𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟕: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
Heated footsteps trod down the staircase towards the V4 lounge, red droplets left in their wake. Chris looked up as the visitor angrily stomped past him, curious about what events would go down this time. Brendan and Cordie's attention shifted inquisitively, thrilled by the drama that was about to unfold. A grin crossed Damon's face when Alaina came into view, her face glowering with anger.
"Ah, speak of the demon," Damon muttered with a snicker.
Brendan shook his head. "The devil. Speak of the devil," he corrected. It baffled him how often Damon mixed up such simple expressions.
"Great idea, parading around like that, beats the posters in lockers. I'll have to use it next time." His eyes raked over her outfit, a satisfactory smile of vengeance on his lips. "Suits you, really. Red's your color, lets people know to steer clear of trouble."
"Right? Nothing says Red Card victim like this." Dhe gave a little spin. "Courtesy of your minions, creative but very cliché. I don't blame them, they don't have a very good example to follow."
He narrowed his eyes, his hands clasping together. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Have you finally come to apologize? Now that I have your precious shoes hostage? Because if so, it's already too late."
"Hostage?" she let out a short laugh, looking to the side then back at him. "What, you think an apology to your angry, self-loathing, narcissistic, emotionally empty ass is worth some shoes?" She valued her shoes, but she valued her pride more.
"Ouch." He placed a hand on his heart. "That almost hurt," he continued, carrying a snide cadence. "We both know you're all talk, only a matter of time until you give up."
"Give up?" She was suspended by disbelief. Apparently, her continued presence after the week she had was no evidence of her commitment to stay. "Seems you're lacking in the brains department, pretty boy. If I was going to give up, I'd have done it long before this."
Damon's cocky expression vanished. "Pretty boy," he repeated slowly, thoughtfully, everything else had flown over his head.
He rose to his feet, his eyes trained on Alaina. Walking towards her, he looked down at the girl and studied her for a bit, his face serious and quizzical. Alaina wasn't slender or short, girls who were five-nine rarely felt so. That was until they found themselves next to Damon Beaumont. It was the intimidating aura that radiated from him that made you feel small; with his stature, tall and broad, and narrowed eyes that held bad intentions.
"You sure have a unique way of insulting people," he spoke calmly, with suppressed irritation. "So what? If you haven't come to apologize or give up, what other reason could you have to be here?" he questioned impatiently.
"To ask a question." There was an ache in her stomach, eating away at her nerves. She smothered the feeling, pushing on. "Have you run out of ideas yet? I mean, it'd be a shame if you used up all your best ideas and failed." Her words flowed coolly despite the storm in her stomach.