Billy woke up unrested. His head pounded, his body ached, and his hands were red from gripping the bow for hours.
In the kitchen, as he ate breakfast, his mother tossed a magazine onto the table.
"Billy, what is this?" she said, her voice sharp.
It was a glossy spread of popular guns—prices, specs, uses.
"I found it lying on your dresser. Don't tell me you're thinking about buying one."
Billy smiled. "No, Mom. It was just a free magazine I saw at the barbershop. Nothing more."
She stared at him in silence.
"You've been acting differently lately," she said. "I just hope you're not hanging with the wrong crowd."
Billy nodded. He knew he couldn't let her find out. She couldn't get involved. It would be too much.
***
When Billy arrived at school, a crowd had gathered on the grass outside the entrance.
Ethan was beating on Ben.
"You thought it was funny taunting me while you ran, didn't you, you bitch?" Ethan snarled, slamming a fist into Ben's stomach.
Ben doubled over, clutching his gut. Ethan followed with a brutal right hook that sent Ben crashing to the ground.
Thump.
Ben lay there, gasping.
"Get up, pussy," Ethan growled, grabbing Ben by the shirt and yanking him upright.
Billy cut through the crowd and drove a punch into Ethan's kidney.
"Who the fuck—?" Ethan spun around, dropping Ben. His eyes locked on Billy.
"Oh, you're the one I really wanted to see. Mr. Thief of Belmond."
He kicked Billy square in the chest with a leg twice the width of an average guy's. Billy skidded across the grass.
Ben slowly rose to his feet. "Billy!"
Billy pushed himself up. "Come on, Ben. We can take him!"
The two lunged at Ethan, trying to coordinate their attacks, but Ethan was too big, too strong.
With one hand on each of them, he grabbed their faces and shoved them into the dirt.
"I'll teach you both for mocking me! You little poor common trash!"
He smothered them into the ground.
Then a voice cut through the chaos.
"Ethan, stop!"
Billy turned his head slightly, face still pressed to the dirt.
It was Violet.
"That's enough, Ethan. Let them go."
"Why should I?" he spat, rage boiling.
"Let them go, or I'll make sure you get kicked off the football team."
Ethan froze. Then he screamed, "Fuck! Fuck all of you!" and stormed into the school.
Violet helped them to their feet. The three of them climbed to the rooftop and skipped first period.
***
On the rooftop, the three sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge. Ben held his eye—it was already swelling. Billy clutched his ribs.
"Thanks, Billy," Ben said. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't jump in."
"Nah, man. Violet saved us," Billy said, smiling softly.
"I should've jumped in sooner," Violet murmured, glancing at them both.
They smiled at her, and she asked, "Why was he so angry?"
Ben grinned. "He was mad you asked Billy to prom."
"Oh," Violet said.
Ben snickered and added, "It probably didn't help that I spent the whole night teasing him about it while I ran away."
They burst out laughing, wincing from the pain but laughing anyway.
Violet's gaze lingered on Billy.
Ben caught the moment and stood. "I'll head to class. You two catch up."
He winced as he walked away, hand pressed to his side.
***
The two sat in silence, staring at their feet. Then Violet spoke.
"You know, Billy… I know my dad told you to stay away from me."
Billy looked up, startled. "You do?"
"Well, yeah," she said with a soft smile. "You were all over me on prom night, and then after that fight with my dad, you've been avoiding me."
"I'm sorry, Violet. It's just… I don't want to die."
"I get it," she said. "But I really like you, Billy. What if we kept seeing each other—and he never found out?"
Billy hesitated. "I don't know. He might have moles at the school."
She laughed. "No, Billy. He's not worried about this school. He's relying on intimidation."
"Maybe," Billy said.
"Come on," she whispered, leaning in, lips puckered. "Kiss me."
Billy looked at her—the sunlight glowing on her snow-white skin, her blonde hair catching the breeze, her lips pink and inviting.
He leaned in and kissed her, slow and soft.
He pulled back and smiled. "We'll try."
They kissed again.
Ring Ring!
Billy's phone buzzed. He froze. Was it a mole?
He answered hesitantly. "Hello?"
"Billy," Mario said. "I have a job for you."
Billy exhaled in relief. "Yes, sir."
"Meet me immediately."
Billy pocketed the phone. "I have to go," he said to Violet, kissing her once more.
"Be careful, Billy."
"I will," he said with a smile, climbing down from the rooftop.
Violet watched him leave, worry etched across her face.
***
This was the second time Billy had seen Mario's mansion, and it was just as dumbfounding as the first.
Wow, he thought.
The four-story monster of a house loomed like something out of a billionaire's fantasy. Its white stone walls gleamed in the sunlight, and the massive windows reflected the sky like polished glass.
Billy stood at the edge of the driveway, hypnotized.
God, I wish I could live in something like that one day.
He imagined himself on a golden throne, Violet at his side, their child nestled on the other. A red carpet stretched beneath them, flowing down a grand white staircase.
He chuckled at the image—ridiculous, maybe, but not impossible.
Then he spotted Mario standing outside, beside his shimmering blue fifteen-foot pool. The sun danced across the water, magnifying its color like a jewel.
Mario gestured for Billy to approach.
Next to him stood a tall man in a black business suit. He wore thin-rimmed glasses, had a clean-shaven face, and short, well-groomed black hair. He looked like a lawyer—or someone highly educated. Not the type Billy expected to find in a criminal empire.
"Come here," Mario said, his voice edged with impatience.
The man beside him looked Billy up and down.
"Who is this? He's just a kid."
"Yeah, but I don't have any soldiers or capos I'm willing to waste on a trivial assignment," Mario replied.
"Trivial? This is my daughter. What if something happens?"
"It won't. And if it does, he's shown himself to be at least somewhat capable—capable enough to handle wannabe crooks."
Billy blinked. He wasn't used to hearing someone talk to Mario like that. No groveling, no fear. Just blunt concern.
Who is this guy?
The man sighed. "If you say so, boss. I'd rather not have my daughter in the hands of an amateur."
"Don't worry," Mario said. "He just has to make sure she has a good time and doesn't run off. You and I don't have the time, and wouldn't you rather trust a soldier who knows our rules than some outsider who'd bail the moment things got heated?"
Mario glanced at Billy.
"He knows what happens when he fails an assignment. And I need my top men focused on our conflict with the Dragons."
The man removed his glasses and polished them slowly.
"I guess you're right, boss."
"Billy," Mario said, "this is Cordell Brawner, my underboss. You haven't met him yet, and now's as good a time as any. He's second in command."
"Underboss?" Billy asked.
"Oh, right. I haven't explained the hierarchy." Mario began gesturing like a professor mid-lecture.
"I'm the boss. Cordell's the underboss. Then come the capos, who manage the soldiers. Bleu is your capo. Normally, he'd give you assignments passed down from me. But we're in a pinch, so I'm assigning you directly."
Billy nodded, glancing between them. He felt a little overwhelmed.
"So… what exactly is my assignment?"
Cordell grunted—low and sharp, like a dog growling.
Mario shook his head and exhaled.
"You're to be a bodyguard for Cordell's daughter tonight. It's her junior prom. She goes to a private school."
Cordell slid his glasses back on and added:
"You'll do whatever she needs—buy clothes, take her out to eat, play games. Stay with her at all times. And make sure she doesn't leave with any boys."
Mario chuckled. "Basically, Billy, you're her chaperone."
Billy sighed.
"Here," Cordell said, handing him a slip of paper with the school's address. "Don't lose it," he added, his tone condescending, like he was talking to a five-year-old.
His eyes narrowed with distrust.
"Her name is Elizabeth. Make sure she has fun—but keep her safe."
He paused.
"And Billy—if you do anything to her, I'll have one of my soldiers kill you."
Cordell didn't smile. His fingers were steady. His eyes unreadable.
Billy swallowed hard. This wasn't just a job—it was a loaded gun pointed at his future. And he had no choice but to comply.
Mario laughed darkly.
Billy said nothing. He walked around to the front, climbed into the black vehicle, and drove toward Belmond's Private School.
***
The private school was smaller than the public one Billy attended, but it looked ten times richer.
Students lined up outside, waiting for their rides—no buses in sight. These kids didn't commute. They got picked up in luxury.
Billy pulled up in Mario's spare vehicle, trying to look like he belonged.
Immediately, a girl cut through the crowd and ran toward him.
She was beautiful—thin, petite, with wavy dirty blonde hair and piercing green eyes that looked like they could stab through your soul. Her navy uniform hugged her frame like it had been tailored by royalty.
Damn, she's cute as hell, Billy thought.
She smiled as she opened the door—then immediately frowned.
"Huh? You're not my dad. Or Bernard. Where's Bernard?"
Billy blinked. "I was told to pick you up. I'm your bodyguard."
She examined him and shook her head. "Well, I'm not going. Dad can pick me up himself."
Billy sighed. This is going to be a long night.
"Please get in," he said.
"No!" she snapped. "If my dad doesn't come, I'm staying here."
"He's busy," Billy replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please just get in."
"Beg," she said, arms crossed.
Veins popped on Billy's forehead. His face turned red. He exhaled slowly.
"Please, please, please, dear Elizabeth, will you get in the car?"
Billy practically dropped to his knees. Around them, students turned to watch—some with raised eyebrows, others with full-on disgust. He could feel their judgment like heat on his neck.
"Okay!" she chirped.
Relief washed over him—briefly.
"Take me bowling," she added. "And then we go eat."
Billy stared at her. "Fine," he muttered.
"Yayyy!" she squealed, hopping into the passenger seat like she'd just won a prize.
Billy gripped the wheel and pulled out of the lot, trying to look calm. He didn't have a license. If she found out, she'd tell her father, and Billy would be toast. So, he drove like he'd been doing it his whole life—cool, collected, and praying she wouldn't notice.
She leaned back in her seat, watching him.
"So, what's your name, Mr. Bodyguard?"
"Billy," he replied.
"What the hell kind of name is Billy?" she laughed.
It was torture until they arrived at the bowling alley.
***
The bowling alley was dark—one of those glow-in-the-dark places where the pins and balls lit up like neon while everything else faded into shadow. The music thumped low, and the air smelled faintly of wax and nachos.
Elizabeth giggled as Billy paid for the lane. She picked a sleek seven-pound ball, while Billy grabbed an eleven.
Then she stepped up and—crack—nailed a strike.
And another.
And another.
"Damn," Billy said, watching the pins scatter. "You're good."
"Obviously," she said, tossing her hair. "My dad takes me here every weekend."
Billy stepped up, lined up his shot, and rolled his third straight gutter.
"You're ass, Billy," Elizabeth snickered.
"I guess so," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. "I've always had poor coordination."
"Excuses, excuses," she said, wagging her finger like a disappointed teacher. "Look," she added, stepping beside him. "You're aiming all wrong."
She showed him how to align the ball with the arrows on the floor, how to roll instead of throw, how to keep his wrist steady.
Billy tried again—and knocked down seven pins.
"Look, Billy! You're learning!" she clapped, beaming.
Billy smiled. Maybe she was annoying. Sure, she was spoiled. But there was something kind of… charming about her.
They kept bowling, laughing and teasing, until Elizabeth finally flopped onto the bench with a dramatic sigh.
"I'm tired," she said. "Let's eat."
Billy pointed to the snack bar. "They've got nachos, wings, even steak sandwiches."
She wrinkled her nose. "Fine. Nachos and a soda. But only because I'm starving."
***
They grabbed their food and settled into a booth near the arcade, the neon glow casting strange colors across their faces.
Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"So… do you know my dad, Billy?"
"I just met him today," he said, sipping his soda.
"What do you think of him?"
Billy hesitated. "If I'm being honest… he looks kind of mean."
Elizabeth burst out laughing. "Yeah. I guess he is."
Billy smiled. "How old are you, Elizabeth?"
"Sixteen. You?"
"Seventeen."
"Oh, so you're older. Are you a senior?"
Billy shook his head. "Nah, I'm a junior. I… I failed kindergarten."
Elizabeth blinked. "Seriously?"
He grinned sheepishly. "Couldn't write my letters."
She laughed again, softer this time. "That's kind of adorable."
They kept talking—about school, music, weird childhood stories—until it was nearly time for prom.
***
Billy drove her to a boutique to pick up her dress.
It was vivid pink, glittery, and loud in all the ways Elizabeth was. She stepped out of the dressing room and twirled.
"Am I sexy, Billy?"
Billy turned red. "Wh-what are you talking about?"
She giggled and grabbed her purse. "Relax. I'm just messing with you."
They got in the car and headed toward the prom. As they drove, Elizabeth glanced over at him.
"You know, Billy—for someone who's a dry bodyguard, can't bowl, and failed kindergarten… you're not a bad guy."
Billy chuckled. "Thanks, Elizabeth."
"Call me Liz," she said, her green eyes catching the light.
Billy glanced in the rearview mirror. A black car was following them, close.
"Who's that?" he asked.
Liz turned to look. "Maybe someone else going to prom?"
"Maybe," Billy said, but his voice was tight.
They kept driving.
***
They arrived at prom. It was held inside a square building owned by the Community College of Belmond. Since it was a private junior prom, the turnout was small—maybe forty students at most.
Inside, the room was dressed in all the essentials: snacks, punch, balloons lining the walls, purple tablecloths with curled ribbons on each table. Music played softly, and couples began to dance under dim lights.
Billy stood near the entrance, scanning the room. He felt out of place, like a guest at someone else's dream.
Liz nudged him.
"You know, Billy," she said, "I don't have a date. Want to dance with me?"
He hesitated. Violet's face flashed in his mind—her laugh, her warmth, the promise he'd made. But Liz was looking at him like he was the only person in the room.
He smiled, just enough to be polite. "Sure."
They stepped onto the dance floor. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and his arms circled her waist. The music slowed. Billy felt a flicker of discomfort—this wasn't what he wanted, but he couldn't just leave her standing there.
Liz softened. "This is the first time I've ever been on a date."
Billy blinked. "Date?"
She nodded, eyes downcast. "Yeah. My dad doesn't let me see boys. And the guys at school think I'm annoying."
"That's strange," Billy said. "I thought most guys cared more about looks than personality."
She smiled and looked up at him. "Are you complimenting me, Billy?"
He shrugged. "I guess you could say that."
He remembered a few moves Violet had taught him and twirled Liz gently. She giggled, cheeks flushed.
"Oh my goodness," she said, laughing.
Billy tilted his head. What's going on with her? She was different—less abrasive, more open.
He stepped away. "I'm gonna get more punch. You want some?"
"Yeah, Billy," she said softly.
***
He walked to the punch table and poured two cups. The liquid was dark and red, almost like blood. He took a sip.
Then—CRACK.
Billy flinched. Punch spilled down his suit. Screams erupted.
He turned and saw smoke, a bullet hole in the wall—and Violet, kicking and screaming, being dragged out by a tall man in a suit.
"Hey!" Billy shouted, sprinting after them.
The man looked back, tilted his head, and fired.
The bullet tore through Billy's shoulder. He collapsed, gasping, pain searing through him.
The man shoved Violet into a black vehicle—the same one that had been tailing them earlier—and sped off.
"No!" Billy screamed.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. His shoulder throbbed, blood soaking his sleeve, but he couldn't let them take her.
He stumbled to his car, slammed the door, and floored it. Lights blurred past him. His thoughts scattered. He didn't think—he felt. Instinct took over.
He caught up quickly. His car wobbled, tires screeching.
The man glanced back, eyes wide. "What the hell?"
Billy rammed the vehicle.
Metal crunched. Both cars spun off the road, tumbling, rolling.
Then—blackness.
***
Billy woke to blurry vision. He was upside down, strapped in, blood dripping from his temple.
Through the cracked window, he saw the other car, mangled and smoking. The man was limping away, carrying Violet's unconscious body toward the forest.
Billy groaned, unbuckled, and crawled out.
His leg was shredded—glass from the window had torn through the muscle—and his shoulder burned from the gunshot. Blood soaked his sleeve and dripped down his thigh.
He limped to the wrecked car and peered inside.
The driver was dead—his head smashed into the roof, a pool of blood and fragments of skull beneath him.
Billy's own blood mixed into the mess. He opened the glove compartment: a .44 Magnum revolver with four bullets, a lighter, and a bottle of aspirin.
He popped two tablets, loaded the revolver, and pocketed the lighter.
Then he tore a strip from the dead driver's shirt and tied it tightly around his thigh, just above the gash.
It wasn't perfect, but it slowed the bleeding.
His shoulder throbbed. He pressed the cloth against it, gritting his teeth, trying to keep pressure on the wound.
His face was streaked with blood. His breath came in ragged gasps.
But he limped forward, revolver in hand, and disappeared into the trees.