18. Eighteen Ella
Eighteen: Ella
The sun was a traitor, its rays creeping through the gap in the curtains like a snitch. It lured my eyes open, and I was awake, the reality of our situation settling on me. Chris lay next to me, his breaths steady, the rise and fall of his chest hypnotic. But even in sleep, his face wore that hard edge, like he was always ready for a fight.
"Chris," I whispered, nudging him. His eyes snapped open, no grogginess, just alert—predator-like.
"Morning, sunshine," he grumbled, his voice rasping from sleep. He sat up and stretched.
"Priscilla," I started, biting my lip. "We can’t run forever. I've been thinking. No matter how far or fast we go... she will always come after us. We fucked her over. BIG time."
His jaw set, a muscle ticking. "Fuck running then. We're taking her down."
"Back to the mansion, then?" My heart hammered at the thought.
"Damn straight." He swung his legs over the bed, standing in one fluid motion.
We dressed in silence, lost in our own thoughts. We were going back into the lion's den, but this time, we were the hunters.
"Let's grab something to eat first," Chris said, checking the blade of his knife, running his thumb across it as a thin bead of blood welled up.
"Okay," I murmured, slipping on my shoes, and grabbing the few items we'd brought here.
The restaurant was a dive, dim lights casting more shadows than illumination. The perfect place for two people plotting murder.
"Booth at the back," Chris muttered, scanning the room. No threats. Just locals.
I slid into the booth, the vinyl squeaking beneath me, and Chris followed, his body shielding mine from the rest of the room. There was a safety in his nearness. One I hated to admit I enjoyed.
"Once she's gone," he said, low enough that only I could hear, "we burn every fucking bridge. No turning back."
"Good," I replied. "So... how?" My fingers toyed with the edge of the napkin dispenser.
"First, we need to get you inside, close to her—"
"Without raising suspicion," I finished for him, knowing Priscilla would never expect me to come at her, not after years under her thumb. She'd also not expect me to just show up after being on the run. "So... maybe we pretend like you've had a change of heart and you're bringing me back?"
"Exactly." A ghost of a smile danced on his lips, but there was no joy in it.
"Then, when she least expects it..." I let the words hang, unable to voice the act that would end her reign of terror.
"Death," Chris said simply, and the finality in that one word sent a chill down my spine.
I distracted myself by waving over the waitress and ordering us some food. The clink of silverware was comforting. People eating, talking. Like life was normal. I guess, for them, it was. They didn't know that a couple tables over two psychos were planning to murder a mafia queen.
I sat there, soaking it all in—the sizzle of meat on the grill, the laughter from a couple kids.
"Fuck, this feels weird," he muttered, eyeing the exits. Even here, in this slice of everyday life, he was always alert. "Eating without watching our backs."
A plate clattered onto the table, the scent of seared steak and garlic butter wafting up to greet us. For a moment, everything else faded away as I took a bite, the flavors bursting on my tongue.
"God," I groaned, closing my eyes as I savored the taste. "I can't remember the last time I ate something this good."
"Priscilla's cooks ain't got shit on this," he agreed, tearing into his own meal with a primal intensity.
"I never got to eat what they cooked anyway," I said, swallowing another mouthful. "I ate leftover diner food, or random bits and pieces left in the cupboards."
"Fucking hell. Now that bitch is really going to die." He paused, locking eyes with me, a storm brewing deep within those icy depths. "We get through this, I'll cook for you—steaks, whatever the hell you want."
The thought of a domestic Chris made me smile. I pictured him in an apron, dancing around the kitchen, which had me almost in stitches.
The remnants of our dinner lay scattered across the table. He pushed his plate aside, leaning back in the booth with a sigh.
"Ever climbed a tree?" His question sliced through the hum of the restaurant.
"Once," I replied, my lips curving into a smile. "Got stuck on the highest branch. Thought I was queen of the world until I realized I couldn't get down."
"Shit." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Bet you screamed your head off."
"Like a banshee." My laughter mingled with his, a lightness blooming within me. "Had to be rescued by the neighbor's kid. Never lived it down."
"Fuck, Ella." He shook his head, the edge of his mouth twitching. "You're something else. Hardly showed fear when I kidnapped you, but you're terrified of heights. Hilarious."
"Me?" I prodded, nudging him with my foot under the table. "What about you?"
"Trees were the least of my worries." His gaze flickered away, lost in a past that I knew was painted in shades of blood. "Let's just say I learned how to run before I could walk."
"Survival," I murmured, understanding more than he said out loud.
"Exactly." His eyes locked onto mine again.
I hesitated, drawing patterns on the worn tabletop with my fingertip. "I've always wanted to help people heal, y'know? Like, really get into their heads and untangle the mess."
"Psychologist, huh?" His brow arched in surprise, a hint of respect flashing in his gaze. "That's... noble. And kind of weird. I pictured you as more of an artist. Or something."
"Maybe foolish," I countered, my dreams feeling distant. "But I can't help it. There's this pull, like I'm meant to find the light in all this darkness."
"Shit, Ella. You're all heart and hope." He reached across the table, his rough fingers brushing over my hand, leaving a trail of warmth. "It's fucking beautiful."
"Is it?" Doubt creased my brow as I leaned into his touch, craving the strength it promised. "Even after everything?"
"Especially after everything." His thumb caressed my skin.
"Will you—" The words caught in my throat as I imagined a future where fear didn't dictate our every move.
"Anything."
"Help me make it real," I whispered, daring to dream of a life reclaimed, a soul mended.
"Damn right, I will." The fierceness of his affirmation sent shivers down my spine. "As soon as we kill these fuckers, you regain your mansion and your father's wealth. You can be anything you fucking wanna be."
"Thank you."
"Nothing to thank me for, sunshine." His smirk was a challenge, a promise, a lifeline. "We're doing this, one way or another."
I watched Chris, the shadows of the booth etching lines of conflict across his face. "What about you? What's the deal with your childhood."
"Adam and I," he started, voice rough as gravel, "we were fucking inseparable. Like brothers. He had a normal life, for most of it. Until Priscilla got wind of his skills. She called Gaston... and well. That was it for Adam. Stuck in the cesspool like the rest of us."
His confession was raw. I saw the pain flicker in his eyes.
"Priscilla—my goddamn mother." The word twisted on his tongue like a curse. "She snuffed out Dad's life. Her own husband." His fist clenched around the edge of the table, knuckles white. "And me? She kept me on a leash, 'cause I could do her dirty work better than any other son of a bitch she had under her thumb."
"Chris," I breathed, the horror of his revelation sinking into my bones. She had planned this whole thing. Killing her husband and marrying my dad so she could get to me and sell me as product. But the most disgusting part was that she hated her own son. Chris deserved better than her. He deserved better than this fucking life.
"Hope for the future?" He laughed, hollow and bitter. "Never thought I'd entertain such a fuckin' fantasy. But with you—" His gaze turned to me, fierce and burning. "I want that clean slate, a shot at something pure."
My heart raced. "We could have it you know. A life beyond violence and fear."
"Jesus, Ella." His hand found mine again, an anchor in the tempest. "You're talking about dreams when we're standing knee-deep in a bloodbath."
"Yeah, maybe. But if we're going to pursue my dreams, let's pursue yours too."
"Fuck," he exhaled, and I felt the weight of his decision. "For you, I'd burn down this whole damned world. Even if it means I burn with it."
I smiled. This brutal enforcer was falling in love with me. I was sure of it. Time to test the waters.
"Ya know," I started, twirling a loose strand of hair around my finger, "I've always wanted a puppy."
"Fuckin' puppy?" He grunted, leaning back, the leather of the booth squeaking under his weight.
"Yeah, a little ball of fluff to love unconditionally."
He scoffed, but there was no missing the softening in his gaze. "Fine. We can get a fucking puppy. What kind do you want?"
"I dunno. A cute one."
"Fine."
"Is that a yes?" I challenged.
"Dammit, yes." His face held the semblance of a smile. "We can get a puppy when all this shit is done."
As we paid and got ready to go, I grabbed his hand. "Just... give me another second to pretend that we are a normal couple, doing normal couple things." He waited, shuffling his feet before sighing.
"Ready to end this shit?"
I nodded. "Now I am." My hands trembled slightly, but not from fear. From certainty. From the need for vengeance that coursed through me.
We stood up, his chair scraping roughly against the worn floor. I glanced around at the other diners, their laughter and chatter loud.
"Let's go." His command was terse, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation. As he tossed a wad of cash onto the table, I grimaced. No matter how badly I wanted to stay in this moment. I had to leave it, to secure more like these.
Stepping out into the night, Chris fumbled around in his pocket for the key to the sedan.
"Back to the mansion," he muttered.
"Back to hell," I corrected.
"Fuck yeah, back to hell." A smirk played on his lips and for a moment, I saw the glint of the predator within him, the asshole who had once been my enemy.
Our footsteps echoed in the quiet as we walked, the sound a drumbeat to our impending war. With each step, I shed the remnants of the girl I once was, ready to embrace the fire that Chris had ignited in my soul.
"Once this is done," I whispered, more to myself than to him, "we're free."
"Free to chase those goddamn dreams of yours," he replied, his voice rough. "And get that fuckin' puppy."