Pointed Gun

Questions, Questions

Syncear

THE BIG picture churned from the frizzy mess it once was. My life undoubtedly flashing white before my eyes while all the blood left in my body got the hell out of there, leaving me freezing. I would run too, but where would I go?

Boston shoved the necklace into the pocket of his coat.

I couldn't tell whether he was furious or disappointed. Completely emotionless with his posture as normal as it had always been. He didn't even raise a brow differently. He just. . .studied me. Nothing more.

"Who the hell are you?" Adam voiced his question in a thinning tone. Give Boston a few seconds and he'd wished he hadn't. I could see this going tragically, very fast.

"Please." I found myself whispering to Boston. To myself. Hell, to anyone who would listen. I couldn't tell if I was in any real danger. Though, it sure as hell felt like it. Having the slightest idea that Adam could've possibly spiked the last round of drinks last night wasn't sitting pretty with me.

On second thought, nothing was.

Without my consent,—and right mind— I retched all that bubbled and churned in my stomach from last night onto the hardwood beside me. Thank goodness I just missed his carpet. I would hate to be the one to clean that up once this was over.

Amazing, I got so scared I threw up. That's a first.

"Ah hell!" I heard Adam sigh. A cough following the freedom of my stomach. I wiped at the remains on the side of my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, gazing up to reach Boston's gaze despite obvious reasons. I escaped again. And thinking for one second that he would think twice about not taking it easy on me should've prevented me from doing so.

For the first few seconds, he stared at me with something I couldn't quite understand. Maybe I wasn't looking hard enough. Maybe that gaze wasn't meant for me. Maybe. . .he was thinking twice.

About me? Maybe. About the other strange man standing only feet away from me.

Uh oh.

A match set sparks off in Boston's gaze within milliseconds and my God I wanted to throw up all over again. The literal death in his eyes captured sights on Adam where every emotion that was absent before came in a flash of red-hot fury.

He didn't utter a single word.

That's much worse than if he said something.

Without hesitation, he would've been bashing Adam's face in for even being in the same proximity as someone he 'claimed'. Whatever the hell that meant exactly. He hadn't claimed me. He just thought he did thus creating all these problems in the first place.

Totally insane. Complete psychopath.

"Boston, please." I pleaded a soft whisper again as though the thoughts of the future were playing before my eyes and I couldn't pay to face any of it.

I couldn't decipher whether or not my pleading was to prevent any pain or for his help. They sounded awfully identical to figure out which so easily.

"What's the matter with you?" Boston's darkened voice asked but, everything felt so fleshed out that it ripped a hole straight through me. I threw up again in the same spot.

"Seriously? Do you need a bucket?" As if no response to his voice before didn't give him a hint. Was he trying to get himself slaughtered?

"What the hell did you do to her?"

Like boom, Boston nearly exploded. Finally showing real emotion in his otherwise emotionless voice.

And to think he couldn't act anymore protective. As the perfect nurturing person he played to be, he kneeled at my side and said nothing more with his voice. But rather with his gaze.