His Bloody Smile | ✓

23 - dramatic

"'cause i don't wanna lose you"

•••

"Where the hell is that fucker?"

Everyone merely stared at him as he scanned the room, searching for someone to hit. Christopher cursed under his breath, making Andrew turn his head towards the noise.

In an instant, he had his hands grabbing his shirt, staining it with his dark blood, his face close to his.

I knew that look on his face all too well.

"You asshole, I'll make you pay for what you did," Andrew threatened.

"Andrew," I grunted his name as he was about to strike him. He stopped abruptly, his fist lingering in the air a few inches away from Christopher.

Judging by his expression, I could tell Andrew had not realised I was in the room. Or anyone else either. He slowly lowered his hand, easing his hold on the shirt as he gazed at me.

I noticed Andrew was wearing his shoulder holster over his white tank top, two guns dangling limply from it. He also had a sheathed dagger peeking through the opening of his jeans' pocket. Why was he not using his weapons?

His knuckles were as red as the dress I wore the fateful night of the dinner, and it had all been because of me. He was here because I had been daft enough to believe Christopher was kind.

"Sabri-"

"Look who finally decided to show up," Oliver interrupted him. I watched as his body froze at the sound of his old friend's voice; everything became tense. He quickly spun around; his breathing hitched as soon as he realised he was actually there. "I've been waiting for you, Andy."

"Boyd," Andrew gritted his teeth, "Who let you out of prison, huh? I thought you enjoyed it there." He crossed his tattooed arms over his chest as he stared at Oliver, who was smirking.

"I had some business to attend to," he replied, "As you can clearly tell." He motioned towards me, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"What does she have to do with anything?"

"Oh, Andy, you have no idea." Oliver chuckled and looked at the open door; a man was lying unconscious on the ground, "By the way, did you really kill all of my men on your way up here?"

"They are not dead," Andrew rolled his eyes, "That is your way of dealing with enemies; I only knocked them out."

"And where is the rest of your crew?" he proceeded to question him, "You don't expect me to believe that-"

"I came alone," he finished the sentence, obviously saying what Oliver was thinking.

"You what!?" I suddenly exclaimed, "Are you deranged?" He shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets.

He was barmy; his spontaneity was through the roof. He was so vexatious I could kill him.

Or kiss him.

Either option sounded like a good idea.

"Didn't I tell you he would stop at nothing, babe?" Oliver looked at me.

"Woah, who are you calling that?"

"Andy, my friend," he placed his hands on his shoulders, "This is really not a good time for jealousy."

"Get the fuck off of me," Andrew answered, his mouth in a straight line.

"Alright, alright," he stepped back, glimpsing at the open door in exasperation, "We were talking about you before your dramatic entrance."