#georgedarling

- Love your dress, one girl said. 

- What’s your secret? another asked, referring to her hair.

Wendy paid the compliments no mind, even went as far as ignoring one young man who asked her for a dance, but relented when she caught sight of her father’s glaring blue. Apparently, the guy was the son of a wealthy bank manager – a proud manager of a successful international bank, rumours say.

After just one dance, Wendy had somehow managed to lose sight of the boy. While Edward has blonde hair and blue eyes, all that was on Wendy’s mind was a certain brown-haired, green-eyed young man and couldn’t even sway herself into enjoying the dance to be polite.

So now here she is, at the edge of the hall her father had booked for the evening, an index finger lightly tracing her lips, careful not to smudge the lipstick, as she thinks back to that night. What a night!

The first night in a long time that her father’s gang had actually suffered some great losses: both gang members and a victory. While the Red Wolves had suffered the bloodshed of many of their own, the Lost Ones had won at the cost of a couple of theirs. To say Wendy’s father was livid was an understatement. His red face and piercing glare wasn’t even half of the earful she’d got when they got back to their safehouse.

At the safehouse, an old pub called the Jolly Roger that no one except the gang uses anymore, Wendy’s father had made sure to pull up way before any of the others. Once both were out the car, he instantly grabbed Wendy’s wrist and dragged her inside. 

- Get in here now! he’d ordered. 

Once the door was shut behind them, he started his rant.

As it turned out, he had caught Wendy and Pan kissing out in the car park during the fight. Never had she seen such disappointment and outrage in his eyes.

As of yet, all she can think about isn’t that look her father had never given her before, nor the losses in her father’s gang. It’s the kiss she can’t seem to get over. His lips…the heat of his body…his arms around her…his tongue. No boy or man has ever kissed her like that before. The few that have exceeded her father’s expectations and managed to steal a kiss in the past were either too rough, too needy, too sloppy, or too quick. Nothing unforgettable.

Wendy’s not quite sure what it is that has made this kiss so special. Is it because his kiss was a perfect mixture, a perfect balance of roughness, experience, passion? Is it because he’s the first one to not give a fuck if he gets caught by her father? Is it because she senses everything she yearns for within him: recklessness, adventure, freedom? She doesn’t know.

- What are you doing here? Wendy suddenly hears her father demand, just within earshot. 

- I thought we were friends, came the goading response from an all-too-familiar voice. 

- Leave, Pan. I don’t want you causing a scene. 

- I didn’t think I was, Killian. All I did was quietly walk in here. I think it’s you who’s causing a scene. 

- Don’t test me, boy. 

- Wouldn’t dream of it.

Curiously, Wendy turns her head. Killian and Pan are standing on their own, apparently having a face-off and she sees that a few people have started to notice. Fortunately, Pan walks away, leaving a scowling Killian in his wake.

Her eyes widen. Dressed in a tux, it looks like he’s walking towards her. His head’s held high, his eyes are unwavering, and that infuriating smirk is oozing with confidence.

As he makes his way over, determined to appear unfazed by him, Wendy stares right back at him.

- Well, well, well…fancy seeing you here tonight, Bird, he says in a sultry voice once he’s reached her. 

Wendy rolls her eyes. 

- Of course I’m here. It’s my father’s event. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be leaving now? Some members of my father’s gang are here as well, you know. 

- If I recall, me and my boys dealt with them pretty easily last time. 

- But your boys aren’t here tonight, are they? 

- Actually, I think you’ll find they are. 

At that, Pan gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. Wendy follows it. 

- See that boy with blonde hair and a scar running down his face? 

Wendy nods. Indeed there is. A boy with blonde curly hair gelled to look more tamed, a pretty blonde chatting to him. Wait…she recognises that pretty blonde. The same blonde who helped her get ready earlier. 

- That’s Felix.

Wendy glares up at him. 

- Tink? Seriously, Pan? 

Pan holds his hands up in surrender. 

- I didn’t tell him to. We can have fun at these things too. In fact, that’s what we live for: fun.

Wendy crosses her arms, unconvinced, and raises an eyebrow. 

- You find killing people fun? 

- There’s a thrill to it. Wouldn’t you agree, Jill? 

The way her name slowly rolls off his tongue is enough to make her shiver with excitement. God, what is happening to her? She’s hardly a virgin and no longer the inexperienced pre-teen she used to be. Wait…how does he…

- How do you know my name? she asks, re-cementing her walls. 

- One word, Bird: background check. I know everything. Red-Handed Jill by night, Wendy Darling by day. But, that kind of information is all on paper. What I want to know is you on a more personal level.

Wendy clenches her fists. Why does he have to be so smooth? Why can’t he just go?

- So, what do you say, Bird? Care for a dance?

Once again, she’s torn. That seems to be happening a lot lately. She stares at his hand, indecisive.

She glances over at her father, who now seems occupied with the presence of several social elites and their partners.

She glances over at her friend, who seems to be getting awfully friendly with the young man Pan called Felix with her body leaning against his, arm resting on his shoulder as they clink their glasses together, her green column-shaped knee-length dress riding up to the middle of her thigh. Wendy can’t watch.

She’s made her decision, deciding to go with instinct and ignore her head for once.