Get Away From Myself • •

[bronte ellery o'connor]

Bronte hated her brothers when they got an idea into their heads and wouldn't listen to reason. It was true that someone had screwed the family over during the night of the last poker game, but going after every player was not the way to win favours. Kyle thought with his fists though, and Casey followed suit when big brother was home. Neither of them listened to Bronte when she offered logical reasons for why it couldn't be certain people. If she wanted to help anyone she was going to have to square off against her two brothers herself. It was nothing she hadn't done before, but in the past she had fought for herself and not for the sake of someone else. She couldn’t sit idly by and let someone get seriously hurt because Kyle was too pig-headed to use common sense. As much as she hated it sometimes, she was an O’Connor and they had their ways of getting their way when they needed to, which was how she had an address and was speeding across the city on a motorbike she had commandeered from a friend of a friend with the promise of sparing his kneecaps if he handed over the keys. It was the only way she could beat her brothers there and have her plan work; as ludicrous a plan as it was.

However, her mom had always told her that there would come a time in her life when she would give thanks for being a woman, and Bronte guessed that this was one of those times. There wasn’t a chance in hell she could pull this off otherwise, even if she was cringing under the helmet just thinking about it. She navigated the bike through the thick traffic, flipping off the cab drivers who honked at her for cutting them off. Yeah, she was probably risking her life a little here, but she was inherently a good person, unlike her big bad brother. She didn’t go round busting noses and breaking jaws to people who didn’t deserve it just so the family could be certain that at least one person in the ER would be guilty of screwing them over. Bronte might not be able to save everyone on Kyle’s hit list, but there was at least one man on it who she knew was most certainly not the criminal here. She could spare him a bruise or ten at the very least.

She saw lights on as she pulled up by the house, giving thanks that she didn’t see a sign of her brothers. She climbed off the bike, shaking her hair out as she pulled off the helmet. She could deal with the return of that later; there were bigger things to deal with first. Bronte didn’t know exactly when Kyle and Casey would show up, but she knew it would be soon. She didn’t have all the time that she would like to have to explain things through. It would be a case of acting first and talking later – which ran the risk of making things exceptionally awkward. Hell, it was going to potentially save his life though, so he could shut up and deal with it. Bronte jumped up the steps and rang the bell before hammering on the door, too. She wanted to emphasise the fact that her call was important, even if he didn’t know who was on the other side of the wood. It was all irrelevant really, or at least it would be if he didn’t let her handle this. Then again, he might be some twisted freak who enjoys spending his evenings as a bloody pulp on his own kitchen floor; Bronte didn’t know him at all well enough to take a guess. She banged on the door with her fist again. “Open up already!”

• • •

TAGGED! Jordan Charles Irving
WORDS! 643!
OUTFIT! Cunning Criminal!
LYRICS! Who Do You Love? - - Marianas Trench
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Jordan Charles Irving]

Most nights, Jordan split his time between his father’s company and the poker tables, both legal and otherwise. He loved the game, had a good skill for it. His insomnia seemed to get worse through this particular month, though he knew the reasons why. And it was usually the only month of the year when he got little done anywhere. Work was supposed to help with grief, but for Jordan, it never had. Instead, he drank and slept and drank some more for the better part of the month. And then he shook himself out of it and went back to what he did best, architecture and poker. He played the game because he was good at it, had a face that couldn’t be easily read unless he allowed it. For him, it was a hobby that paid exceptionally well.

Architecture was something that intrigued him more than he ever thought it would. Jordan had genuinely thought he would be content to play poker professionally for the rest of his days, retire at a wonderfully young age and enjoy his winnings like only the young could. But then his father had passed away and he wanted to make the man proud of his adopted offspring. He’d hoped he had done as much whilst he’d been alive but he wanted to do more and taking up the family business was how he’d done just that. And it had turned out, he’d quite enjoyed it. Too bad it couldn’t keep his mind occupied. Then again, neither could the whiskey and yet, he still tried that one a dozen times over. At least today, he’d done a little more than just drink and sleep. He was hardly home so the only room in the house that ever really needed cleaning was his study and that wasn’t ever touched because he preferred organised chaos to everything being in a perfect order. But still, he’d spent the day in there, shuffling things about and actually getting some of the work he’d had scattered on his desk done before calling it a day and moving onto other things.

Jordan was barely out of the shower, washing away the last of the depression he habitually drank himself into around this time of the year. Christmas and birthdays had never hurt half as much as the anniversary of his father’s death. The ring of the buzzer he could have easily ignored, he was upstairs after all, and fresh from the shower, he could have easily still been in when whoever it was came calling. But the insistent knocking got under his skin. Pulling on a pair of track pants, he rushed downstairs, grabbing the baseball bat from it’s spot against the wall by the door and moved forward. He looked through the peephole and spotting the blonde from underground game he’d been at. He turned all the locks and pulled open the door, letting the cool air in. “What the hell?”

Tag || bronte ellery o'connor
Words || 523
Clothes || Coming soon!
Music || U Turn -- Chase Rice
Notes || <3

[bronte ellery o'connor]

Bronte never judged people for their vices. When her family were who they were she felt like she couldn’t. Besides, she gambled at the tables every so often just for fun, and after a bad day she might reach for a bottle herself. She was far from perfect, and definitely closer to hellish than angelic. She might have had the cleanest record out of her family, but that didn’t make her a saint. Sometimes she felt like she was worse than the rest for being the one to clean everything up and hide the truth from the cops. She got them alibis, made sure things couldn’t be traced back to them. Her intelligence was corrupted, dirty and as criminal as the blood she came from. No, Bronte was certainly not the type to preach to others about the ways of their lives. It came across on occasion like she didn’t give a damn, when it truth it could be the complete opposite. Bronte didn’t like seeing people get hurt, but she also didn’t feel like she could intervene unless it was personal. Her brothers going round kicking the hell out of innocent people was definitely encroaching on personal.

However, of all the people she could have saved, she had chosen this guy. Why? Bronte told herself it was because he had stood out in her mind after the almost run in with the Russian. It wasn’t all that often she got to jump the bar and play the tough blonde chick, but when it happened she certainly didn’t forget it so easily. Part of her had been expecting some kind of retaliation from him for the last week or two, waiting to hear someone fumbling with her locks at night, or come home to a ransacked apartment. Nothing had happened though and she assumed he was going to drop it this time. It was a wise move considering Bronte had yet to be harmed by anyone who came for her. She had a mean swing with a baseball bat, and her hand to hand combat skills weren’t so bad either. She could defend herself even if she didn’t particular like getting involved with her family’s way of life.

Speaking of her family’s way of life, Bronte was contemplating breaking the door down. She knew from the lights that someone had to be inside, but he was taking so damn long to answer the door! When he finally did, she ignored his exclamation and pushed him back inside with a soft hand firmly on his chest. Bronte kicked the door closed and wasted no time in springing her plan. “I’ve got no time to explain, I just need you to go with me on this.” She said seriously, meeting his eyes before she quickly dumped her jacket on the floor and stripped her top off. Dropping it a throw away from her jacket, she kicked off her boots haphazardly before shimmying her skirt down her legs, leaving herself in just her black lingerie and showing the full extent of her ink covered body. Bending forward she messed up her hair and then flipped it back, hoping it looked dishevelled enough to work. Then, and giving no thought to the man who’s name she only discovered from digging before she came tonight, she closed the space and pressed her lips to his hard and hungry. A moment later she pulled away and looked at the lipstick now smeared from her lips and onto his. “That should do it.” She said, stepping back and messing his wet hair up as she did. “My brothers will be here any minute. Keep quiet, let me get rid of them, and you’ll be fine.” If Bronte was at all uncomfortable with what was happening, or how she looked right now, she didn’t show it.

• • •

TAGGED! Jordan Charles Irving
WORDS! 644!
OUTFIT! Cunning Criminal!
LYRICS! Who Do You Love? - - Marianas Trench
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Jordan Charles Irving]

Jordan hadn't stepped back into the building that housed the last not completely legal poker game he'd gone to. He had the money to hit up both legal and illegal games. The legal ones were fun, of course, and they held their own level of adrenaline rush but it was the illegal games that had his blood pumping. They were trickier simply because there really was so much at stake. At least, for most of the men and the few women sitting around those felt tables, there was a lot at stake. For Jordan, not so much. And not because he was somehow filthy rich but because he was just that good at the game. He'd lived on the streets for only a short time but he had been in and out of foster homes and group homes from the time he was born so his skills at reading people had come to him naturally. And that skill was the only reason he walked away from a poker table on a high note. Poker wasn't just luck, there was a ridiculous amount of skill involved as well.

The part time architect was even contemplating staying away from those underground games for a while. At least until he thought the dust was settled and it would be fairly safe to go back to them. Then again, with that Russian fellow, they may never be safe again. That was fine, too, he would just find himself another game to play at. It meant he would probably never see that feisty blonde again but maybe not. They lived in the same city and New York seemed to be a hell of a lot smaller than people thought it was. He was constantly running into the people he knew from the firm around the city and they most definitely didn't run the same circles. Those people were part of the smart, social circles that had money but not so much their blood ran blue. His circles were a little more seedier than that, what with his poker games and the partial infamy his name held thanks to the professional scene he was part of.

He never expected to find the blonde standing on his front step, pounding her fists against the door, demanding to be let in. And then to be stunned into a semi-speechlessness by her actions. There were plenty of nights since they'd met that night that he'd had some interesting dreams similar to this one but he had to admit, reality was much better than any of his dreams. For starters the hints of tattoos he'd seen that night were only the tip of the iceberg, she was covered in them and each were a brilliant as the last. He'd never really gave much thought to tattoos, either getting them or women with them but he had to admit, this particular woman looked hot as hell covered in the artwork. He would have said something when she'd told him there was no time for it but he was so surprised to see her standing in his front hall that no words would even register in his brain, nevermind any making it to his mouth! And then that kiss! Jordan wasn't usually the type to be left speechless but this woman was certainly proving she was the exception to the rule. "Not that I'm opposed to a half naked woman in my house but what do your brothers have to do with this?" He finally spit out after his brain remembered what words were.

Tag || bronte ellery o'connor
Words || 592
Clothes || Coming soon!
Music || U Turn -- Chase Rice
Notes || <3

[bronte ellery o'connor]

Bronte’s hands were far from clean, but she wasn’t like her older brothers. She wouldn’t go around just beating the hell out of people until she got what she wanted. Bronte reserved her violence for her brothers, or for those who wanted to do her harm. The rest of the time she was clever, planned anything she had to do to be slow and almost untraceable back to her. There was a reason none of her family were currently serving time behind bars and she was that reason. She used her wits to get them alibis and to doctor materials to use as evidence when necessary. Kyle had only been sent down because he had been too reckless and too brash for Bronte to risk her neck for him. She was certain he still held it against her, used her as his getaway driver the day of his own damn release purely so he could have some sense of revenge on his only sister. It was something she would never forgive him for, and one of the many reasons why she butted heads with her eldest brother so much. He acted like the city was his, but Bronte would never let that happen. Kyle was too damn unhinged to be in control of the family business, even if she was the only one who dared say it out loud. Tonight, running around the city with Casey, beating up near strangers for information was almost enough proof of that.

Bronte couldn’t save them all, but she could protect at least one; the one she knew for sure couldn’t be behind anything nefarious during the poker game. She had counted his cash and paid him his winnings before seeing him out herself. He had been under her watchful eye from the moment the Russians had become sore losers. She wasn’t a hero, but she wasn’t a heartless bitch either, and she wouldn’t turn a blind eye and let her brothers beat someone to the ER when they hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. She cocked a hip and rested her hand on it, looking at the now slightly dishevelled man with a raised eyebrow and a deadly serious expression. “They’re on their way here to beat you black and blue. This is the only way to keep your blood inside your body.” It was the only way that might get rid of them quickly, anyway. Bronte could have just fought them off at the door fully clothed, but that would have been two against one, and might have brought attention from neighbours. This way they might want to leave as quickly as they arrived. After all, they were her brothers and she intended for it to look like they had caught her in the middle of a passionate encounter; something not meant for sibling’s eyes.

The hammering at the door was worse than hers had been, and Bronte ruffled her hair up once more before putting on a ridiculous fake grin and moving to pull it open, at first hiding her scantily clad body behind the wood. As soon as she saw her brothers she dropped the playful façade and stepped out boldly, fighting back her pleasure when Casey took a stumble back. No one expected to find her here, least of all in her underwear. “You’re not the pizza guy.” She grumbled at them, playing innocent and acting like she had been here all along. “What do you want?” She blocked Kyle from stepping inside, holding her arm across the doorframe. He might have been taller than his sister, but he knew she could hold her own against him and stayed on the porch. “Want to see if your boy screwed us out of our money.” Bronte laughed, throwing her head back. “If he did why would I be here screwing him? I’m not some dumb blonde, Kyle, you know that.” She challenged her brother with her eyes, daring him to try again. She knew he would. She had known when she came here that this wouldn’t be as simple as smiling and waving her brothers away. Casey just lingered awkwardly behind him, clearly wanting this to be easy. “Let me in, sis.” Kyle pushed forward and Bronte pushed him back. “You’ve got a better chance of hell freezing over, Kyle. C’mon, you know I’m quicker than you. You really want to try something right now?” Kyle loved a fight, but not when the person goading him was right. Bronte was smaller and nimbler than he was. She could have that door on his wrist before he thought twice, or wind him enough to get a solid blow in. Kyle wouldn’t risk it. “You can’t stay in there forever.” Kyle warned, spitting his words in her face. Bronte smirked, leaning against the door frame. “You haven’t got the patience to wait me out. We both know it.” She chuckled and then slowly shut the door on Kyle and Casey, her eyes never leaving Kyle’s until the door was closed, bolted and secure. He might try to wait and see if she left, but there were other people he had to hunt down and get answers from and he would want them now. He couldn’t play it cool and wait it out.

Bronte let out a relieved sigh and turned back to the man she had just saved from her brother’s fists. “Better order a pizza in case they do stick around. We need this to look like I was just here and not waiting for them.” She said with another sigh, glancing through a window to see Kyle pacing around the path. She smirked at his indecision to stay or go and then turned away once more. “Don’t worry. They won’t come back.” She might have to take an ear bashing or more herself back home, but she could handle herself well enough, and that was something to worry about later. Bronte walked to wear she had dropped her clothes and reached for her top, frowning when she realised it was inside out and set about turning it the right way again. Her plan had worked, so there was no need for her to parade around in front of a near stranger in just underwear anymore.

• • •

TAGGED! Jordan Charles Irving
WORDS! 1,064!
OUTFIT! Cunning Criminal!
LYRICS! Who Do You Love? - - Marianas Trench
NOTES! <3 <3 <3

[Jordan Charles Irving]

Despite it having been a while since his father's death, Jordan was still in mourning. He did things and said things as if he were still there and then realised too late that he was alone in the big old house with no one but his pets. Those nights were the ones he usually just turned off and went to the office to work through the night. He couldn't be in the house on those nights, so he went to his father's old office, his office and put all those thoughts out of his head. He knew there were people in the office who just thought he was there to play around, that he wasn't as interested in it as he tried to let on. The truth was a complicated thing. He loved it because it was what his father had done, what he knew and he was actually good at it. But he was also spectacular at poker, like it was his calling. The firm employed plenty of people who were the top of their fields, head of the class and prepared to take on any challenge. So it made not being there an easier pill to swallow. They didn't need his autograph on any of the designs before they went ahead, they just did the job, though when he was in New York and not in a tournament, he checked over every little detail and either left notes or stuck around until his architects were in to talk in person. Jordan didn't look like it at all, but he took the firm very seriously.

It was his father's legacy and he really didn't want to fuck it up; even though it had never really been a suggestion to run it, just basically be the owner of it. He wanted to do right by the man who'd taken him off the streets and raised him to be the man he was today. Without him, God only knew where Jordan would have found himself; nowhere good, that much was abundantly clear. He should have told Jordan more about the perils of the career he'd chosen. The proper tournaments were above board and one hundred percent legit but the other games, the ones he hit up when he couldn't sleep and all the work at the office was taken care of were not as clean cut. They were shady and though he knew it from all the rest of them, he'd never actually had that many problems. "Your brothers beat people black and blue for no reason?" He asked, unable to help himself. Yes, there was a stunning woman standing in front of him, yes she was practically naked and he was clearly insane because he was stuck on the fact that her brothers were on their way over to put him in the hospital.

When the banging came to the door, Jordan smartly, stuck back a bit though he remained in the hallway; just out of sight. When the blonde opened her mouth, suggesting pizza, Jordan pulled his phone free and quickly sent a text message to the guy down the street. Jordan had been ordering from him for so long that they'd developed a friendship of sorts and there had been that those two weeks when Jordan had come down with laryngitis and hadn't been able to speak a word. He'd been eighteen and they'd exchanged phone numbers then so Jordan could order without having to talk or get his father to do it. And then when the older man had died, he'd kept the once again orphaned boy rolling in pizza until he could cope with something, anything else. A response came quickly enough and Jordan slipped his phone back into his pocket, returning his attention to the altercation, or lack of one, in front of him. He wanted to hold his breath until the door was shut but he hadn't needed to be quite so dramatic. The whole scene almost felt like it had taken forever but no time at all. "Already done." He said about the pizza. He didn't know if she would eat what he'd ordered but he didn't think it really mattered. Jordan nodded his head when she continued speaking and checking on the muscle she called brothers on his front porch. Jordan snatched up her pants before she'd gotten a chance to really deal with her top and decided to hold them hostage. "What's going on exactly?" He finally asked the question that should have been first off his tongue.

Tag || bronte ellery o'connor
Words || 757
Clothes || Coming soon!
Music || U Turn -- Chase Rice
Notes || <3

[bronte ellery o'connor]

Bronte sometimes wondered how her family made it as far as they had, and then she remembered that it was in their blood; they had been criminals for the last four generations. They weren’t amateurs, and she had a brain that had been concocting alibis and plans for longer than she’d ever care to admit. She didn’t want to be part of the games they played. Working behind a bar while guys who pretty much looked like stereotypical thugs wasn’t how she envisioned her life. There was also only so much of her brothers she could take as they fought for the spot of top dog, clumsily screwing up and trying to knock down the competition and their rivals. Bronte wasn’t interesting in being the power family of New York’s underworld. She really wanted nothing more than to walk away from it all, but for all the times she said that, she kept coming back. She only had one family after all, and she kept thinking that she could never forgive herself if one of them ended up floating in the Hudson; even Kyle, and there were fights with him when she was tempted to end him herself.

Bronte couldn’t help but laugh. Her family was not normal, but this was how she had been raised. She was an expert in crime and how to get away with it. There were plenty of things done by the O’Connors that should have seen them sent to prison for lengthy sentences and she had helped cover them up, burying secrets along with other things. For a girl who wanted out she was probably up to her elbows in blood with what she knew, even if he hadn’t done half of what her brothers or father had done. “Yes. They do. They think it finds answers, which, granted, sometimes it does.” She had to give them that much. She had seen for herself how quickly a punch or even a glimpse of what could come made someone talk. “Though, this time they’re going about it all wrong, but fuck if they’ll listen to me. As usual they’ll just want me to fix it when it’s all over and there’s a blood trail across the city.” She grumbled, still frustrated by how Kyle thought the family worked; punch first, then run to Bronte later when CCTV appeared, or they left a ton of evidence behind.

She wasn’t stupid when it came to her brothers. She knew their weaknesses and their strengths. That was how she knew that Kyle and Casey would not have the patience to wait for her to leave. They’d last half an hour at best, maybe drive by later on their way home if nothing of worth had been found elsewhere. Bronte knew how to play her brothers better than they realised. “Good work.” She commented, just a little suspiciously, her eyebrows drawn together. Pizza did sound good though, Bronte had to admit. She had skipped out on eating to deal with how hasty and reckless her brothers were being and now she was starting to feel those pangs of hunger in her gut. She glared as she noticed him scoop up her skirt, and decided to forget her shirt for the time being, tossing it back over her shoulder if he was going to be so petty. She stepped closer, eyes focused on his lips as she reached up and swiped her thumb over them, returning to drag her fingertips back the other way. The smeared lipstick she had left from the heated, distracting kiss, wiped away easily onto the pads of her fingers. “Someone stole from the poker game. We don’t approve.” She explained simply, since that was the gist of the tale. Her eyes flicked up to his, and she blinked twice. “I knew it wasn’t you because of our Russian friend and our little talk at the bar, but Kyle doesn’t listen to reason. So I came to spare you the black eyes and busted ribs. Can I have my skirt back now?” She held her hand out expectantly and waited.

• • •

TAGGED! Jordan Charles Irving
WORDS! 695!
OUTFIT! Cunning Criminal!
LYRICS! Who Do You Love? - - Marianas Trench
NOTES! <3 <3 <3