some *toy* at me again."
"That's where you're wrong--again." She was laughing, as she aimed the gun at the side of his seat; the echo was fierce, as the bullet hit the leather there. Everyone in and around the car jumped, only Jones' staying hand keeping his men from attacking her--and a shake of her head preventing Fredericks from defending her, as well. A long moment later, their look quite intense, the gun was back in her purse.
There was the sound of feet running toward them, as the shock of the moment went on. Her eyes were deadly serious, as his amazed gaze found them once more--her voice quite cold, all supposed humor gone. "I told you before. I'm not interested in any part of you or your offers. Stay away from me, my child, my husband, and my friends." Her gaze moved down to the new hole in his car seat. "The next time, it won't be something inanimate I'll shoot."
She started to move away, when there was a chuckle from the men behind her--more specifically, from the one she had just been introduced to. "You were right, my friend. She's quite the lively one." His ersatz charming gaze met hers, as she glared back at him over her shoulder. "I like her."
Jones was still finding his composure after his daughter's not-so-subtle threat--even if he did his best to hide the fact; his voice just managed to be even, not looking at either of them. "I thought you might." Still, his mind was far more chaotic than he appeared. Despite his intentions of working with Madeline, this was going to be a good bit more difficult than he had thought; the thoughts turned furiously. He was going to have to find some way to negotiate with the girl soon--or he would have nothing left to offer his new partner.
The small agreement between the men--her father's dangerous musings--meant nothing to the woman near them, her look utterly dismissive, as she put the purse back on her shoulder, starting to walk away. "I'll let you imagine my joy."
To say that the actress had been less than receptive would have been a gross understatement. Still, her dismissal, her violence, only charmed the newer man, his eyes sparkling a thousand suggestions at her back--all of which she ignored. She had no interest in anything any friend of her father's might think of her now.
She was just pulling herself away from these intruders, was heading back to her car, as the running footsteps caught up to them all. To her mild surprise, it was Helmut, as well as a few stagehands, who came up--the gunshot clearly having worried them, all filming over for the day. She just smiled her own charm at her would-be rescuers, shrugging slightly. "This man had car trouble. It was backfiring." She looked back over her unwanted visitors--the gaze barely hiding her disgust. "They're leaving now. They don't need to come back."
The stagehands looked a bit uncertain at all of this--some more than a little suspicious--but all of them had lived in Hollywood long enough to know not to ask unnecessary questions, letting the situation go. When Nikita walked back to the car, slamming the door on the pair inside it before turning away, the newcomers slowly drifted off. Whatever was going on here, they and their families would all be safer not knowing it.
Nikita clacked away from her enemies then, only to be followed by Helmut. Without even thinking, she was moving back toward the studio, Fredericks close beside her--just wanting to be as far away from the "businessman" as possible; Helmut's touch on her shoulder was comforting, tried to bring her back. "Are you alright?" It was quite clear from his tone that he wouldn't believe anything but a negative answer.
It was a long breath later, still moving beside him to nowhere in particular, that she answered, her voice quite soft. "I'm tired; I'm annoyed; my feet hurt, and I'm still dehydrated." There was an almost amused snort. "That I just aimed a gun at my father is nearly the least of my worries."
Her determination was clear in her answer--but it was her absolute lack of deeper emotion which made the man stop her, looking deep into her eyes. She had just been working so hard to be strong--had been coming over to the banker's house every spare moment for target practice, as well--making her friend worry for her, for all of them, the thoughts turning. If Michael knew that she had taken up the gun in her defense, what would he say? There was a sigh, Helmut repressing all the possible answers. He really didn't want to know.
She gave a deep sigh, seeing several of his fears, as she nodded--trying to console him by responding more fully. "I'm not happy, Helmut, but I'm also not scared. I won't let him win." He didn't seem satisfied, forcing her into far less pleasant confessions; he was too good a friend to lie to--probably should know when to distance himself, as well. "If it comes down to a choice between him or the safety of anyone I love, I *will* kill him." Her eyes showed her sadness but did nothing to undermine these truths--the fears quite real. God help all those many she loved, if she were left with no other choice but that.
He let out a deep, pained sigh, seeing her sadness, acknowledging her pain--not at all ready to turn away. Still, he wouldn't undermine her determined stance, all the strength she had recently acquired, with his fears for her sanity, should such an outcome finally come to pass; her fortitude was too hard won. All he could do--all any of them could--was to be there for her; the next sigh went deep. Then, maybe they could prevent the looming catastrophe, before it ever happened.
She nodded at his obvious thoughts, thanking him silently, her gaze turned away in a sigh. Still, a moment later, she realized something, looking back toward him. "Why are you here?" Despite his financial interest in the place--and the comfort of his presence--it was too unusual not to wonder.
Ah--finally. He gave her a small smile, remembering what had brought him here from the start; his hand on her shoulder turned her, leading her in a different direction, further inside the studio. "I have something to show you." She paused for a second, clearly nervous--and he forced his smile to become more comforting; it was a quality she was desperately short of, lately. "Something you'll like."
She took his word for this, moving with him--trusting him as much as any of her friends. And his presence nearby *was* encouraging, helped calm her a bit after her confrontation with her father; she needed that. As controlled as she had been during it, any thought of the man set off a nearly-unending, internal rage; she felt it sparking again. That he thought he had a right to even speak to her was infuriating. But that he imagined that he could ruin every second of her happiness and have her *thank* him for such pain . . .
She had to take a deep breath, pulling herself back together, knowing it was necessary to put him out of her mind, for now. This particular confrontation was over--something good promised before her; she made herself smile. That was where her focus had to be. Despite her eternal vigilance, there would be no sort of life for her or her husband, if they didn't remember to find joy wherever they could. That was all that would keep them sane, until they could be together again.
[End of Part 268]
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