"What is going on here, Dylan?", she asked him, knowing only the worst answer could follow, and knowing this only because of the red and blue lights that threatened to consume the room.
"Let's just say that I have a small business," he replied as she moved to show him out the back door.
"A 'small business' that requires you to leave the country. That makes police show up at my house."
"I'm sorry. I'm only doing it to protect you. I have to leave to protect you."
"Leaving isn't how protect people. That's how you lose them," she reminded him as she went to close the door behind him.
"Wait! Ainsley! I-" he stammered as the door slammed in his face.
Walking away was the hardest thing he could ever do, but Dylan found that it wasn't that hard.
All because he did it for her.
...
5 years later
"Everybody, one the ground! Now!" they yelled. At once everyone in the bank, including Ainsley Smith, slowly lowered themselves to the floor of the bank, hands out, away from their bodies. Seeing the guns in their hands, Ainsley knew that the chances of anyone leaving this place alive were slime to none, she stood back up and pulled the firearm off of the fallen officer next to her.
"Hey! You- put the g-!" the man in black was joined by another one of his associates. Whispering ensued between the two until the second criminal pulled out a picture. A picture of a girl with long chestnut hair, jade green eyes. A picture of Ainsley Smith.
"Who are you?!" exclaimed Ainsley.
Chuckling, the second person -a woman, Ainsley now realized- explained, "We work for Dylan."
Dylan, Ainsley screamed in her thoughts, Dylan sent them!
With them backing away, Ainsley advanced on the two robbers, "I have so many questions right now!" she admitted. "But the only thing I need to know is why do you have a picture of me and why haven't you killed me yet?!"
"Ever heard of a 'No-Kill List', sweetheart," the first man stated simply.
"Where is he then?" Ainsley questioned, choosing to not focus on the words that just escaped from his lips. "Where's Dylan?"
"He said that if you ever need to find him, you'd know exactly where he'd be...," he trailed off.
"The house," Ainsley mumbled to herself, realizing that of course her overly reminiscent ex would chose her old house to run a national crime syndicate. "Let all of these people go!"
"Or what?!" the woman teased.
"Well," Ainsley began, "first off, I have a gun. Secondly, I could always just march myself down to your leader, and tell him about this." While everyone was focused on their possible release, Ainsley whispered to the two minions, "Ever heard of insubordination...sweetheart?"
With this the two, along with their crew, left the bank faster than anyone thought possible. By the time that the FBI showed up, the one injured hostage, the police officer stationed at the bank, was patched up, her firearm returned. Although no money had been taken and no damage had been done, Ainsley felt more rattled than one should be after being proclaimed a hero by the law enforcement. He was alive, she thought. He was alive and still running his... whatever this is.
. . .
After the agents and police released her, Ainsley went to the only place she could get the answers she need, now. She was going home. She was going to end this, once and for all.
"Dylan!" Ainsley screamed at the locked French doors that ordained the entrance to her old home. "Dylan, if you don't open this door right now, I swear I will-!" Interrupted by the door opening, she was forcefully pulled into the house by unfamiliar hands. "Let go of me!" she shouted before an arm covered the bottom half of her face. After that, Ainsley and her apparent attacker fought until she was mildly beat up and tied to a chair in the basement. "I hope you know that this is very cliché!" she made known as well as she could as her mouth was being covered by duct tape.
What seemed like hours later, footsteps could be heard on the stairs to the basement. "Well, well, we-," said a voice that Ainsley hadn't heard in five years. A voice that cause her to feel everything she felt the first time. The first time she kissed him. Their first date. The first time they-"Ains!?! But... wha-..." he cut off her train of thought. At this, she mumbled something, realizing his mistake, he whispered his apologizes and went to correcting it.
Running forward he ripped the piece of duct tape off of her mouth. "Ow," she said, deadpan. "I said, you always had a knack for stammering when it was the worst possible time."
"Like four years ago, you mean," he replied dryly.
"Five, actually," she interjected, causing his face to light with the fact that she remembered. "It's been too long, Dylan."
