Stay With Me...

Chapter 2- Cruel Intentions

John walked hurriedly along a busy pavement somewhere in London, his head was down,trying not to be recognized. Already, since leaving for the morning, four people had tried to kill him. That was only twenty minutes ago. He was almost near his first destination, when out of nowhere, his front was covered in scalding hot liquid. Not again. He growled angrily, grabbing the arms of the perpetrator, who was already half on him. "Ow!" she squealed. When he looked up, he was met with a pair of wide, dark brown eyes, "I'm so sorry!" She apologized quickly.

Letting her go, "No, I'm sorry," There were already purple brusies forming were his fingers had squeezed. It was the young lady from the night before, Emmaline. She was wearing nude colored heels that did not do much for her height and a dress that perfectly complimented her. It was a pale pink and ended mid-thigh, giving him a great view of her even better legs. She was staring at him. Why was she staring at him? Perhaps it was because he was staring at her. Not saying a word. He cleared his throat, "Really sorry. I should have been looking at where I was walking."

"Its fine really. It takes two to tango, right? Even if it was a really bad tango." She laughed shyly, as if deciding that the joke was way worse than she expected. He laughed too. "Ugh. I covered you in coffee. I feel terrible." She put a hand on her forehead. "This is a disaster." Since the night before, her demeanor had shifted drastically. Then she seemed so sure of herself, confident, cold even, but now, she was shy and flustered. Of course, last night she had not spilt scalding hot coffee on him.

"It's okay." It really was not though. He had not come here with much. One bag filled with ammo and coins more than clothes. But he could see she was already so embarrassed; he could not bear to make her feel worse.

"It's not. Let me pay for your dry cleaning," She opened her handbag, getting out her purse. "It'll be like..."

"Nothing. It's okay really. I needed to wash this shirt anyway." John put his large hands over her smaller ones, trying to stop her from taking any money out.

"Are you sure?" She looked up, "Tell you what," Putting the purse back, "Since you won't let me pay for your dry cleaning, and I still have to make it up to you for drenching you in my latte, at least let me buy you dinner. If you want of course." She looked down, her cheeks turning pink.

"Dinner sounds great. It does. But I'm not sure that now is the best time for me. I have a lot going on." Like every assassin in the world trying to kill him, "I'm so sorry" 

"That's totally fine." She shook her head. "But if you change your mind, you know where I am. I'll be there for the rest of this week. Think about it okay?" Emmaline smiled one last time, before informing him that she had to get going. Regrettably, he told her goodbye, letting her hurry off, disappearing into the sea of people.

Dinner with Emmaline. The thought kept replaying itself in his head as he walked up the street, the smell of coffee reminding him of her. Maybe he should go, it was one night, free food, and she seemed nice. But then again, he might only bring her danger, he was being hunted. He did not have time for dates. Was it a date? Did she ask him out? He was so occupied with the thought that he almost walked straight past the store. He stepped inside, the air-conditioning already beginning to dry his shirt.

  ***

The next night, John was walking back to the hotel when someone pulled him in, swinging their fist to punch him in the face. Before the large hand could connect with his jaw, he caught it, jerking it upwards, simultaneously kneeing the person in the gut, knocking the air out of them. With the aid of the dull streetlight, he could see it was a man, younger than him, tall and burly. Nothing he had not dealt with before. Using the man's temporary loss of air to his advantage, John slammed him into the wall, his head hitting the bricks. The man countered, recovering quickly to head-butt John, trying to push him to the ground. John held his ground, the two struggling. For a minute, the other man let himself be pushed to the ground, faking a minute of defeat to pull a knife of his sleeve. Scrambling to his feet, the man held the knife out, one bad move and it would impale John. Thankfully, he rarely  made those. Expertly, he grabbed the hand with the knife, engaging in another wrestle with his opponent. As they wrestled, the man pushed him up against a wall aiming to stab his throat, but between the John moving and the grip on his hand, he only managed to leave a gash on his shoulder. Fueled by the pain, John pushed forward, shoving the man into a nearby dumpster, forcing his head down, his head hitting the metal. The sound of his skull cracking sounding and was followed by him slouching against it, but not dead. John grabbed the knife from where it fell on the floor and sent it into the man's chest. Now he was dead.