Rule Forty-Seven

One Year Ago

He stood watching her as she danced from afar. She shimmied her hips that little bit extra as he looked, blue eyes gleaming, a smirk on his pretty face.

She’d been performing in this burlesque club for years, and never had she ever been so pleased to dance for a single person.

He was beyond gorgeous, tall, blonde and tan, his body lean and athletic. She was in love, in love with performing for people like this.

Her number finished and she regretfully moved from his gaze to the back stage area, moving into the lounge to change into her next costume.

“Melanie!” Her producer called as she went to pull on the next piece.

She looked up, meeting the balding mans gaze.

“Yes?” She replied as politely as possible.

“There’s a man asking to speak with you. He paid to pull you out of your next number, so treat him nice.” The producer said dully, bored, hurrying the other performers onto the stage.

Melanie nodded and moved out of the lounge into the corridor, curious as to who had bought her services.

She walked out into the audience area, surveying the perimeters carefully. No one seemed to be waiting for her... Until there was a hand on her back.

“Rene.” A voice muttered quietly from behind her.

She turned sharply, caught off guard.

The man standing in front of her was tall, and somewhere in his forties, wearing a black and very smart business suit. He looked out of place within the dingy walls of the club, but his demeanor said he simply didn’t care. His piercing blue eyes burnt holes in her skin and she shivered involuntarily.

“I... I think you have the wrong person,” she whispered meekly. “I’m Melanie, not...not Rene.”

He smiled at her words, grasping her hand and placing a kiss on each of her knuckles.

“As beautiful as the day you disappeared,” He muttered solemnly, and she pulled her hand away quickly.

“You’ve got me confused with someone else,” Melanie said, turning to move away, but he grabbed her arm painfully tight and pulled her into his chest, covering her mouth with his massive hands.

“You pretty girls always have to put up a fucking struggle, don’t you?” he hissed into her ear venomously.

She thrashed wildly against him, trying to get away, but he’s pulling her towards the door.

“Come on baby, just let me have my way with you.” He whispered, and for some unimaginable reason, when he said it so lovingly, her heart stuttered.

She bit his hand in a second of powerful courage and escaped his vice grip, hurtling forward into a hard chest. Melanie looked up, beyond pleased to feel the muscled arms of her fiancé wrapping around her protectively.

“You better get the fuck out of here before I kill you,” Luke growled, his voice gravelly and filled with anger.

She buried her face in his chest, not daring to look at the terrifying stranger.

The man said something softly, and Luke advanced forward menacingly, but she managed a weak “take me home, please, I just want you to take me home,” and Luke stopped, looking down at her with an adoration she truly cherished.

“Okay baby,” he sighed, lifting her into his arms and leading her backstage, to where her bags were.

When they got home that night, she cried softly into his chest from pure shock until he makes her forget with his incredible love and talented mouth.
_____________________________

She stands at the edge of the bed, covered in blood.

She doesn't know what’s happening.

She can’t remember what's happening.

Melanie is covered in Luke’s blood and its staining her skin (why is it there?).

His blood is in her hair, splattered across her face, dripping from her hands.

What’s happening?

Where is she?

Where is Luke?

This isn’t real, this cant be real, he isn’t dead, am I alive?

She keeps hearing the gunshots over and over, on replay.

He isn’t dead he isn’t dead he isn’t dead.

If she keeps repeating it, it has to be the truth.

She can hear his scream in her head, the gurgle he made as the blood filled his lungs like some kind of sick anthem.

Not dead not dead not dead.

She stares at her hands for a long time and they are shaking. She’s shaking too and her eyes and face are wet.

I cant remember when I started crying.

How much time has gone past?

Not dead not dead not dead.

There is blood in her mouth too, tasting rusty and metallic.

Not dead not dead not dead.

Luke is cold.

She is too.

His heart has stopped.

He took hers with him.

Someone hauls her up. But she doesn’t care who.

He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead.
____________________________

Noah doesn’t know how they missed it. She doesn’t know how she missed it.

When Jack Prince’s brother is the one that hops out of the SUV, she knows. She’s made a mistake, a big one, and this is bad.

“Noah?”

She doesn’t know who is talking, because all she can seem to focus on right now is the way Jack Prince’s eyes flash when he looks at his brother and the way her heart has stuttered to a complete stop.

“We’ve made a mistake,” Noah can hear herself saying.

“Noah?!” It’s Liam. Something about his voice snaps her from a moment of loss, a moment where she can’t find herself or where she belongs. “Who is it, Noah?”

“We shouldn’t have missed this,” she laughs. It’s without humour, because fuck they shouldn’t have missed this. How did they miss this? “Marcus Prince.”

“Who?”

“Marcus Prince,” Noah breathes as her eyes lift to the sky. “The guy in the car? It’s Jack Prince’s brother.”

In the tree, Harry can feel his blood turn to ice. He’d been the one to kill the wife and the two kids. He’d been the one to execute the contract for ten thousand dollars. His grip on the gun loosens for the briefest of seconds, but then he’s clutching on tighter.

Liam stops dead. He’s massaging a sore spot on his leg, wincing, eye focusing on the screens in front of him. He can vaguely recall the contract, one of the first that Harry had done with them. It had been over a year ago, a small deal that was probably one of the worst they’d ever done - murder a beautiful wife and her wonderful children, make it look like a house invasion.

“Do you remember it?” Noah asks. She’s watching Marcus walk down towards her, watches the two men flanking him.

“The wife was having an affair,” Harry provides. “Marcus Prince saw his brother in his own kid, completely lost it. Made the deal.”

“How the fuck did we miss this?” Noah hisses. She still can’t wrap her head around it. Had Noah and Harry been so caught up in each other they missed it? Had Liam been so caught up in Zayn he’d missed it?

When Marcus reaches Jack, tension seems to grow. They stare each other down, eyes shooting daggers, daring each other to do worse. It’s not like they look any different to each other. They’ve got the same facial structure, same brow line. Marcus has an intimidating tattoo plastered across his forearm, brown eyes that pierce through anything, brown hair, brown eyebrows, brown stubble. And everything that is dark on Marcus is light on Jack

“What are we doing here, Jack? I thought you needed protection, not backup.”

Jack shrugs, finds it within himself to smirk. “It’s all the same to you though, isn’t it?”

It’s a stab, and Marcus seems to catch himself before he can snarl back at his brother.

“I think we’ve landed straight in the middle of a family feud,” Noah breathes.

It’s in that exact point in time she notices all the men have turned to stare back at the exchange between the brothers. All of them have just stopped.

“Harry, lock onto your next target.”

Not even five seconds later, a loud gunshot echos around the woods and the second man standing next to the younger Prince explodes into pieces - well, his head explodes, really. But Jack Prince jumps all the same, hands flying up to shield his head. Marcus is startled; just not as much.

When Noah notices one of the guys from Jack Prince’s unit not accounted for, she’s breathing down the intercom and giving Harry instructions he finds hard to understand; her voice is so thick with her accent because of the adrenalin in her veins.

The tattoos on Marcus’ arms move as he uses the muscles, hand moving down slowly to his weapon. “What the hell are you dragging me into, Jack? I’m not here to be a puppet in your games.”

It’s almost as if Jack Prince has had enough. He moves so quickly Noah can barely follow, because one second he’s growling and the next he’s got his glock pressed straight onto Marcus’ forehead. “Don’t fucking test me, brother.”

A bubbled laugh escapes Noah’s throat before she can help it and she shakes her head. Where her team didn’t need to be was in the middle of a family feud between two of the most influential criminals in the area. What her team didn’t need was to be pulled apart by contracts. She had known something like this was bound to happen, where collateral damage-like situations forced her and her boys into positions they certainly didn’t need to be in.

“Let’s finish this,” Noah says into her intercom. “I’m hungry and my shoulder is hurting.”

Gun-fire erupts in an instant, Melanie and Josh taking point at the back of the house. Jack Prince ducks, takes cover behind one of his cars, and then bolts for the tree line that Noah has surrounded herself in. Marcus stays where he is, crouches against the back of an SUV; he doesn’t want any part of this shooting, and Noah can see that in his face.

But Noah also sees that Jack is running right to where she’s covered in a shrub next to a tree. She doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. He presses his body up against the tree, breathing heavily, cursing to himself.

“C’mon, Noah!” He calls. “I’m waiting for you!”

That’s not how she works. So she waits, waits for him to move to the next tree, follows him with her eyes until he’s far enough away she can slip out of the cover and move back towards the house.