Third Persons POV
Elliot was drunk. Full blown drunk. He wandered aimlessly through the deserted streets of Paris. And he only had one goal. Stir up trouble.
"Ey Hernandez, is that you?" a voice teased, bouncing off the walls of the buildings.
"Pretty boy looks lost don't you think?" another voice called. Elliot lifted his head, looking around, only to find himself being knocked to the ground. He groaned as rocks dug into his elbow.
"Not so tough now, huh?"
He stumbled to his feet, aimlessly throwing a punch that found nothing but air.
"Say, did you boys hear about Hernandez's' new girl?"
Elliot stiffened, his blood running cold. That fucker.
"Yeah, I heard she's pretty hot," another voice said, laughing loudly. Anger coursed through his veins as Elliot growled, charging at one of the men. He had taken him off guard, successfully pinning him to the ground. He threw punch after punch, ignoring the burning pain shooting through his fists.
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Meanwhile, Isla was getting ready for bed. She had taken a shower, gotten into her pajamas, and brushed her hair out. She was just about to get into bed when her phone began to ringing.
Elliot 😈
Her brows furrowed as she read the name appearing on her screen. Why is he calling me?
"Hello?" she asked tentatively.
"Come to the Jules Joffrin station in the 18th arrondissement. Your little friend here is in trouble," a grating voice came through the speaker. She shivered unconsciously, processing the information. It was obviously a man but he had a very unpleasant voice. His French had a slight accent to it meaning he wasn't from Paris.
How am I supposed to get there?
Isla poked her head out, looking into the hall. Everyone was asleep, but light seeped from under Mathieu's bedroom indicating he was still awake. His room was unfortunately directly across from Elliots. Isla tip-toed into his room, scanning the area for his keys. She looked around the room which was surprisingly immaculate. Nothing was out of place. She opened the desk drawers, feeling very odd about going through his things.
She finally spotted his keys dangling from a hook by the door. Grabbing them, she threw on a black hoodie and quietly hurried down the stairs. As she was about to leave, Isla froze midstep.
"I should take something with me, a weapon of some sort," she thought to herself.
She grabbed a small kitchen knife with a cover, slipping it into her jeans.
Isla sat in the car, hurriedly starting it and adjusting the mirror so she could at least be a little safe. Then, she put the car into drive, speeding of towards the 18th arrondissement. She knew the neighborhood had some drug activities that occurred there, but Isla was hoping this was some other form of trouble.
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Parking the car in what she hoped was a safe spot, Isla slipped out of the car, closing the door quietly. She walked through the streets, her senses on high alert. The sound of shouting caught her attention and she broke into a run.
Skidding to a halt in front of a secluded alleyway, Isla's eyes widened at the scene in front of her.
"Your highness has arrived," a voice sneered out of the darkness. Isla tensed as a figure stepped out of the shadows. A man whistled, walking around her in a circle.
"What the hell do you want?" she gritted, making sure her accent didn't waiver. They didn't need to know she was a foreigner. There were 3 other men. She couldn't see their faces, all she knew was that the one talking was bald.
"Your little friend here," he began, waving his hands forward. "Has made quite a lot of trouble tonight."
Two men appeared, gripping a third in the middle. Isla's mouth parted as she recognized who the third person was. They pushed him towards her and Isla caught Elliot before he fell to the floor. His breath reeked of alcohol and his hands were covered in a sticky substance.
"My apologies for that. We best be on our way," Isla spoke, her voice echoing in the alley. She sounded a lot stronger than she felt. She moved to take a step back but a loud command stopped her.
"Stop!"
She froze.
"Release him."
"No," she snapped back, immediately regretting it.
The man was angry. This girl needed to be put in her place. He strode towards her, raising his fists. Isla moved to duck, but the blow never came. A sickening crunch came as Elliot's fist collided with the mans cheek.
Then, all hell broke loose.
Isla said a prayer of thanks - she had taken combat classes in her second year of highschool. Raising her leg, her foot connected with a man's chest, sending him crashing into another behind him. The blow left him winded, giving Isla less to worry about. Her eyes spotted a crowbar discarded in the side. Unfortunately, she spotted it at the same time as the man. She sprinted towards the bar and grabbed it, rolling on her side to get away from the other man.
When she turned back, Elliot was pinned on the floor, the bald man kneeling on his chest. Without giving a second thought, Isla raised the crowbar over her head, slamming it down on the bald mans back. He let out a cry before crashing to the floor.
Reaching into her pocket, Isla pulled out her knife.
"Stay the fuck away," she hissed, grabbing Elliot and draping him over her shoulder. The men stayed put, glancing wearily at the bald man on the floor. Within minutes, the two made their escape.
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Isla didn't say a word during the ride home. Elliot wasn't too worried. He was focused on not blacking out. As soon as she reached the house, she hurried in, quietly retrieving the first aid kit. When she returned, Isla drove the car to a secluded park where she could tend to his wounds.
"Why are we here?" Elliot croaked, his eyes fluttering.
"Come out," she simply said, walking to the grass. She turned on her phone flashlight, setting it against a tree so she could see. But she wished she hadn't.
A wave of nausea hit her as Isla grew lightheaded. Her breathing faltered as she stared at Elliot. His hands were bloodied, dripping with dark red blood. His cheek was bruised, leaving his handsome face looking beat.
"Elliot, what have you done?" Isla whispered, her voice carried by the wind into the night.
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