Warrior

Chapter One

Satey

Liam Payne.

That was who I saw when I was walking downtown. I didn't have to know him to know about him; to know what his reputation was. If I had ever been taught which boys to stay away from, Liam was one of them.

The stereotypical innocent sweetheart that went rogue once he moved here after his family broke apart. He was a boxer. Apparently a vicious one at that. He never lost, and when he did, he was at them again within the next night.

Imogen said he was the same in bed.

"Reckless, emotionless, dark," is what she had said.

What most girls wanted these days.

It was for those reasons that I was surprised to see him walking around during the day. He was a night-crawler. Constantly at bars, clubs, and fights, but not necessarily in that order.

He was messed up.

He was violent.

He was intimidating.

He was beautiful.

Perhaps it was because of how his deep brown eyes contrasted drastically with the darkness that possessed his face. Maybe it was the fact that since he was athletic, he had a toned body. It might have also been that he looked good in leather jackets and jeans. It could have simply been that his hair was ridiculously straight up in the air, but he made it look good.

The only logical reason that I considered him gorgeous, though; I was crazy.

He was a bad idea.

He was also nodding a greeting at me.

I narrowed my eyebrows and stared him down as I walked past him. I knew how he was, he knew how he was, and he knew who I was.

Not his.

Not anybody's.

It seemed like it took forever to walk past him, as if we were in a slow-motion movie scene. I could feel his gaze on me as I brushed past him and continued to walk without a second glance in his direction.

His presence near me had given me the chills. I had never been that close to him. Sure, I had seen him around before, but I hadn't had any direct contact with him. Granted, that wasn't really "direct" contact per say, but that was certainly as direct as I was going to get.

"Imogen!" I called as I walked into the bookstore our parents handed down for us to run.

I heard a scuttle of claws against the hardwood floor, and was not greeted by my best friend, but instead, the store's Sheepdog. I crouched lower to pat his head.

"Hey there, Banjo," I cooed, "holding down the fort?"

"No thanks to you," a voice said.

I looked up from loving on our dog to see Imogen standing with her arms crossed, but a teasing smile on her face.

"You're late," she commented.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, "not like we're busy anyway."

"How would you know?" she shot back as I stood up.

"It's Friday morning, we're never busy on Fridays. We shouldn't even need to come in on Fridays," I pointed out.

I made my way to behind our counter to place my bag there, followed closely behind by Banjo. Imogen sat on the stool in front the counter and spun herself around as I checked in some of our rental books.