Caught (Reserved? )

Ryan was splayed out in an awkward angle on the bed, his covers only covering hsi waist down, which was clad in baggy jeans. Yeah, he slept in jeans. Bu so what? His top half was bare, revealing the faint, shadowed outline of rippling muscles in the darkness of the night. The window off to the side of his bedroom was still opened slightly, the moonlight pooling into the room and onto the side of his poorly dressed bed.

He was only half sleeping, and Ryan was vaguely aware of light, tender, and deliberate footsteps on the wooden floor. He stirred in his sleep, moving onto his back, his arms now draped over his chest. His sleep-enduced brain was still functioning, and his eyes wandered aimlessly underneath the lids, as if searching out for some hidden, nonexistant being.

Ryan heard the quiet clink of metal, and soon after felt the cool touch of a blade on his throat. His eyes clenched a bit, but he managed to keep his breathing regulated as if he was still in a deep, inturrupted sleep. He felt pressure applied gently to the blade, then an unexpected hesitance, and he took this moment to his advantage.

He would've sprung up immediately, if the blade hadn't been expertly centered over his throat and would'nt have dug into his flesh if he'd moved. No, instead, his hands, that were resting leisurely over his stomach, flew up, grabbing unexpectedly slender wrists, pushing the blade-hand away from his throat and twisting the arm so that it was behind whoever-it-was's back. He sat himself up as best as he could, his bare chest lightly brushing against the other figure's.

Ryan's eyes snapped open, and he was surprised to see that his attacker was a woman, and he nearly released his grip on her, but she had come in here with an obvious intent to kill him, so he, instead, tightened his grip harshly on her wrist, his other arm coming up and putting space in between their two bodies, his forearm rested harshly against her collarbone.

Ryan removed his one arm from her collar bone as she bit him, and he glared at her angrily. "Come now, dear," He said quietly, "Why would I let go of you when you came here to assassinate me?" Ryan kept his other arm away from her, though, and didn't even bother to replace it. He chuckled deeply and stared into her gaze, watching her hood fall off almost all the way.

Ryan stared at her, letting out a short, cold laugh. "Hell, and you expect me to let you go so you can slit my throat out? Yeah, right. Be my guest." He had lifted his hand to pull her hood off all of the way to get a good look at her face when her mobile rang, and his eyes dropped to where the nosie was coming from. Instead of removing her hood, he took her cell and put it to his ear, a rather bloody grin spread across his face.

"Yeah, I'm here, perfectly alive and well, thanks for asking," He chuckled, "I'm concerned for your health, as well," he jested, before adding, "Well, I'm not sure your assassin will be of much use to you after this little encounter. So I'll talk to you later, sir." He dragged out the word 'sir' with an uncanny and ugly tone that was daunting and portrayed unhidden anger as well as vexation.

He flipped the phone shut and pushed himself off the bed, hopping off, his hand still grasping her wrist firmly, "So," he commented, "Is there any particular reason you wanted to kill me? I figure I may as well know before I become your last target," He grinned smuggly.

Ryan fornwed and stared at her incredulously. "Father?" He snapped. His eyes flashed with uncontrolled anger momentarily before he simply chuckled. "Aha, yes. Like I'd care if it was my father," He snapped. "I ran away from my home when I was young." Ryan grimaced angrily.

He stiffened when he felt the blade against his throat again. "I'm not going to let go." He snarled, shifting away gently. "It's not very fair for me to have no weapons and you to have all of them. Letting go of you would be a suicidal mission for myself." Ryan chuckled evilly. "It's not lucky for you that I always keep weapons around here," Ryan shrugged. He wished he could reach his bedside dresser. In it he had a pistol. He was too far away to be able to reach it, however.

Ryan gripped her other wrist as hard as he could, twisting her around. He felt the blade cut a bit of his throat, and he winced, feeling a thin trickle of blood go down his neck and fall down his bare chest. He used his spare hand to grab a pocket knife out from underneath his pillow, flipping it open and pressing it harshly against the small of her back.

"Oh, you're not?" Ryan laughed, "I don't think so, dear." Ryan grimaced. "My father must've overlooked one simple thing, then, hmm?" Ryan paused a moment, "I'm his son. I know how he works better than anyone else. And since I am his son, you'd think he'd know better than to send a woman to come and kill me. But, for now, I guess it'll do." Ryan brought up the butt of the pocketknife and brought it down upon her temple.

Ryan grimaced as he heard the loud clinking of knives clattering to the floor, along with something out. he didn't other to look at whatever it was. All he wanted now was to freak out her employer. Was it really his father? The voice definately could've been his father's, but his father wasn't one to kill, if he so remembered correctly. His father and he used to be very close, until the "accident" with his mother.

Ryan knew his mother's practical assassination, Ryan's father had blamed him. He grimaced and shook the idea off. As soon as the butt of the blade made contact with the girl's head, he memorized her facial features, taking in every single freckle, distinguishing mark, or anything he could find--no matter how small. He even memorized the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrows, and the bridge of her nose. All in all, she was rather attractive, and the obvious forbidden spark between them. After all, she had been trying to kill him.

When she stopped thrashing, even for the faintest of moments, he slung her over his shoulder and walked her into his closet, tossing her into the darkness without a route for escape. He closed the door and barred it closed with a few household items: a large, plush chair, an office desk, and a lamp, just for good measure.

He made sure to grab her cell before pushing her into the closet and closing it off from the rest of the world, before redialing the number of her employer. He was excited to play with his brain. Of course, Ryan, coming from the father he did, was more dangerous than the employer obviously expected. And if it was his father... Well, that was just ridiculous. Ryan snorted at the thought. Yeah, right. His father should---would---know better, wouldn't he?

Either that or he simply forgot Ryan's talents... And yet there was another reason: his father was intentionally degrading him, not wanting to accept the fact that his son was a hell of a lot more talented than he'd been last. Ryan took pride in the fact he had given a surprise to his father---or whoever it was. He no longer cared. He had their little playtoy, and now it was his time to mess with this silly puppeteer. Oh, and this was his moment. This was his wonderful chance to tease and mess with and annoy the heck out of whoever it was. His lips twisted into a grotesque grin; this was going to be exciting.

Ryan stared around the house; there was nothing more that he could do to fix it up, or keep her locked in the closet. He knew the furniture would probably be perfectly fine. If she decided she'd try to pry the door open (which was also locked, itself, though the lock would be easily picked, and Ryan wondered if he'd left any hangers in the closet; they'd be the perfect lock-picking tools... she may not even be able to see them, if they were even in there), it would cause a lot of noise.

And speaking of noise, Ryan pulled his ear back from the phone as a man screamed into it. The voice was vaguely familiar, or was that just himself trying to convince himself that the girl was right---this man who'd sent her to kill him was his very own father? A woman's voice, aggrivated, undoubtedly, said something, which Ryan didn't catch. He put the phone back to his ear, only to have the man scream into his ear again. Ryan clenched his teeth and swore the blackest of oaths under his breath.

"Ah, shut the hell up, would you?!" Ryan snapped into the receiver of the phone. He knew he had to get down to business. He put his head away from the phone for a moment to yell back to the girl, "I will eventually. But that's not the last of darkness you'll be seeing." A certain hint of unhidden loathing crept into his voice, and he didn't bother to keep it out. He turned his head back towards the phone and growled angrily, glancing--almost warily--towards the closet door once more before continuing his slightly pointless rant.

"I'm still alive. But you're probably not gonna tell me who you are; you cowardess bastard," Ryan chuckled darkly before continuing, not giving the man on the other end a chance to reply, "So, your little princess failed you. I'm sorry to say that after today, you'll have one less assassin. And if you send more after me, they'll have the same fate as her. I'll let you in on the punishment, though. Vote with me, would you? Suffocation, strangeling, drowning, torture, or maybe a simple stabbing. Which one do you think would be best?" A grisly smile was plastered on Ryan's face as he spoke, his words oozing with sarcasm, yet he was being perfectly serious.

Ryan jumped a tad when he turned around to see the lamp shattered on the ground. He shrugged, broke the cell under the ball of his foot, and shoved off the rest of the furniture. He stared at the oak door, which had received a new splinter in the center of it, undoubtedly the result of her kick. "Fiesty, eh?" Ryan commented before swinging the door open, and grabbing her by the waist, heaving her over his shoulder. "Well, those employers of yours are pretty screwed up, I'd say. So, if you are a valuable asset to them, they'll come after you. If not... Well, I guess you'll just die in the shed. Or... wherever."

Ryan opened his front door, grimacing as he found the lock already picked. He rolled his shoulders, his arm grasping her waist a more firm so she couldn't wriggle free. With that, he moved outwards and began descending the stairs outside his room, ignoring the looks from the few neighbors that saw him through their windows. He walked out to his car--a beautiful corvette that he'd had for over six years now--and dragged the keys out of his pocket. He grimaced. Of course he hadn't grabbed a shirt before he walked outside in the cold.

Popping the trunk, he plopped her in it and slammed the door closed before saying, "Don't worry, sweets. We'll be there soon enough. I wouldn't let you die of suffocation." Ryan chuckled at the hint of irony and walked to the front of the car, putting the keys into the ignition and rumaging around in the car for a moment, hoping to find at least a jacket, but came up empty-handed. Rolling his neck over his shoulders, he pressed his foot on the accelerator, zooming off down the street, not bothering that he clipped the side of another car on the way out.

It didn't take long for Ryan to pull into a completely deserted parking lot (after all, who came to Super Target at 1:00 in the morning?) and to get out of his side of the car. A sneer was placed on his lips as he intended to punish the woman for making such a racket while he was driving. It was chill outside, and it made goosebumps spread over his arms and chest, but he ignored them and walked to the back of the car, popping open the trunk. Much to his displeasure, he was met by her lunging on him and pinning him to the ground.

He grunted, his neck whiplashing and his head hitting the pavement, but not hard enough to knock him out. His father had called him thick-skulled. How ironic. Ryan had just moved his arms up to grab her upper-arms and throw her off, when she propelled herself off the ground and sprinted for the cover of dark trees that were just beside the Super Target's large and shadowy outline. He grimaced and pushed himeslf up onto his elbows, his face taut and full of a hidden rage. Oh, how this girl would pay. There was a shed not too far from where she had run, but it was abandoned and nobody ever cared to check on it anymore.

Nobody except him. Ryan stretched and rolled to his feet. She obviously didn't care to hide her trace, and she also didn't seem to take in mind that his father had been an army soldier. Therefore, Ryan had the inborn skills of his father's sharp mind and quick-to-spot eyesight. Her knuckles must've been bleeding, as there were small droplets of blood here and there that would have gone unseen by any normal person, especially with the dark crimson of the blood on the black of the asphalt. Ryan examined the fabricated ceiling of his corvette's trunk and grimaced. Sure enough, there were bloodstains now smeared across the top of the trunk, blotched here and there in a spastic and disorganized manner. Ryan rolled his shoulders back, receiving a loud cracking noise, before he slammed the trunk shut.

He'd have to get the trunk's ceiling cleaned by a professional, but that would cause questions as to why there was blood under his trunk in the first place. Yes, indeed, this woman would pay, and she would pay hard. Grabbing his pocketknife and silver pistol from the compartment that was easily mistaken for his airbag, he closed the door of the car and locked it, slipping the keys back into his pockets.

And then he set out, following the thin and easily-lost trail of blood into the darkened forest, where he knew he would lose that trail and be left to his own devices. Cocking the gun's trigger, he said in an eerie tone, "Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Ryan curs8ed loudly as he heard a gunshot, only to find the bullet clip his shoulder, tearing fabric and leaving a thin cut, deep enough to cause bleeding. Of course, he considered, that was one fatal flaw. He could locate the sound of the gunshot and simply shoot that way, in that general direction. It was nigh impossible that he'd miss her if he kept shooting. He stared ahead of him and remained quiet a moment, listening to the spastic pattern of the gunshots. She was trying to dissuade him, was she? He wasn't about to give up.

After all, if she'd been sent to kill him, she was obviously a skilled assassin, and she would have, most definately, killed other people. What goes around comes around, right? Ryan shook his head and took off his shoes, as to make less noise, and looked around, following silently the constant sound of gunshots. Finally, he heard a noise that sounded much like the stumbling of a doe. He knew that the deer weren't this close to the Super Target, and he chuckled. "You're really an assassin?" He called out in where he suspected her general direction and shot his pistol that way.

He had a feeling it didn't hit anything besides a tree or perhaps a bird or squirrel, but that didn't vex him in the slightest. What did vex him was the fact she pinned him down for the second time that morning, and took away his weapons. If she'd been a guy, he definately would've kneed her in the crotch. But yet, she was a women, and that would do virtually nothing. His knee wouldn't reach high enough to kick her stomach, but he knew his fist would. Ryan, a calm and serene look over his face, brought up one clenched fist and brought it into her stomach, ignoring the dagger that was placed at his throat. He'd get out; he did last time, what would sway him to do otherwise this time? She must not be that good if he could best her.

Ryan sneered angrily at her and instinctively drew his fist away from her, moving up and flinging any excess blood off in her face, grimacing. She had definately regained her compsure, and he was starting to doubt himself. Maybe he'd underestimated her a bit. He bit his tongue to hold back a string of oaths and curses when she dragged her dagger across his cheek, and he clenched his bleeding fist, only causing more blood to splurt out. He ignored it, though. It was only his wrist, and no matter how much it stung, he wasn't about to back down to a woman.

"Well, then," Ryan commented, "Why don't you call and ask them why? Maybe if the reason's good enough I'll go down with minimal struggle," Ryan sneered, obviously taunting her. He'd have great pleasure in killing this woman if it was indeed his father who had sent her on this mission of impossibility. His brown eyes bore into her and he frowned at her little 'idea.'

Shaking his head and chuckling in mild disapproval and great amusement, he commented, "You expect me," he coughed a bit when she applied more pressure to the dagger, "to take your word for playing a little game? My father was in the army, dear. Trust no one but your comrades. And you, sweetheart, are not my comrade. So, I'd die before I trusted you." Ryan chuckled at the irony. "But if you insist, I can apply myself to your little petty game of running. I have minimal patience, you know. Got it from my father." A bloodthirsty smile crossed his lips at the comment about his father. "But you should be familiar with that already, no?"

Ryan chuckled and gave her a slight push as she got off and ran into the shadows. "Let's say both," he muttered to himself before running a hand over his stubbled chin. He picked up his knife and rumaged around until he found his pistol, then pocketed both. The plan he had in mind was much more... destructive than a simple cut or gunshot. Sighing, Ryan dusted himself off and shook or wiped off the rest of the blood on his skin before heading off with determination towards the shed.

It only took him a few minutes for him to get to the shed, and, deciding it'd not longer be of use to him, he kicked the door inward. It fell off of its hinges with a loud cracking and creaking noise, before tumbling to the floor with a thud. He nodded, pleased with himself, then began to dig through the numerous weapons he'd stored up inside the shed. He packed up the more valuable items into a gym bag that was in the corner, then grabbed a box of matches, a smug grin on his face.

Ryan shouted into the woods, "Hunter, and escape artist!" He lit the first match and dropped it on the wooded floor before picking up a brisk pace, lighting and dropping matches every now and again, and by the time he'd reached the parking lot, the forest was glowing into a bright inferno of angry flames licking up at the sky. He shook his head, coughed, and jogged to his car. He stayed in it for a few minutes until he could feel the car heating up from the flames, before he put the key into the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, just as the Super Target's corner caught fire and the smoke alarm went off.

Ryan stared around him as he drove into the gas station. The news of the fire was currently all over the news, and he ever heard it on his radio. The Super Target had nearly been completely burned down, and a body had been found in the forest. It had yet to be identified, but Ryan was hoping his devious plan had worked and he’d caught her off guard. Hopefully he wouldn’t be hearing from her again anytime soon.

But being raised from the father he was raised by, Ryan knew never to let your guard down until you saw your foe dead with your own eyes. Even through it all, Ryan knew that he’d have to ditch the car somewhere and completely destroy it (especially the license plate) and find a place to sleep. He wasn’t a superhuman, and every human needed sleep. Ryan had a feeling even superhuman-people had to sleep as well. Well, eventually, at least.

Ryan grimaced and pulled his car into an abandoned junkyard, driving through the places he could until he reached a desolate spot. He parked his car and took everything he needed from it, especially the valuable weapons in the gym bag, and everything else that would make it easy for cops to trace him if his DNA was found anywhere near the forest or in the shed.

With that task tackled, all Ryan had to do now was the find a place to sleep. Preferably where a lot of people were, so it would be harder to the woman to sneak up on him if she was still alive. Though Ryan was skeptical about her being dead. Shrugging, Ryan hopped over the iron-railed fence and looked around the small town. Not too far away from him, he saw the lights that signaled there was a bar underneath it.

“Great,” Ryan commented, “A drink and a place to stay.” Ryan chuckled as he searched his wallet. Good, he had enough money to pay for two nights and a good round of beer. Or whiskey. Or brandy. Or maybe all three. Smiling, Ryan shoved his hands in his jean pockets after slinging his gym bag over his shoulder, a new spring in his step. Next all he had to do was find a way to trace the call and get to the bottom of who was really this girl’s employer.

Ryan had already had two beers and competed in a contest of who could take more shots with whisky, and his head was buzzing, his tongue was numb, and his eyesight was getting a bit off. He heard people talking about somebody getting killed, but Ryan’s brain was too numbed down to be able to fully comprehend what they were talking about.

Grunting as he got up, Ryan stumbled up the stairs and into his room, landing on the bed with a thud. He fumbled with the laces on his shoes before kicking them off, ignoring the fact one hit a vase and sent it shattering to the ground. He took off his shirt and jeans and slipped into bed, ignoring the fact he desperately wished he had the company of somebody else in his bed that night.

~ ~ ~ ~

When Ryan awoke, he had one hell of a headache, and he didn’t feel like moving a muscle. His covers were strewn across the floor like he’d had a very restless sleep. When his eyes snapped open, everything seemed to come in doubles, and Ryan tripped over nothing as he staggered into the bathroom. He hit his shin on the rim of the toilet and cursed vividly before grimacing.

His mind was vaguely aware of the fact he should not have allowed himself so many drinks last night. If Keita was still alive, then it would be an extremely bad thing if she was to come after him now when he was at one of his lowest points. Hoping a nice, hot shower would help him put his mind straight.

Stripping himself of every other garment he was wearing, Ryan turned the shower on very hot, and stepped into the shower, ignoring the fact that the hot water stinging his skin. It felt good, and hopefully would clear the fog out of his mind. At least, it better. Or he was screwed.

~~~~~~