Chapter 13

• Crystal's POV I stared into the crowd as if I'd somehow be able to pick him out, but I was startled out of my trance by an idiot. "We're leaving," Jackson said as he wrapped an arm around my waist and started guiding me from the room. "Now." I glared at him. "Why are you just now in a hurry?" Jackson swore and glared at me. "You have no idea who that was, do you?" "Should I?" I asked him. He muttered something under his breath and continued to drag me from the building. That was actually fine by me, I had what I wanted, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to purposely drag my feet just to give him a hard time. "That was John Doe," Jackson stated as he continued to try and drag me from the building. His statement, however, simply caused me to come to an abrupt stop. "The hitman?" I asked curiously. John Doe was currently the world's best hitman. He was cunning, deadly, stealthy, and if he was the one hired against you . . . you never stood a chance. Though not many people could actually tell you what he looked like, but it didn't surprise me that Jackson knew. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you've actually heard of him?" Jackson stood still and stared at me. "I don't much care for that look on your face." "What look?" I asked innocently. Jackson continued to watch me. "You have a look on your face that suggests you actually want to go speak with that guy." "You never know when you might need the services of a hitman." "Why could you possibly need a hitman?" He asked me. "For one, there's this annoying conman that can't seem to keep his hands off me." He smiled widely and winked at me and then he tapped me on the nose, turned on his heels and walked out of the room. I followed after him and since he'd gone a grand total of seven feet, I caught up with him quicker than I would have liked. "What's the hold-up?" I questioned as he didn't move. I looked in the direction that was holding is attention and inwardly, I was strangling him and cursing him out. Outwardly, I groaned and glared lasers into the back of his head. Why? Because there were men in suits guarding the exit and looking closely at everyone leaving. "Are you kidding me?" I hissed. "I suppose that means you're also going to blame me for this," Jackson said. I continued to glare at the back of his head. "No, actually," I told him. "I'm just going to kill you." "Whatever you say." I was about two seconds from shoving him into one of the men in suits and then leaving them to deal with him. "Do you have a plan or we just going to stand here and stare at them until they spontaneously disappear?" I asked him. "I'm thinking," He replied vaguely. And so was I. I was thinking my idea of shoving him in front of the men in suits was utterly brilliant. "I have a plan," He suddenly announced. "but you're not going to like it." He had turned to face me and I gave him a deadpan look. "Well I have a plan as well and I definitely like it." He shrugged. "My plan's better." "And you know this how?" "Trust me." I rolled my eyes. "That inspires confidence. If this plan involves you putting your hands on me, so help me I will rip-" "It does," He interrupted. "but not in the way you think." I frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" Instead of answering, he pushed me back into the ballroom, took a champagne flute from the tray of a waiter and chugged it. I let out a long sigh. "You're disgusting," I muttered. Jackson shrugged. "I've been called worse." I watched as he hit the empty champagne flute against the wall, breaking it. Shards of glass fell to the floor and he still held on to the biggest piece, almost as if it were a weapon. I rolled my eyes and let out another sigh. "This should good-ow!" I stared at him in disbelief before looking down at the bleeding slice in my arm. "Are you insane!" "Only sometimes," He replied. "Hold still." "No way!" Jackson let out a breath of annoyance and gave me a look like this was all entirely my fault. Like I was ruining his plans because I didn't let him slice into my skin further. "It's not that deep," He informed me, like that would put me at ease. Like that would make the fact he'd just decided to slice into my skin a brilliant idea. "It won't scar," He added like that was my biggest objection to getting stabbed. I scoffed. "Do you honestly believe I give a damn whether or not it scars? You just stabbed me with a piece of glass!" "I'm aware. Now hold still." He grabbed hold of my arm, just under the bleeding slice to keep me from moving. That didn't stop me from trying to pull away anyway. It didn't help when he squeezed my arm and then started to spread the blood around with his fingers. "Stop fighting," Jackson told me and I shot him an incredulous look. "The last time I had to do this with a girl, she participated completely willingly." "I sincerely doubt that," I replied. He shrugged. "It's true. Though she got retribution for it later." "Don't think I won't." "Oh," His eyes got that stupid spark in them and he smiled at me. "I'm counting on it." He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and then sliced into his own arm before dropping the broken champagne flute. I sighed and put my head in my hand. "If you're trying to make us form some stupid blood pact, I'm going to stop you right there." He rolled his eyes. "Don't be so overdramatic." He then pressed his bleeding arm into the side of my dress, staining the material a dark color. After he finished, "making me presentable" as he called it, he wrapped his own arm in a napkin taken from a waiter and then rolled his sleeve back down. I looked down at my dress, which was now covered in blood in several areas, but since we were in a secluded, dark corner, it wasn't as noticeable . . . yet. And then there was my blood that he'd smeared all over my arm and partially on my neck. I gestured up and down the length of me. "Take notes," I said. "Because everywhere there's blood on me now, is everywhere you're going to be bleeding by the end of the night." Jackson just laughed. He clapped his hands together and then looked at me expectantly. "What?" I asked when he said nothing. "We need a gun." I stared at him, waiting for him tell me he wasn't serious, or explain further. He did neither. "Excuse me?" I questioned. He rolled his eyes. "I know you took a gun off one of the two men we fought earlier-" "What's this we?" "-I watched you put it in your purse, now we need it." It didn't surprise me he'd noticed, so I simply glared at him before removing the gun from my purse and holding it out to him. He recoiled and looked at it as if it were a venomous snake. I narrowed my eyes at him and grit my teeth. "Now what?" "I don't like guns," He said simply. And that was it. No further explanation, no further eye contact with the gun. "Then what the hell do we need the gun for?" He gestured with a grand sweep to the ballroom around us. "Fire away." I stared at him. "You do realize over half these people most certainly have guns of their own, don't you?" "A calculated risk. We need to cause panic." I glared at him. "Oh, I can guarantee there will be some panic." Jackson waved me off. "You're not actually going to aim at anyone. Just get some shots off at the ceiling or the floor." I glared at him, thinking this plan was utterly insane. There was a high probability that we'd get shots fired back at us and end up dead. Just then I caught sight of someone in the crowd. Just then, a really, really, horrible idea came to mind. "Just how much panic would you like to cause?" I asked Jackson, my focus on one person moving in and out of the crowd. Jackson didn't notice. If he had, he might have thought twice before answering me. "As much as possible." "Fine," I replied. If he was shocked that I agreed to go along with it, he didn't have the chance to express it. Because I was already raising the gun and firing into the crowd. Except, I was aiming for only one person in particular. And I had hit him. Just in the shoulder. Nowhere fatal. I hadn't actually been trying to kill him. And then I tossed the gun to Jackson without warning. Jackson, out of reflex caught it. Just in time for John Doe to look up from the bloody gunshot wound in his shoulder to Jackson . . . who was holding the gun. People had been shouting, mostly out of surprise, but that shouting quickly turned to terrified screams when John pulled out his own gun and began firing in rapid succession at Jackson. I didn't wait around to see what happened next. I simply, calmly, started to follow the crowd to the exit. Everyone was screaming, running, all around me and I lost myself in the crowd with ease. Before I could blink, I was already outside the building. People coming up to me, asking me if I needed help. I was bleeding after all. I played the part of the hurt, bleeding woman and allowed a couple of people to help me to the car Jackson had sent for me from the start of this stupid gala. The driver was more than alarmed when he saw me. Asked what happened. I told him the blood wasn't mine. He started the car. A bullet shattered the window on my right. More bullets began to spray up the side of the car. I ducked low, wondering why in the hell I was the one being shot at and I got my answer when Jackson (now completely gun-less) practically flew through the shattered window and landed half on the second seat and half on top of me. "Drive!" He shouted to the driver, who, after hearing all the gunshots, wasted no time in stepping on the gas and getting us out of there. Bullets continued to spray up the back of the car as he drove us away until finally, they stopped. I looked out through the shattered back window, waiting, expecting to be followed, but no one appeared. I leaned back in the seat, let out a breath of relief and shoved Jackson off me. "What the hell were you thinking?" Jackson growled as he glared at me. I shrugged and just barely managed to keep a smile from my face. "You wanted to cause a panic." "Not like that!" "Well shooting you was the only other option I could come up with," I told him. I tapped a finger to my chin thoughtfully. "I believe something about retribution, was mentioned." Jackson's eyes narrowed and then suddenly he smiled. "Manipulative Bitch indeed." I glared at him, completely unnerved with how he was now finding this amusing. As if the threat of death was a complete joke to him. "Tell me, Babe," Jackson said as he made himself comfortable in the seat next to me. "what would you have done if I didn't make it to the car in time?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "I wasn't counting on you making it to the car, Babe. I was totally going to leave you there." Jackson smiled widely like this was all a joke. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, that smug smile still in place. "You're awfully calm for someone who just made an enemy of John Doe," I told him, hoping to get some kind reaction out of him. I did, but it wasn't the one I wanted. "He was already my enemy," Jackson said and then his smile got wider. "He just doesn't know what I look like." I rolled my eyes. "Of course, he doesn't." Jackson laughed. "Don't sound so disappointed," He said. "Come on, you got to admit, this was fun." I looked at him in disbelief. "This is your idea of fun?" "Oh, come on," Jackson opened his eyes and turned to look at me. "you're telling me you didn't have any fun? Not even when you left me to get shot at?" I couldn't help but smile at that. "Well," I said. "turns out you aren't completely useless. You're pretty good bait." Jackson threw his head back and laughed. When he'd finally composed himself, he went back to closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. "I helped you find the necklace," He suddenly said. "That was the deal. I'm not helping you track down the SD card." "Don't worry about it," I said and that caused him to open his eyes and look back at me questioningly. I shrugged. "I got it. Which means I no longer have to deal with you." Something crossed over his features. Something I didn't like. It was a calculated look. The look he got when he had a plan that was coming together. Like something had just fallen into place. Like he had a con in mind. A con that had already started. And I had a really bad feeling, that I was already trapped right in the middle of it.