ROWAN
Her eyes doesn't leave mine.
Those piercing bright blue eyes winds me in, reminding me of the clear skies, of happiness. I release my jaw from it's clench as I try to remember how to breathe again.
Who is she?
Her blonde hair dances with the wind, it's brief but I'm drawn to how scattered it is on her face. She winced, shuffling forward however way she can with her hands behind her. When her head hangs low finally, cutting off the ethereal of her blue eyes, I find myself drawn to a sharp yellow.
Well, isn't she just a ball of fucking sunshine.
She wouldn't last a day here and I'm going to make sure of it. If one look at her can make me forget simple functioning, as a human being, then she has got to go.
For we all know the only thing that can bring down an ambitious man ; a woman.
I knit my brows closer, "Take them outside."
Her head snaps upwards at the sound of my voice but I turn swiftly, not wanting to look at those eyes. Her sunshine dress wasn't helping either.
Admiral, my deputy motions to the men outside and they come running in. The sound of chains rattling, grunts and sharp gasps filled the room just as I walked out.
I march towards the stand, a blandness on my face nudges a subtle warning to the other men standing around. Some hide their faces, some move steps backwards, parting the way for me to pass like I'm a fat man in desperate need of help.
And you think I would have gotten quite used to it after seven years.
Seven years since I've become second in command in Styürñê and nothing has changed. They all still look at me the same way, with intense fear. Their eyes grow hollow as their pupils enlarge at the sight of me. Standing at a sharp 5'9, they all seem to cower at my feet and I don't particularly give them any reason not to.
I would kill in less than a heartbeat.
Women warned their children about me, some men bragged about me, some made jokes — but they didn't live long — and the rest wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.
It was a scar I wore on my face, and one I had grown to become proud of.
I turn my head as soon as I reach the stand, I feel my jaws clench at the rising murmurs from the crowd. My eyes follow theirs, wondering what it is they're so riled up about, and there she was, being pushed forward by one of the guards.
The crowd parted for her, just as they did me, but some reached out to touch her. And, a part of me wondered if they thougt the same thing I did; was she even real?
With the way the sun kissed her blonde hair, it seemed like an eternal lantern that could brighten up anyone's lifetime ten times over. And that sickening yellow dress …. no one's ever worn a bright colour in Styürñê before. It's either black or grey, or a shabby, worn out looking brown.
The guard pushed her as soon as she reached the stand and she fell to her knees in a thud –that's going to hurt, seeing how fragile she seems– and so did the other; I had forgotten about him, the guy that was alive beside her.
"State your business." It was a gruff tone, sending the murmuring crowd into silence.
The guy kneeling beside her begins, she – on the other hand – doesn't even raise her head up.
Was she breathing?
He coughs a little, "Where am I?, what's this place?" He wriggles uncomfortably with his hands behind him. "Why was I kidnapped?"
I resist the gripping urge to roll my eyes, this one's a talker. I turn to her but her head's still cast downwards and I find myself wanting to hear her voice.
"State your business," I repeat.
But she gives me nothing. She doesn't raise her head, doesn't wriggle uncomfortably and doesn't speak. I'm left with her sharp rapid intakes of breath and the way her back sinks a little and rises with each breath that leaves her lips.
My foot lifts involuntarily but comes to a halt when one of the guards smacks her in the back, raising worried gasps among the crowd, and then, yanks her head up with one thrust of his fist grabbing her hair.
My eyes snaps to him —there was no need for that— and I can see the wicked glint in his eyes as he scans her face. I turn away, casting a soft quick glance at the other guards and their eyes are all predatory.
Men and their lust.
If I let her live, they'd use her –no doubt– to bring their most devilish and filthy imaginations to life. So, for her own safety, it's best I kill her.
I've seen them at the pleasure houses, how filthy they can be with women. Yet, I'm only concerned with their performance when they're on field with me. I've killed a few of my men, I'm glad most of them learns quickly not to defy my orders.
"Speak, angel," the sound of his testosterone filled voice pulls me out of my trance. His hands had found a way to the outline of her breasts, softly caressing, almost squeezing.
It takes a nanosecond for me to pull out my gun and aim for his head. It takes even lesser to pull the trigger and let the bullet sink between his eyes. The silence from the crowd is deafening, they've seen this one too many times. And they'll keep seeing more.
His body falls with a thump right beside her and it was then she began to shift uncomfortably. I watch as her eyes darts back and forth from the blood pooling out of his head to his lifeless face that seemed to be staring at her.
It was between her shaky breaths and soft whimpers that she finally looks up and met my eyes.
And in that moment, a small part of me desired to put a bullet in another person's skull if it meant that I get to see those blue eyes staring back at me.
But I knew already by then, or maybe since the moment our eyes met at first, that, her existence was my doom.