Partners In Crime {Michael Jackson & Ariana Grande}

[19]♡needed♡[19]

Misty

I looked out of the open door to see my taxi pulling up outside. I turned my head back to Michael, who was still gripping onto me.

This had to be the biggest dilemma I'd faced in a while.

"You have to believe me, I did love her, but love doesn't blind me anymore. I despise her."

I released his hand and walked out of the door, looking back once to see Michael trying to contain himself.

I said something to the driver as he drove away – without me.

I walked back up the front steps and wrapped my arms around a very stunned Michael.

"Y-you came back,"

"I sure did."

"Don't do that again." He said, sounding quite distressed.

"Don't kiss other girls. Especially not her."

He kicked the door shut without loosening his hands from being around me.

"I nearly cried, you know?"

"Michael, you did cry." I responded, looking at his still-wet eyelashes.

"Shh."

I couldn't stay mad at him for long, it wasn't even his fault.

And at that moment, another letter was slid through the door.

I looked at the handwriting, and it wasn't my boss. Instead, it was for Michael. Which was expected, because we were in his house.

"It's for you."

*

Michael threw me a terrified glare before wiping his brow briefly and running upstairs, causing me to run up after him. 

"Club thirties, don't ask anything. Just get changed and hurry."

I did as I was told, though I had so many questions. Why club thirties at this hour?

We were practically running down the street, taking sharp turns when we needed to.

We stood outside of the familiar green doors before pushing inside of the club.

It was barely midday yet it was full of people.

Everything seemed normal, there were a few familiar faces – including the bartender whom I had acquainted with before.

Everything seemed normal.

Michael let go of my hand and walked around the dancing crowd, before leaning over the bar and murmuring something secretive it the bartenders ear.

He then gestured for me to follow.

We were brought to a black staircase behind the bar, and we ran up them quickly.

I still didn't know what was happening.

He burst open a door with force, and pulled out a gun – that I didn't know he had – pointing it towards a man facing the other way.

"You don't have to do this." Michael said, panting.

The man turned around with a smile on his face, he raised his hands as if to surrender.

Behind him, a young girl with chestnut-brown curly hair was tied to a chair, black masking tape stopping her from speaking. I could tell already by her choice of clothing what she worked as.