Page 13 of Captured By Fate

The room pulsates with the symphony of chaos. My anger boils over into a painting on the wall - a once cherished piece depicting an old motorcycle and scarcely clad woman riding it.

With a final act of defiance, I rip it down and shred it to pieces, streaks of cobalt blue and forest green mixing with shards of glass frame tumbling onto the floor.

Just as I am about to lay waste on the last untouched item - an antique wooden bookshelf - I hear the door creak open. Footsteps echo through the hallways before halting at the entrance to our demolished sanctuary.

Jackson stands rooted to the spot; his eyes wide with disbelief as they take in the remnants of his once well put together haven. He appears smaller somehow; his bravado diminished by desolation.

"Do you like what you see?" I ask him, my voice ringing out clear and strong through the ruins.

Before he can reply, I lunge at him with the screwdriver, my aim unsteady but full of intent. He stumbles back, surprise etching itself onto his face like a macabre self-portrait.

But a swift movement on his part has him evading my wild charge, leaving me to collide with the remains of the bookshelf in a shower of timeless literature and dusty splinters.

8

JACKSON

Ihave to admit, the bitch is starting to grow on me.

When I step back into the room, the door barely makes it past the carnage she left in her wake. Her rage was apparent, and for good reason. But if this little hot head hopes to make it out of here with her head on straight, she’ll learn to do as she’s told.

“Looks like we had a little fun while I was gone,” I smirk, seeing her handiwork at my feet.

Gripping my chin, I feel a strange sensation creeping up on me. Could it be…pride? No. I expect better from anyone in my care, rebel reporter or not. But still, seeing the shattered glass, and the wrecked sofa cushions lying on the floor, I knew our fight wasn’t over.

Hell, I think we’re just getting started.

I finally spot the little minx, hiding wild-eyed behind a potted rubber tree in the corner. I should’ve expected the screwdriver in her hand to come lunging toward me.

She attacks again, the screwdriver glinting dangerously in the dim light of the wrecked room. Shattered glass crunches under her boots as she slashes at me with relentless fury, her striking eyes ablaze with rage.

I deftly dodge her strikes, leaning away from each attack with an infuriating calmness.

"Missed me?" I taunt, an eyebrow raised.

With a guttural scream, she aims straight for my throat, her full, rose-petal lips drawn back in a snarl. Smooth as water, I sidestep, barely avoiding the blow.

"Getting slow, princess. Is that all you've got?"

Her breath comes in short puffs. Spying a broken table leg, she snatches it up and swings wildly. I catch her wrist easily, my muscles flexing as I hold her in place.

"Temper, temper," I chide, wrenching the makeshift weapon from her grip. It clatters to the floor, skidding under the ravaged sofa.

She spits in my face, her brown eyes flashing. "Go to hell!"

I wipe my cheek, an amused glint in my eyes. "Feisty as ever. But you fight like someone who's all fire and no skill."

With a fierce cry, she launches a series of punches, each missing its mark as I dodge and weave. The room is in shambles - torn curtains flutter in the breeze from the broken window, and the carpet is littered with debris.

"Had enough?" I ask casually, barely winded. Her chest heaves with exertion as hatred boils in her veins.

She feigns left then slices right with the screwdriver. I catch her wrist easily once more, twisting until she gasps in pain, her full lips parting.

"Sloppy form," I criticize. "But A for effort." I pull her roughly against me, relishing her struggles. She thrashes wildly to no avail, gripping my arm as I force her into submission.

I twist her around, gripping both of her arms like a straight jacket. As I grip her tightly from behind, I feel the breath in her chest grow sharp with panic.

With every thrash of her body against mine, I realize I didn't expect her to be this much fun. Feeling frisky myself, I seize the chance to peck her sharply on the cheek.

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