Dance to My Tune

Rain turned the square into a mirror, every puddle rippling with neon signs Mara danced in the middle of it. Her heels cracking against the cobblestone, like gunshots the crowd suede, but she wasn’t watching them. She was listening, catching the low voices the careless slips, the names people shouldn’t say out loud from the edge of the square Elias lit a cigarette and leaned against a lamp post. He meant to keep moving, but the way she moved rooted him in place. When the song ended, she stepped towards him ribbons of rainwater clinging to her skirt

“You’ve been watching me,” she said

“Yeah,” he reply, exhaling smoke. “I guess I’m guilty.”

“What’s your angle?”

“No angle” he’s smirked, “maybe I just like the show.”

Her gaze lingered on him a second too long.

”Nobody likes the show that much unless they are looking for something.”

“And you? What are you looking for out here?”

She smiled without warmth.”People talk when they are entertained.”

… a week later…

…Mara found herself sitting in the corner booth of dead cafe with shadows pooling in the corners. Elias sat across from her.

“You move like you got a gun hidden under the table,” she said.

“And you move like you’re hiding something in plain sight.”

He leaned in, “you’ve got trouble rival gangs been asking about you.”

”I know”

”Just be careful you know they’re not just asking. You don’t wanna play with men like that”

Elias got up and walked towards the door, opening it and disappearing into the night.

Two nights had past since Mara had talked to Elias at the cafe. The square pulsed with life- steam rising from food stalls, rain misting under yellow street lamps, a violinist was sawing out a delicate tune. Mara danced at the center, skirt swaying and twirling through the damp air. She didn’t notice the van right away. Parked just beyond the crowd, black paint dulled with rust, windshield fogged. Inside, three men watched. They were known on the street as Taz, Frost, Hunter. Hunter gave a nod. They moved as one, cutting through the spectators without so much as a shove, the crowd parting instinctively around them. Mara saw them too late—her spin slowed for a half-second, and Hunter’s gloved hand shot out. A rag smothered her mouth. The acrid burn of chemicals hit her nose and throat. She fought, but Frost grabbed her arms from behind, pinning her like steel cuffs. Her heels scraped the cobblestones, kicking over a vendor’s basket of fruit, scattering apples into the gutter. Nobody stopped them. The music stuttered into silence. The van door slammed shut with a sound that felt final. Inside, it stank of motor oil and old blood. Mara’s hands were wrenched behind her back, bound with zip ties that bit into her skin. Taz sat across from her, watching like a snake sizing up a meal.

“She’s lighter than I expected,” he said.

“She’ll still fetch the same price,” Hunter replied from the front.

Mara’s mind raced. Price. That meant leverage—or worse. She tested the zip ties, earning only a deeper cut in her wrists. The van took sharp turns, throwing her against cold metal walls, the world outside nothing but streaks of wet neon…

…Elias had been watching from across the square, in the mouth of an alley, when the crowd shifted strangely. He caught the tail end of the abduction—the flash of her skirt disappearing into the black van.

“Shit.”

He crushed his cigarette under his boot and pushed through the square. A street vendor was already swearing about spilled apples.

“Where’d they go?” Elias barked.

The vendor hesitated—until Elias shoved a fifty into his hand.

“Black van,” the man said quickly. “Headed toward Dockside.”

Elias jogged to the curb, eyes scanning for movement. Dockside meant industrial lots—good for hiding things you didn’t want found. But he needed more than a hunch. He ducked into Tino’s Billiards, a hole-in-the-wall bar known for bad whiskey and worse company. Inside, the smoke was thick, and a handful of Dockside boys hunched over a table.

“You’ve seen a black van tonight,” Elias said flatly.

One of them laughed. “Maybe I have. What’s it to you?”

Elias leaned in, voice quiet. “You tell me where it’s going, I leave your knees intact.”

The laughter died. “Warehouse 14,” the man muttered. “Old fish processing plant. But you didn’t hear it from me.”…

… Meanwhile, at Warehouse 14…

…The place smelled of mildew and rust, the sound of dripping water echoing through the hollow space. Mara was tied to a chair under a swaying lightbulb. Taz flicked his cigarette ash at her feet, grinning.

“You’ve been busy in our streets,” he said. “Listening where you shouldn’t.”

Mara met his gaze, lip split, defiance burning in her eyes. “And you’ve been sloppy enough to let me hear things I shouldn’t.”

Hunter chuckled from the shadows. “She’s got teeth.”

“She won’t for long,” Taz said, reaching for a length of chain on the table.

Elias parked two blocks away, rain dripping off his jacket as he slipped through the alleys. He could see the faint swing of a bulb through a crack in the boarded window. He counted three figures moving inside. Gun in hand, he pushed the door open. The hinges screamed. Taz turned, chain in hand. “Who the hell—”

Elias fired. Taz crumpled. Frost dove for his pistol; Elias put two in his chest before he hit the ground. Hunter lunged, and Elias met him with a shot to the throat. The silence after was deafening. Elias crossed to Mara, knife out, slicing through the zip ties. Her wrists were raw and bleeding.

“You alright?”

Her voice was hoarse. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did.” He hauled her to her feet. “We’re leaving. Now.”

They vanished into the rain, the old warehouse and its corpses left behind like a bad dream They didn’t stop running until the van Elias had stashed under a railway bridge roared to life. Mara sat in the passenger seat, shivering under the wet folds of her skirt. Elias kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the pistol in his lap, eyes cutting to the rearview every few seconds.

“You cold?” he asked.

“I’ve been better,” she said, voice rough.

He reached into the back seat, tossed her his jacket. It smelled faintly of cigarettes and rain. She slid into it, the fabric warm where his body had been.

“You kill them all?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t even know me two weeks ago.”

He glanced at her. “Don’t need years to know when someone’s worth saving.”

She looked away, hiding the flicker of a smile. “Careful. That almost sounded sweet.”

They traded city streets for winding highways, cheap diners, and gas station coffee. Somewhere along the way, the adrenaline ebbed, replaced by a charged silence that wasn’t just about survival.

“You keep looking at me like that,” she said over the hum of the engine.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for me to hurt you or something.”

He smirked. “You’ve got a history of hurting people?”

“I’ve got a history of surviving.”

His smirk softened into something almost vulnerable. “Guess we’ve got that in common.”

Three days passed and Mara and Elias arrived at an out of the way motel. They quickly checked in. The motel room itself smelled faintly of bleach and rain. Elias was cleaning his gun on the edge of the bed while Mara stood at the window, watching the neon sign flicker.

“You know,” she said, “most men would’ve cut and run. You could’ve kept walking that night in the square.”

“And miss the best dance I’ve ever seen?” He looked up, grin faint but genuine. “Not a chance.”

She stepped closer, sitting on the bed across from him. “You’re dangerous.”

“So are you.”

Her hand brushed his as she reached for the gun, fingers grazing his knuckles. He didn’t pull away.

“We could run forever,” she said softly.

“That the plan?”

“It’s one option. The other is finding somewhere to stop and make the rules.”

Elias looked at her, really looked at her—the fire in her eyes, the scar on her lip from the warehouse, the way she carried herself like someone who refused to break.

“Then we’ll make the rules,” he said.

Month passed. They chose a place far from the docks and alleys they’d known. Mara danced in smoky backrooms for people who didn’t realize half their secrets were hers within the hour. Elias stood in the shadows, always watching, always guarding. They didn’t talk about love. They didn’t have to. In their world, showing up when the bullets start flying was worth more than a thousand promises. And every time Mara spun in the lamplight, Elias was there—close enough to catch her if she fell, close enough to make sure she never had to.