Betrayal
The cool summer air filled in your lungs as you walked the busy streets of New York City.
Sky full of stars hidden behind the thick fog of light pollution, the buildings closing in over you. The sun had long set beyond the horizon, waking those across the globe. Youre not sure what time it had said goodbye, but you knew it wasnt long ago. There was still a warmth in the air of where the sun had been heating. Your black leggings may not have been the choice of clothing, but you had to leave. You at least thought that the open back tank top was smart, so you;ll cut yourself some slack on that. Though, your boots were starting to dig into your ankles and your big toe was feeling crushed. Fuck the life of walking everywhere in New York.
You wont be too mad at yourself, you wont allow it. You left in a rush. Dillan had come home and wasn't happy, not like he was ever happy. He's always mad about something. Work, friends, family...you.
The relationship use to be sunshine and fucking rainbows, until the clouds came rolling in in his eyes, and then you no longer saw the sun. You can't remember when it all started, truly couldn't. It might be from all the blows to your head that messed up your memory. Dillan wasn't always like this. Wasnt always abusive, physically at least. His words use to cut deep, but you could handle it. You could take his words and close your mind off to him. He was just stressed. But, then he no longer felt release from his words. His hands itched to hurt.
As you step over a crack in the street, your mind wonders to what had happened tonight. Dillan had slapped you for not showing him emotion as he screamed. You've grown use to it, what else are you to do? Act hurt? No. Yeah, he's hit you before, but tonight was different. He didn't stop. Dillan's fingers had stunk your check, but then they where around your throat. This was new.
The burn in your throat as you swallow your spit reminds you of the burn you felt as you gasped for air. Your eyes began to tunnel when he finally let go. Falling to the floor, he reached for you by your hair and bicep. The dull pain in the back of your skull is another reminder. Honestly, your arm doesn't hurt too much from where he grabbed you, but you haven't looked at yourself so you don't even know if theres marks. You don't care to look, truth be told.
When he finally let you go, you had ran. You haven't ever ran before. Dillan didn't even have time to processes what was happening until you where already slamming the door. You could hear his yelling as you descended the stairs of your apartment building.
And that leads you to where you are now. Feet aching, throat sore, scalp tender, and heart broken. The New York air was warm, but welcoming like a hug. Its arms wrapped around you soothingly, and you wanted to cry. You stopped walking outside a loud bar. The bright lights blurry behind your tears, "Corner Stop". A hot spot in your neighborhood. You glanced around, no line to get in tonight and you almost laugh out a breath of relief. The bar shouldn't be as busy tonight, and it brings mild comfort to your bones. Well...what the hell. You could go for a strong drink.
Walking to the door, you flash your ID. The Bouncer, a tall man with chopped blonde hair and scuff along his jaw and cheeks looks at the card, back at you and freezes. HIs eyes dance around your face, your lips, and down to your throat. Your skin prickles because is this dude checking you out or...checking you out? The hardness that settles onto his face, the shift in his eyes, and the hard line of his mouth is telling you he's not trying to flirty check you out.
"Um...Can i have my ID back please?" You ask, shifting on your feet. For the love of gods, the boots are going to get set of fire. Can this dude please hurry up, you just want to sit.
Your voice seems to snap him out of it. He hands you your card back with is two first fingers. His eyes flicking back to yours, "Here you go." A nod of his head motions you to enter.
Side eyeing him, as he side eyes you while you walk around him, you can't help but feel exposed. Was this a mistake? Did he have to blatantly stare at you like that? Maybe you shouldn't have gone somewhere in public without seeing yourself.
You beeline for the bathrooms. What do you look like?
The bar is more crowded that you thought from the outside. The counter for the bar is right when you walk in, creating a box in the center of the room. To your right, there is a row of windows with a shelf running the length of the whole wall, bar stools under the shelf. Every stool is occupied, people sitting while their friends lean against the bar shelf. Between the window bar and one side of the main bar, is a skinny aisle with no room, as almost every stool is occupied at the main. People are standing and mingling within the walking area. You look to the left. The DJ booth sits up on a small stage, in front of another small walking path. You walk forward, moving between the bar and the DJ stand, to the dance floor that sits on the opposite side of the entrance.
Now, the dance floor was full of bodies. There space to walk was just big enough for you to squeeze through. You can see the bathrooms on the far side of the whole room, all the way in the back. You're caught off guard when you see another bouncer at the step down before the restrooms. He's not as tall as the one at the door, but he's still muscular. He has a kind face, a look of humor dancing in his eyes. Brunette hair chopped short, making his face look longer and more youthful. You glance at him as you walk by, noticing how he stares at you. His eyes drop to your arm closest to him. You don't see his face, don't want to see his face.
Slamming into the door, shoving it open to just get out of the hot room of main area. You stumble in front of the mirror and almost sob at your face.
A pink hand print is on your left cheek. The finger prints are from the bottom of your eye to your jaw. You lightly touch the mark, still hot to the touch. Your eyes drift to your throat and you have a sudden urge to vomit into the sink. His finger prints are there. Dark marks of blue already forming from where he could have ended your breathing. You touch the marks, and even though your fingers barely even make contact, it burns. The burning feeling in your throat becomes more intense as you bite back your tears. You won't fucking cry in a bar bathroom. You have a bit more class than that.
You look yourself in your eyes. You see pain, anger, sadness, and shame. How could you do this to yourself? Why didn't you leave when he first hit you?
You just wanted love. You wanted to feel something other than loneliness. Dillan filled this hole in you, you didn't know was there until he touched you softly. Not having your father in your life was always a problem, but you thought you had grown past that trauma. Sure, you stopped going to therapy, but you believed you had beaten that demon into submission. No, you hadn't because you were looking at the result of that demon getting its hands on you.
You shake your head at yourself as another woman walks in. Well...stumbles in and slams into bathroom stall. You smooth out your hair, ignoring the soft tingle of pain as you fix the back of your head. Maybe with your hair tamed, you wont draw too much attention.
Taking a deep breath, you smile, turn on your aching heels, and walk back out to the bar. Brunette Guy is still there, arms crossed over his chest with his eyes dancing around the bar. You almost want to ask him how old is he because there is no fucking way this guy could be older than thirty years old. He has youth to his face, but theres life lines traveling from his eyes and around his mouth. He must be happy person.
You find a stool on the right side of the bar, facing the inside of the boxed in bar. The dance floor is across from you, on the other side of the square. You place your credit card on the counter, catching the eye of another short haired blonde man. He looks like he might be happy person, so you smile wider has he makes his way over. There's a look of mischief in his blue eyes, a small pull at his lips. But, a hardness on his face as well.
He parks himself in front of you, placing his hands on the counter, fingers spread, "What can I get a pretty lady like you to drink?" The smirk on his lips pulls farther.
You tilt your head slightly, finding your true smile, "Whatever you'd like to make a pretty lady like me to drink. I'm not picky." You then roll your eyes up as if your thinking, and then add "Well, as long as its strong." Your eyes drop back to his face.
Bartender chuckles, softly you hear it over the heavy base, "I can do that. Rough night?" A look in his eye then, and his tone not a light as before. Did the flashing lights hit you just right and expose you?
You pull your hair around to help over your neck, and rest your sore cheek on your hand, "You could say that." Hopefully your hand will hide it.
Pressing your palm to your cheek stings. Dillan really hit you hard hard this time. You ignore the pain, keeping the smile on your face.
Bartender nods once before stepping back, looking under the bar for liquor. His lips pushed out, thinking. "Ah, here we go." Bartender grabs a clear long bottle with a white label and red wording. "I hope you like Tequila. This is made in Mexico and has a smooth citrus taste," he explains as the pours the clear liquor into a tall glass. "I like to pair it with a splash of Sprite, and a squeezed orange slice." He does the actions as he speaks them. You raise an eyebrow at the size of the drink. You may need a cab for the ride home.
He places the glass in front of you, and waves his hand at you as you hand him your card. You pull your borrows together, "What?"
Bartender shakes his head, "My boss would gut me if he found out I made a pretty girl like you pay. Especially, one whose had a rough night."
You cock your head to the side, leaning more on your sore left cheek, you continue to hold you card out to him, "I appreciate the gesture, but I can pay for my drink."
Not a basket case, you think to yourself. No, you don't need no ones pity. You can pay for your own drink.
Bar man stares at you for a long moment. His eyes shift between yours, a brow raised. He nods once, takes your card and spins around to the register.
You don't say anything else to him before you wrap your fingers around the glass. Its cold, and it feels so good. You bring the straw to your lips and take a sip of the beverage.
Its strong, it burns your throat in a pleasant way, and burns your nose. He's correct. The smooth citrus is refreshing, and the sweet of the soda and orange brings a summer flavor to your tongue. A smile forms on your lips, and when you go to say thank you, Bar man is standing adjacent from you, already helping someone else.
You let your eyes wonder around the bar. Across from you, on the dance floor, are couples and singles dancing to the heavily based music. You notice the wall behind the dance floor is a wall of mirrors. It makes the room look bigger than it actually is. You see your own face looking back at you, and you laugh to yourself. You look bored.
You glare at yourself, and then change your facial feature to look more relaxed and unbothered. There we go. Thats better. You laugh again to yourself, because this is silly. Your hopefully ex-boyfriend had not even two hours ago tried to end your life, and here you are judging your own face at a bar. You're ridiculous, your mind tells itself.
Eyes wonder the reflections of the mirror. You can see whats going on behind you; people giggling and laughing with each other. Theres a tall, big, blonde man to the right behind you. He's leaning against the counter under the wall of windows, arms crossed over his big chest. A small smile is on his face, his jaw line sharp, and his throat is moving as he speaks to a slightly shorter man.
Shorter man has beautifully dark skin, some scruff around his mouth and chin, but the skin on his face and arms look smooth. They both are wearing button ups. Tall blonde has on a deep red shirt, tucked into black slacks. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. And, yeah okay. He's got some nice muscles. Shorter man is dressed in a forest green shirt, also tucked into black slacks. The shirt pulls a little tight over his biceps and chest as he raised the bottle of beer to his lips. They both have the first few buttons of their shirts open as if to cool themselves off. Reminds you of when you take off bra and throw it across your room. You kinda want to do that now. Its slightly digging into your side boob.
You think of what could they do for a living for them to be so nicely. Salesmen? Lawyers? CEO's of some big company?
Sipping your drink slowly, you think of what Dillan told you before. He said he was part of a big New York mob and that is what he did for a living. You only ever partly believed him. He didn't really dress the way you assumed people part of a mob would dress. He was too casual. These men though, what if they were? You know New York had certain parts that belonged to certain...powerful people. You're not naive to what happens in the city. But these men, look like they could smile in your face and then shoot you between the eyes.
Some of the work parties you have attended with Dillan, the men and woman always looked relatively appropriate for the affaire. Maybe Dillan just has poor taste in fashion. Or, maybe Dillan is a lying sack of shit and doesn't actually work in what he says he works. Sounds a bit more probable.
Your pulled from your thoughts when a big, heavy presents occupies the counter space to the left of you. Turning your head slowly, tearing your eyes from the men behind you, to the man thats slithered in next to you.
Oh. Wow. Okay. Yeah.
Eyes land on a heavily tattoo left arm. The white sleeve of the button up is rolled up, exposing the colorful ink that takes residence on the skin. Theres teal, what looks to be scales, and red lines over the scales. Black lines outline the teal and red, forming into what you can only think to be flames dancing over the scales of some animal. Snake maybe? The ink disappears under the sleeve covering his elbow and bicep. You want to see what it tattoo is. It looks to wrap around his whole forearm, and the claws of whatever it is end at his wrist, just before the jut of his wrist bone.
Your eyes move up the arm, over the bulge of his bicep, over his..oh. Large chest. You suddenly realize how close he is. Theres enough space between the two of you for a small animal to squeeze through. You let you glaze travel the rest of the way and land on his face. And holy shit.
Fuck.
The sharp cut of his scruffy jaw, his full lips pulled into a small smile as if it permanently lives there, the dark blue eyes with full lashes, and lets land on the styled short hair. He looks good.
His head is turn to the side slightly, looking at the men that are behind you to the right. He's not speaking, but theres a pull to his lips as if he might.
And then, "Steve, you're the idiot who let Sam make the plan. Don't get your panties in a knot because you didn't like the outcome." Good gods in whatever the fuck.
His voice. Low, rumbly, dark, but full of light. Was it the base of the song or what is the base of his voice that just vibrated through you?
You had to take a big gulp of your drink to quench your thirst. You press your thighs together and had to turn your head away from him. You turned to look at the bartender, who by now, was standing there looking at Tall Hot and Deep Voice.
Bar man has a brow raised, tapping his finger on the counter, getting Hot mans attention. You don't look. You can't look.
Out from the corner of your eye, you see him turn is head to look at the bartender, "Another round, Clint."
Clint is bar man, got it.
You take a risk. Turning your head into your hand more, you look up at him from under your lashes. And, your lungs freeze.
His eyes are already looking at you. They're deep blue on the outer perimeter, blending into the sky around the pupils. There's a ring of black separating the iris from white of his eye ball, almost making them look like they might be drawn. Is he even real? You feel the sudden urge to either vomit or touch him. You want to feel if he's as warm as the heat he's radiating.
A moment passes before his lips pull into a wide smile, "Hello there."
Do not remove your hand. Whatever you do, do not let him see what you're hiding. You curse yourself for coming here tonight now. You have a fine piece of man right here and you're hiding bruises. You put on your most flirtations smile, slightly tilting your chin up at him. "Hello there." You repeat.
His eyes shine at you, a slight lift of his brows, "What are you drinking tonight?" His words drip on you like sweet honey.
Sitting up slightly straighter, you let you hand fall from your face. Maybe if theres still a mark there, it'll just look like its from resting your hand there. You look down at the glass, back on him, "Um..Clint made it for me. He said it has Sprite, some citrus tequila, and an freshly squeezed orange slice."
As if saying his name summoned him, Clint placed three Miller beer bottles on the counter. "Here you are, Boss." Boss?
You throw your eyes at Clint, and then back at to Boss. Before you can ask, "What did you make her?"
Clint smile widely, "I gave her the good ol Reposado. She said she's had a rough night." His eyes shine as he looks at you. Theres a glint in his eye as if he knows whats going to happen next. The look of mischief is living in his eyes, but theres something else. They look to the left of your face. No.
"Rough night, huh?" He wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottles, holding all three in his right hand. His bicep brushes against your bare shoulder.
How can you get out of this? Don't say anything alarming, right? Easy...right? "Yeah, you could say I've had a rough night." You kind of grumble. You didn't mean for it come out that way. You meant to brush it off.
His brows pull together, the smile faltering into a hard line. His right arm extends out next to him, handing the bottles to his friends, Steve and Sam? You stare at him, watching as the shine in his eyes dime into something dark. Theres a flash of shadows in his irises.
You notice your mistake has his eyes travel from yours to your face, and down farther. You had flipped your hair off your left should in your fit of light flirtation behavior.
You keep watching him as his eyes stare at your neck. You don't know this man, but you feel the need to explain to him. You feel the pull in your stomach as if your going to speak. Reaching up, you slowly pull your hair back over your shoulder, not breaking your gaze on him. His eyes watch the motion, then snap back to yours. "I'm Bucky. Bucky Barnes." His hand shoots out to shake yours.
Confusion floods over you, but you take his hand and give him your name. As your hands shake, you notice he grip. Its strong, firm, but gentle. You can feel the callous on his palms, and the softness of his fingers. You let your eyes drop to the arm that your currently holding the hand of. The scales do flow onto the underside of his forearm. Its the body of a dragon with red flames licking over the scales. The head of the dragon much be under the sleeve.
It dawns on you that you're still holding hands with him, openly checking out his arm. You go to let go, but Bucky doesn't. From under your lashes, you peer up at him. "Can I have my hand back?"
Bucky's eyes shift back up to your face from your neck, and smiles, "Only if you say please." he teases.
You grin at him, tilting your head, "I only say please when I want to." You tease back.
Bucky's thumb rubs lightly over the joint of your thumb connecting to your hand. His head drop to look down at your hands, a smirk forming on the side of his mouth, "Then it looks like I wont be letting go, doll."
You're a puddle. Your insides have become mush inside you. The wires in your head short-circuit before zapping back to life. You about to respond before a big hand is placed on Bucky's shoulder.
"Come on, leave the pretty lady alone. She don't want nothing to do with you." The dark skin man grins at Bucky.
Bucky lets go of your hand, not without a kiss to the back of your hand. You nearly faint. Lips are soft, pillow soft with a slight scratch of his five o'clock shadow. Your thighs press harder together. Gods help you.
"Sam, I think you just like to hear yourself talk." Bucky grunts back at him.
Sam laughs, "Who doesn't love to hear me talk?" You giggle at them before you can stop it. You place your hand over your mouth to hide you smile. Sam points at you, "See, she likes it."
Bucky squints his eyes at Sam, "No she doesn't. Right, doll?" His eyes roll back over to you.
You find your voice, "This is free entertainment."
The Blond man, who must be Steve, finally joins in. He leans into Bucky's ear, whispering something softly. You watch as Bucky's face morphs into something dark. Gone goes the bright eyes, and smirk. Face turns stoic, void of any emotion, but darkness.
You slightly lean back from him, you don't like that face. And Bucky takes notice you creating more distance. He nods his head at Steve, but says nothing to him. Steve and Sam glance at each other, before they both smile and nod at you. Sam gives a quick goodbye and then is following Steve out of the bar.
"I must go, doll. Come by again soon." His hand reaches up to brush your hair off your shoulder, leaving a small patch of hair draped over your neck. "If you'd like any advice," he begins softly, eyes flicking between your eyes and where his hand is playing with a strand of hair. You can feel the heat in your face, and your heart in your throat. "putting a full bottle of Visine in his drink will go undetected in an autopsy." The look of evil flood his face. His eyes bright with anger, but theres something else there.
His hand drops away from you, turning his head to Clint, "Hey Clint, her drink is one me!" With that, he smiles at you one last time before sliding away from you, and out the front door.
You let out a breath. Did he just tell you how to...poison someone without getting caught?
"Who is Bucky?" you gasp at Clint as he places your card in front of you.
He smiles, then grins, "Thats James Buchanan Barnes. Also known as the deadliest man in New York city. And you have caught his eye." Clint laughs, a finger wiggling at you as he spins away.
That bastard.
You feel you breath quicken, you feel your heart beat faster. You're going to throw up. You're not joking this time around.
Bucky...the mob boss who runs half the city?
You slam the rest of your drink, grab your card from the counter and make your way home.
The whole time you limp home, fuck these shoes, your head is pounding. How did you not know? You have seen him before, but don't know where. You have to have seen him before. The news? No. He wouldn't do that, big boss men don't get in front of the cameras and give statements. They have a team for that.
But where...
You freeze outside your front door. One the other side is your- is Dillan. It hits you.
Dillan wasn't lying about working for a mob. The few dinner parties in the city with him..but you - you thought they were just regular work parties. You didn't..
Oh god.
Dillan works for Bucky.
Fuck me.