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Dallas was going to let them take the reins tonight. His eyes only followed the movements, his ears taking in the criminal jargon that felt a little too familiar and comfortable. He was once a switchblade in darkness, salted and wicked. The page turned. He was stern, brass-knuckled poetry, written with sun-kissed hands of his girl. A big hound with his little dove.
He saw her fly in, bringing the rush of cold air with her feathers and delicacy. Only, the face she wore had no semblance of a meek little girl, but the robust woman the world had shaped. He narrowly spotted her open hand lashing out before his face was whipped to the side.
The force of her palm against his cheek was more startling than the furious sting itself. He looked at her fearsomely, though her fury did not falter.
"The hell, Blue?! What are you doin' here?!" he demanded, grabbing her wrist as she went in for another shove. Dallas was far stronger than Virginia, taller and bigger— all traits that allowed him to pull her writhing frame taut against his chest. He could feel her heart thumping through the scarce centimeter of space between their bodies.
"I told you not to come here!" he griped furiously.
"Let go of me!" she hissed, trying to wrench his arms off of her.
"Not if you're gonna swing at me again. Blue, I ain't playin' with you, you gotta get out of here," he muttered. His warm breath splashed against the shell of her ear, making sparks erupt across her skin.
She twisted herself in a writhing motion within his grip. Her chest pressed up against the thick leather of his jacket and she could smell the tang of alcohol, her attention stolen by the way he looked her over like she was at her most mesmerizing: seconds away from beating the tar out of him.
"I'm not gonna say it again, you gotta split," he snapped. His face wore nothing but dangerous severity. Anyone who was given that look might've burst into flames then and there.
"How could you?" she demanded, her voice trembling.
His forehead creased and she fought with every fiber of her strength to ignore the way his hard, dimpled knuckles traced up and down the small of her back. "Jesus— how could I what?"
"Darry's loan," she spat out, pounding feeble fists onto him to stop his actions.
As soon as her response punctured the air, a silence had befallen them. She felt his arms slacken around her. Not ever was there a more dreaded feeling than that. Only, there was a contender with his next few words.
"What goddamn loan?"
Confusion was an understatement for what Dallas was feeling. It wasn't possible, he tried to tell himself but he looked down at her face and knew she wasn't lying. He knew every deal, every secret handshake that the Tigers had given. This would be the first time Dallas didn't know what was going on and he despised it.
