Creating the Fire

chapter 2 part 6

When Valentine understands there's someone after them it's already too late because they are behind him. His lips form something like 'I have an idea' and he strikes with his elbow in a quick motion. The man behind him is well trained, probably in martial arts because he manages to avoid the hit. Marcel is also ready for his turn. Two of the men attack him at once leaving the third fighting with Valentine. Every person in the club moves away, giving the needed space. The music is still playing louder than ever. Two fatty guards intervene in Valentine's fight but to Marcel's surprise, he uses moves from Russian sambo to get rid of the guards with one kick. This goes better than expected because the guards are forced to withdraw. That means he's even more skilled than he had already thought. Then maybe Alfa Group or some other Russian special forces? There's a lot that's not adding up and Marcel doesn't have the time to come to a conclusion. He has to take care of the two other guys.

From the first moment, they won't go easy on him. Probably they have gotten an order to bring him alive but not unharmed. Marcel rolls over a table, bringing all glasses down with him. The men in black use some impressive moves to stop him from moving but Marcel dodges them all. He's like a flash, only visible for a moment. He uses everything that's within his hand reach. He smashes a glass to one of their heads but they still manage to get out uninjured. Marcel jumps onto a table and takes advantage of his position. They don't go without trying but Marcel is still faster. He steps on their heads with a force that pulls them to the ground. One of them grabbed his foot, pulling him down with them. Marcel turns his leg around one of their necks and pressed the pressure point. The man's body limps instantly and he falls down unconscious.

The club is in chaos, everyone screaming and trying to find the way out. Marcel and Valentine are frozen into one position. Now they are the ones who seem to be losing because both of the men are pointing guns at their heads. Marcel raises his hands slowly to hold them visible, the sigh of surrender. But his face tells a different story, a devil himself, for whom this situation is nothing but fun.

"Buckle up Buttercup, you just flipped my bitch switch," he makes a rapid move to the left, and the shot is heard but Marcel is already far away, again on one of the tables. "Double is not a countermeasure," he straightens himself up a bit and smirks evilly. "Besides are you cockeyed, your aim is fucked," and after that smart-ass comment, the dark man attacks again but this time more intensely. Marcel is fighting for his way to the door. Human masses are blocking the way out.

Valentine has to admit that the man he's fighting against is highly trained. His face is covered with chalk-like white powder and his eyes are coloured black. They are at the same level and that gives him enough to deal with. From the corner of his eye, he follows Prince, to make sure he handles the brutes. And he makes a light work of it, even though the men are skilled. He even smiles and throws witty comments at him.

"You two are related?" White Face presses through gritted teeth when his head aimed blow misses Valentine. The Russian tries to hold it casual even through the hardships. "Just passing by." Then he manages to hit the man's tight but White Face only smirks like it only has begun. "It's not your business," his voice is similar to a really annoying screeching that only harrows the ear. "Yours neither," Prince's sing-song sarcastic voice interrupts their conversation. "And well, guess what, I found your fuckin' nose in my business," he takes the man over without comment from Valentine who regularly deals with the other. Neither of them pays attention to the public.

"My only mission is to get the work done," White Face winces with a low voice and aims for Marcel's injured shoulder. That goes well, even when Marcel dodges it, he feels a dizziness wave and ends up wavering for a short moment but that's enough for White Face to hit the point. Even the slightest touch feels hell like pain and he's forced to strike his teeth together in raged pain. He lumps the voice down. "Good to know because I don't walk strangers lapdogs," Marcel's vision is a bit fogged. 'Damn you liar,' he gnashes his teeth, glancing towards the Russian. Valentine's lie was better than probative because there was no way to tell apart the truth and a lie. But Marcel knows his body. He knows how it functions. He knows his limits, and what's happening with him now are far from what he's capable of.

"Shut your mouth," The Chalk Face's eyes are narrowed and the paint gives him an even more piercing look than he normally would have. He takes the knife out "Come with and maybe we'll leave your lover alive." There's a reason he's not pointing a barrel to Marcel's head anymore. The good news, they want him alive. "I didn't mean to offend you... But It was a huge Bonus," The blonde gives him a dangerous half-smile.

"The cops are on their way," a feminine man voice calms the other. "Why aren't they here yet," the other voice cries. And Marcel knows, he doesn't want any trouble related to officials. "Enough of you all... I'm getting out," he announces joyously and avoids another attack. Valentine's dark eyes stay on him longer than he would like. It's like he has something in mind he's keeping from him. But It doesn't matter. "Thanks for the company, but I'm not feeling relatively friendly anymore," makes his way towards the door but before getting out he gives the Russian his helping hand and gives a blow at the dark man's nape. He winks an eye in a bright smile, turns to the Chalk Face. "Tell Messiah, I'm not so fond of him to give a private meeting."

"Forgive me, дорогой," The blonde hears the accent address him for the last time. It almost counts as a farewell, until Marcel hasn't gotten out of the doorway to notice a black minivan pulled to the other side of the road. Suddenly he feels nauseous and stumbles onto his on feet but manages to remain standing. The next second he senses are feeling someone behind. "You can tell it to himself, Princess."

Marcel gives his best to fight back irrespective of his dizziness. He's almost lucky enough to pull him off but then he's suddenly surrounded by half a dozen dark shadows. 'Fuck, this dickhead has minions' he laughs at himself ironically. The surroundings are spinning at high speed but he still manages to blow some of them off. The blonde fights until the Chalk Face manage to cover his face with a cloth dipped in chloroform. He tries not to breathe but some of it still ends up in his nose and lungs. Marcel falls to the ground, his body numb. He knows for sure that the man is holding the cloth just in case. The itching in his lungs is getting more and more intolerable. He feels the need to cough but he'll eventually end up breathing more of it in. So he holds himself back. The actual last thing he sees before blacking out is being put into the trunk space, his lids damn heavy. "Welcome, you're officially on my hate list." His word came out in one sluggish disaster, fortunately, enough understandable. "You don't imagine," The Chalk Face grins before shutting the trap door. The blonde felt the urge to rip the smile off his nasty face.

"That pays me back," Marcel mumbles to himself and drifts off to a sleepless dream. He only wonders what it all has to do with Valentine. Why did the man apologize? Was it because of the spiked drink or something utterly unbound to the exact moment? The day was barely begun and it already ended. 'We'll see,' he didn't lose his happy mood until everything was completely cone. He'll finally get to know the man he'd been following in the shadows for long. What kind of a man was he? That remained unknown.