"Hey, Arthur!"
The loud, grainy, boisterous voice of Grainger rang out in the near-empty neighborhood of Beaudor. With more than half the occupants off to either school, work, or wherever the good Lord's spirit led them.
The neighborhood was as beautiful as it was peaceful, and the crime rate was as low as it could be. Everyone was their brother's keeper, and there were Samaritans peppered around, but not when the trouble got real, because then it was every man for himself.
Arthur simply walked on, a sling bag strapped across his left shoulder and down to the right side of his waist, ignoring the sniggers of Grainger and his boys as Grainger approached him. He had expected this but didn't have the time for it right now. Because he had less than an hour to spend at Gabriel's grave before shuffling off to the Trance and taking his place behind the bar, where he sometimes worked, to keep an eye on things.
"How's the ass hole hanging in right there, Arthie?" A calm voice rang out, piercing through his reverie.
That got his attention, making him whip his head to the direction the voice had come from with a small frown skirting his brows, as he spotted Peter hanging back with the rest of the boys. Something about his best friend had changed; he could feel it but couldn't quite figure it out. He had wanted to keep going, but something about that felt wrong to him after seeing his best friend there, so he slowed down to a halt and stared quite expectantly at him instead. Expecting Peter to join him, but his friend made no move to leave his spot.
As much as he wasn't so fond of Peter and his new buddies these days, this place held sentimental value to Arthur, because this was Gabriel's old neighborhood, it was here he had been beaten to death and was buried. Arthur and Peter had broken down after they were told of his death, but the perpetrators had been shipped out of the neighborhood by their families, who followed soon after.
Everyone knew that whoever messed with Gabriel, messed with Arthur, and whoever messed with Arthur, messed with Jamil. Arthur had been out on one of his missionary journeys, seeking out seasoned fighters all over the world and training under them, when the incident happened. He hadn't gotten over his mother's death for very long before that, so Gabriel's death hit him harder.
Arthur had an emotional shutdown after his father called to give him the news of Gabriel's death. He had left the sensei he was training under at the time in Tokyo without a farewell, flown all the way down to Sorona, and tracked down the family of the boys who murdered his friend. He hadn't expected them to be remorseful, but he didn't expect the boisterous bragging he got when he finally saw them—about how great it felt when every punch brought Gabriel closer to death's door.
They didn't notice the fury in Arthur's eyes or see their deaths coming either, because of how calm Arthur seemed when they spoke. That was until Arthur moved past them in a flash and stopped right in front of them again. Their minds couldn't come to terms with what was going on when they suddenly slumped, paralyzed, with their necks slit from one end to the other, and Arthur was on his way back to Europe on a public airplane. Their lifeforce slowly draining away from them with the pain of regret.
Although he had long taken revenge for the death of his friend and the loss Gabriel's family had gone through, he still visited Gabriel's grave and made sure the place was well kept.
He glanced at Peter again and studied him. Wasn't he supposed to go visit Gabriel as well? What was he doing hanging around with Grainger and his goons? Arthur wondered. And why was he looking taller and more muscular than he remembered? The Peter he knew was about a head shorter than he was, quite pampered, and looked quite boyish with his curly hair. But this Peter had a crew cut; cut quite low to his scalp, looked like he'd been under some rigorous training, and was almost the same height as him. Strange, he thought.
But then again, they hadn't spent months together as friends, and he owed Peter one. So if venting would help him get over his disappointment at the news that he and Arthur were lovers and help him sleep well at night, then he'd let the guy knock himself out. Although he had to admit that the whole thing was beginning to get on his nerves because he hated bullying of any kind after Gabriel lost his life to the same thing,
"Are you deaf?" Grainger barked, glowering at Arthur and taking him out of his mindscape.
Arthur turned his head toward him with a scowl. He couldn't help but feel that Grainger was more than he made himself out to be, as much as the guy liked acting as dumb as a pig. There was nothing dumb in that brain of his; Arthur could bet his last dime on it. Grainger instead gave him the feeling of being watched by a predator, but that was the guy's problem, not his.
"Would you call off your dog, or do I do it for you?" Arthur asked, lazily turning his head to stare at Peter, who stood there with his arms crossed, equally studying him with a bit of interest.
"Did you hear that, Grainger?" Peter turned to him.
"He called you a dog," he said.
Peter tried to hide a satisfied grin from lighting up his face as he obviously tried to fuel Grainger into getting worked up, which seemed to work.
Because one could almost see the smoke pouring out of his nostrils and ears as he glared at Arthur. But Arthur could see the almost playful calmness deep in his eyes. Nope, not good—not good at all, Arthur mentally concluded, while he and Grainger stared at each other, as though they could read each other's minds.
"I hear him alright," Grainger replied.
"Which is why I'd like to show rich boy here how dogs bite," he threatened, as he held his hands out to grab at Arthur, who ducked, rolling his eyes.
"Ooh, look who's got some fancy moves." One of the boys with Grainger hooted and teased.
"Too bad he's only got cocky moves." Another spoke, and the rest went wild with laughter.
Grainger smiled evilly and tried to grab at Arthur again when the voice of a girl rang out.
"Were you deaf, or didn't you hear him ask you to call off your dogs, Peter?" She asked with raised brows and a cocky expression.
That voice! Arthur screamed in his head as he turned sharply to see the girl from the other night walking towards them. His eyes involuntarily glanced down at her fingers and saw Cleopatra looking like a billion bucks on her thumb, making his lips slightly curve upward.
This was Diana, alright. She was well known because of her brother, who lost his life trying to save a boat full of people before finally drowning himself. She wasn't exactly pretty, but there was just some spiciness about her that drew people in. Her best assets were her pearly white teeth, covered up with seemingly pouting full lips, and an hourglass figure that'd make Eve proud of her descendants.
"This isn't a karaoke night, Diana; it's a guys' thing," Peter haughtily told her, sweeping her lithe body with a lazy gaze as she stood there and eyed all of them with an air of nonchalance.
"Don't try yourself, peanut balls," she drawled, slowly walking forward without sparing him a second glance.
Diana turned to stare at Arthur, who just stood there staring at her in amusement, like the banter all around them had nothing to do with him. She stopped right in front of Grainger and Peter, who had walked up to Grainger and stood beside him, shielding Arthur in the process as she smiled and studied her nails.
"However, I'd give you guys three minutes to get lost and act like this little spat never happened." She added with a soft smile.
Grainger almost tucked his tail and ran. There was no way anyone would tell him that smile didn't promise them a slow and painful torture; it made him feel like he was being slowly coiled by a hypnotizing snake. Her eyes swept over them one by one and finally landed on Grainger, giving him the chills.
"What if we don't?" He calmly asked, taking a step forward to stand toe-to-toe with her.
Diana smiled and ran a finger across his chest, stopping where his heart was, and made a come-hither motion with her index finger. Grainger's eyes widened as he felt a sharp, painful tug at his heart every time she did that, while he strained to keep himself standing. He staggered backward, trying to steady his breathing while Peter held on to him from behind so he didn't fall. His eyes trained on Diana, a tinge of interest lurking inside them, while Arthur cocked a brow in surprise, a small smile playing on his lips.
"You don't seem to get the memo, Hulky; I do the bullying around here and not the other way around. So if I say we're done here, it means we're done." She said with an air of finality.
Grainger shook his head as though to clear cobwebs in them, nursing the part of his chest she just messed with while stepping back. He knew he daren't lay hands on the city's sweetheart—the witch would beat him black and blue before he even attempted it.
"I'll let you go this time," he spat out at Arthur to save face.
But who would have thought that Arthur would wink at him and keep a straight face as Diana turned to look at him, ignoring Grainger and the others who had begun heading back to whatever hole they had slunk out of without daring to look back?
Feeling bored, Diana turned on her heels and began leaving as well, while Arthur turned to stare at her with his brows furrowed in concentration, as if he was trying to figure out something elusive about her.
"You're coming, or you'd rather wait for them to come back after I'm gone?" She asked over her shoulder without a pause.
"Right. Coming, definitely." Arthur said with a small smile that she didn't notice as he sprinted after her and began walking by her side, stealing glances at her every now and then.