⧼ you're mine / lila & killian ⧽

no one's gonna love you, gonna touch you
no one's gonna look at you the way that i do

"I'll be right back," Lila whispers into the ear of the princess on her arm, squeezing it tightly before nodding her head in the direction of the bathroom; but really, it's the locker room she has her eyes on. The double doors she saw him retreat through after the roaring crowd had cheered his name and the referee had raised his right arm up in triumph, declaring him the rightful winner. It had been a close fight in the beginning, each of the boys in the ring matching one another blow for blow, but it had been Killian who had caught her eye the most. Savage and skilled in the art of violence in such a way it had made her heart race—made her cheer out with the rest of the crowd each time he'd landed another punch to his opponent's face. 

Lila always did have an acute (or sick, depending on who you asked) appreciation for brutality. It was the only way she knew how to be. Blunt like the end of a bat as it slams against a leg. Vicious like the crack of bones that follow the strike. Cruel like the pain it causes. But most importantly, indifferent to the suffering from such an assault. You're either the hunter or the hunted. The only wise words her father has ever uttered, and they shaped his daughter and the way she views the world more than he ever realized.

"Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone," she smirks with a quick glance across the pit to where the Sparrows reside, gathered up around the Lockwood boy as he starts a speech from the looks of it. If it were any other time, Lila would have made her way across, perked her ears up to eavesdrop on whatever their rivals had to say, but tonight indulgence beckoned her as lust wrapped it's hand tightly around her throat. 

She pushes through the sea of people quickly. Nudging far less important shoulders out of her way as she makes a beeline for the restroom, looking back at Lena for a minute to make sure she's distracted. It's not that she wants to hide from her, but rather she doesn't want to explain her intentions.

A hypocrite she may very well be, doing exactly what she'd just warned Lena against, but at least she does it with style. 

"Where do you think you're going?" A gruff voice catches her off-guard as she changes course and heads right for the men's locker room, only to be stopped by a six-foot-something, three hundred pound body guard. 

"To see the winner," she purrs, softening her features to hide the annoyance at this meathead's audacity to stop her. Does he not know who she is? How sad for him. "What are you gonna do? Stop me?" Lila bats her lashes and leans forward, plunging neckline assisting her in a bit of distraction. Men are so simple, truly. And it works like a charm. He grunts, a bit of his own annoyance creeping through, but his eyes fall to her chest and he seems to lose the ability to form full sentences and instead just steps aside.

"Five minutes," he mumbles while ogling her tiny frame, eyes roving over every hill and plane that make up the irresistible Lila Newport, but his so-called rule makes her nose scrunch and she shakes her head a few times.

"Make it twenty," she smiles, runs her tongue along her ruby-stained lips as she slips a bill, probably larger than he's ever seen, into his palm then pats his lapel and walks past him without a care in the world—besides finding her prey. 

It doesn't take long; the entirety of the makeshift staging area/locker room could fit inside her kitchen, and considering the loser had still been passed out in the corner of the pit, it was empty sans exactly who she was looking for.  

"Killian, right?" She feigns a bit of confusion, looking back and forth over her shoulders, as if someone else is who she's looking for. And to be honest, she could be wrong. His back is to her as he hunches over a filthy sink, nothing but the muscles on his shoulders and the scars on his back to place him. Though Lila would recognize that aura anywhere, red and burning, like a star at the cusp of death, ready to singe anything that dares to get too close, but more than anything she wants to run her fingertips along the edges of his spine; to touch the fire and live to tell about it. You were beautiful, she wants to say. Brilliant and brutal in a way that made me lose my breath. "Congratulations," is all she says instead, taking a few steps closer, hoping the wolf takes the bait.

no one's gonna save you, use you up & break you
'cause you're mine