His Mission

4pm. The Arm's Pub. Leave Jake at home or else I won't tell you anything.

I read the text repeatedly, my eyes straining from not blinking. The words begin to blur on the screen and I sigh, leaning back against the wall. The time reads 3:58 and I'm stood outside The Arm's Pub, already regretting my decision.

"It's not too late to turn back." I mutter under my breath, closing my eyes for a brief moment. How else can I get the answers I so badly crave? This is my life and my identity that Jones is playing with. I need the answers and he's the only person that is willing to give them to me.

I agreed to meet him at a public place however it came with one condition. . . he chose the location. Gangs of hooded figures litter the street corners, looking dangerous and intimidating. Town folk tend to avoid this area like the plague.

Loud drunken shouts can be heard coming from behind the glass doors, aggressive and booze filled. The win- dows that once were clean and now a murky brown, streaked with inch thick dirt. Broken glass is scattered across the floor and I grimace, stepping around it.

My hand wraps around my phone tightly and the other clutches the handle of the small knife inside my jacket pocket. It's for my protection but the thought of possibly having to use it scares the living crap out of me.

I'm not a violent person but the situation I find myself in requires me to be brave and firm. I don't feel

brave or firm. Cold harsh winds whip around me and even though it's late afternoon, darkness fills the sky. The street lamps light up, illuminating objects with a creepy shadow.

I shiver at the icy breeze that surrounds me and I wrap my black leather jacket around me tighter, hands trem- bling. I stand in front of the door, building up the courage to push it open and take the first step inside.

You can do this Emily, you only have to speak to him for a few minutes, get the answers you need and leave.

I silently wish Jake was by my side but I also didn't want to risk his safety. Jones specifically asked for me to leave Jake at home and I hate lying to him about where I'm going. I told him I'd be shopping with Trish and that could take up to a few hours. With Trish it usually does. The idea of Trish buying everything that came into her sight sounds more appealing than meeting with Jones. I inhale sharply before wrapping my hand around the dirty handle and stepping inside.

The first thing that hits me is the repugnant scent filling the air. The entire place reeks of stale beer, smoke and sweat. My stomach that'a already in knots starts doing frickin' gymnastics inside my body.

The pub is busy with crowds of men, clutching glass beers in their hand. A football match is playing on the large screen in the corner and a group of middle aged men are screaming profanities at it, drinks spilling over the side of the glass with their annoyance. No-one notices me at first but as I take a few more steps inside, the noise level quietens and heads turn in my direction. I drop my gaze to the floor, nerves building up quickly as I head for a booth at the back.

Disgusting comments and sniggers are thrown my way as I make a beeline for the table, legs shaking underneath my weight. The crowds and their intense stare terrify me but I try to ignore their scrutinising gaze. I take a seat, breathing a sigh of relief.

I'm guessing not many teenage girl's walk into this pub. . .

My hair falls around my shoulders and I gladly hid behind it, now realising the mistake of sitting where I was. I can't see the door meaning I can't keep an eye out for DC Jones.

of the table. I'm just about settling

How about you and I have a drink?" He

a bottle of cider and looked as pissed as a parrot. His face is covered in week old facial hair and I grimace at the sight of his stain covered clothes that are stale and sweaty. I force a small smile onto my face, responding to

thank you, I'm

and his hand shoots out quickly, taking hold of my arm. His grip is cold, the contact between us making my skin crawl. I

impressed with the tone I use. His top lip curls up intimidatingly but his hold tightens further. I let out a low hiss under my breath, my face emotionless

should take it." He whisper,

lean back further into the seat, trying to put as much distance between us as I can. From the corner of my

is pulled over his head and he wore a dark jacket followed by some jet black jeans. His stance

no mistaking his piercing eyes, they burn brightly like a blue flame. His jaw is

unable to tear my eyes off DC Jones. I watch him like a hawk. He stops as he stands behind the man, looking down at him and tilting his head slightly. My throat dries up,

that has hold of my wrist is completely unaware of the figure stood over him and continues to leer at me, his presence making my skin crawl. Jones' hand shot out and he places it on the mans shoulder whose head im- mediately snaps to it, before glancing at

it towards my body, thankful to have his dirty paws off me. The man's face

a few steps back away from Jones. He's shorter than him by a fair few inches and Jones looms over him like an authoritative giant. The man appears terrified and cowers a little, back- ing up into the wall behind him. I scoot as far away into the wall as I can, wishing I could find a way to

him by the scruff of his neck. The man instantly shut his eyes as if

wasn't touching her, I swear!" He pleads, his eyes growing wide with terror. DC Jones remains silent, blue flames burning holes into the man's face.

victim. He slowly brings his face towards the

touch her again, I'll tear off your limbs one by

compared to the chills in my body now. The man whimpered in his arms and

his words scared the living crap out of me. He took a seat opposite me where the slob previously sat and moved the

scurried over, smiling tightly at me before

in this pub is terrified of this man, including myself. I reach into my jacket and slowly take out my phone, ready to text Jake if anything goes wrong. Thankfully Jones doesn't notice as he speaks to the bartender, ordering his drinks. I fiddle with my phone in my hands underneath the table and I'm grateful for the small device that reassures my nerves. The feel of the knife in my pocket reminds me I have some sort of safety and I blow out a breath, composing

us, interlacing his fingers. His entire body language reminds me of a police officer, confident and demanding. He cocks

scared of

Isn't it obvious? His eyes flash with sadness before quickly masking them over with his signature cold

I ask him, my voice surprisingly confident. I've had enough, I need answers. The worst feeling is being left in the dark when it involves

questions and you need to tell me the

nods and signals for the bartender to leave without so much

trained on the floor. Jones picks up his drink and takes a gulp before placing it back down and licking his lips. I do the same with mine, grateful for the cool juice travelling down my throat. I