2. A Tricky Trickster
2
A Tricky Trickster
Antonio
Never in my wildest dreams would I have dreamt I would be sitting on a plane with the second-born daughter of the woman who not only betrayed me but also almost single-handedly destroyed me.
And I’m not even mad about it.
Maybe this says more about me than I care to admit, but the relief I get from knowing I hold no ill will against the children of this woman is intense. That’s not at all how the men in my business conduct themselves, and this revelation speaks volumes about the progress I’ve made in the art of targeted retribution.
Agatha greeted me like an old friend because, as she explained, I’m not her father, and regardless of how shitty I might be, I’m still a huge improvement over the shitbag who provided half of her DNA.
I couldn’t help but smile at her explanation, especially since she decided to explain without direct provocation from me. This goes to prove that Agatha, for all of her flippancy and tendency to give zero fucks, is far more perceptive than one might realize, making her an asset and also quite possibly a serious danger.
But there was something about my demeanor cueing her to the thought process that made me soften toward her even more, removing a bit of the old starch from my normal, coldly stoic persona. Sighing, I glance down at my phone again, annoyed yet not surprised that Lilith hasn’t replied to my last text messages.
Agatha’s voice breaks through my annoyance. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”
“Who?” I reply flippantly, my need to feign ignorance completely lost on me, but it seems acting out of character is going to be my new baseline amidst the fuck-around crew, as they most affectionately call themselves.
She quirks a brow at me, inclining her head like I’m some kind of idiot, but says nothing. I frown, unsure what she’s referring to yet also entirely sure I don’t want to talk about it. Still, I ask, “Talked to her about what?”
She snorts and shakes her head. “I know you’re not actually this stupid, and since I’m not prone to lectures, let me just say that you should just talk to her. She’s an asshole but far more reasonable than anyone gives her credit for.”
“Reasonable? Lilith?”
“Yes,” Agatha responds slowly, her brows raised as she half attempts not to roll her eyes at me and mostly fails. “She will quite literally have a reasonable conversation about anything. I mean, don’t try to bullshit her, or you’ll get stabbed, but if you have something to say, you should just say it.”
Now, I snort, a sound I am not at all accustomed to making, and Agatha smirks in response. Then she adds, “You scared or something?”
Glaring at her, I retort, “I’m not fucking scared.”
“Uh-huh,” she taunts, obviously not believing me.
Leaning back in my seat, I cross my arms over my chest and squint at her as I contemplate how best to respond. Having minimal experience dealing with less-than-serious folks such as Agatha, I’m most definitely out of my comfort zone. This means I will have to admit it or do my best to fake it until either I make it or she calls me on it. I’m also not sure how much Agatha knows about my history with Lilith other than the fact that, at some point, my DNA was acquired and utilized to bring Antoinette into the world.
Of course, Agatha knows her own history, so figuring out most of it wouldn’t be too difficult.
I swallow painfully, my eyes moving to the wall behind her as shame wraps its ugly arms around me. Any reminder of that time brings me right back to it, as if the entire ordeal continues to live directly beneath my skin, waiting for the slightest scratch to bring it to the surface. Even if most of my memories of our time together stem from the constant reminders from my own father or the monster I hide within.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I grind my teeth, forcing myself to remain seated and not give in to my urge to turn away from the ugly truth that has haunted me for decades. The ugly truth I will have to face head-on once Lilith and I are in the same space, unable to ignore the darkness and demons that are our origin story.
“Are you alright?” Agatha asks quietly.
Clearing my throat, I nod, my eyes meeting hers once again as I get control of myself. “Quite alright.”
She cocks her head, her stare quizzical as she studies me, but thankfully, she says nothing else on the matter. After a long moment, she nods, then sighs, squirming around in her chair as she says, “Do you think they’ll wait for us?”
“That was the plan, the last your mother could be bothered to answer my text,” I reply, glaring at my phone.
Agatha cackles, grabbing her phone from where she left it on the table and tapping on the screen. She taps away for a bit and then grins at her phone just as my phone pings.
Agatha : Answer Antonio’s texts, you cow
My eyes widen in horror, and I tap on the top of the group text to see that she did indeed start a group chat with her mother and me. “For fuck’s sake, Agatha,” I groan, dread filling my guts at the inevitable response Lilith will come up with. “Why would you throw me to the wolves like that?”
Agatha giggles, obviously quite amused with herself. I glare at her and then groan as I see a message pop up. I set my phone down, pushing it away as if I can avoid it. Agatha shoves it back over as she says, “Come on now. Don’t be a big baby.”
“This is embarrassing,” I croak, wishing the floor would swallow me up and drop me out of the plane to plummet to my death.
Agatha waves her hand at me. “Oh, pish posh. It’s a clear fact that no one likes being left on read.”
“This is different,” I respond quietly, the ill feeling in the pit of my stomach foreign to me. Not even an hour into my inclusion with these people, and already my entire life feels jerked around, as if the man I was is in the process of being permanently altered, and there’s nothing I can do to stop the progression.
“How is it different?” she asks, scrunching up her nose. “You asked her some important questions, and she just didn’t respond. It’s rude and hurtful.”
“I’m not hurt,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest in a last-ditch effort to keep myself to my standard Antonio stuffiness. “Though it’s definitely annoying.”
Agatha rests both of her palms on the table and leans close. “Listen, Antonio. My mother is a lot of things, but she’s not necessarily a considerate communicator. Believe me when I say that she deserves to be called out on her bullshit.”
Giving up any semblance of control, I lean back further in my chair, arms still crossed over my chest, and stick my chin out obstinately. She rolls her eyes at me and snatches my phone up before I even realize what she’s going to do. I sit forward in my chair, reaching out in an attempt to snatch it back, but she evades me. I get to my feet, intent on moving around and wrestling the phone from her hands before she can do any more damage, but before I’m able to reach her, she jumps up and scurries down the aisle toward the back of the plane. I chase after her, but she soon disappears into the lavatory, the lock clicking behind her.
Feeling completely ridiculous, I press my face against the door as I whisper shout, “What the fuck are you doing, Agatha?”
“I’m doing you a fucking favor, old man.”
“I’m not an old man,” I sputter, my fist rapping the door twice. “And I highly doubt you’re doing me any kind of favor right now.”
She goes quiet, and the silence drags on for a few moments, my heart rate increasing rapidly before finally, I ask again, “What are you doing? What’s taking so long?”
“It wouldn’t take so long if she was faster with her responses,” Agatha replies dryly.
I groan, knowing there’s literally nothing I can do at this point to stop whatever it is Agatha is planning. I’m unsure if I had deluded myself into thinking I’d be able to remain in control of any situation that included these people, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious to me that I seriously underestimated the general steamroller effect they have on everything—and everyone—they touch.
Resigned to whatever fate awaits me, I push back from the door and slowly make my way back to my seat where I then sit and fidget, the dread like a rock in my guts.
After what feels like hours later, the lock on the lavatory clicks, and Agatha pops out into the aisle. This is one of my smaller planes, so the walk from the bathroom to the main seating area is short, but she still takes her sweet fucking time. She’s smirking, and I have the incredible urge to wipe that smirk off her face by blistering her ass for being a brat, another feeling that is entirely foreign to me because, most of the time, we get revenge by more permanent means. “What the fuck did you do, Agatha?”
She smiles brightly and shrugs. “You’re welcome.”
I extend my hand, and she places my phone in my palm, and I immediately open the messaging app to the group chat she started. I blink down at the screen, frown, then turn my gaze back to her as I say, “There’s nothing fucking here.”
Her smile gets even bigger, and she laughs. “Oh, there was.”
“Well, what the fuck did you say?”
“You’ll see.”
“You better fucking tell me or else I’ll—”
“You’ll fucking what?” Agatha interrupts. “You gonna put me over your knee and spank me?”
I make a face, pretending the thought hadn’t already occurred to me. “Don’t fucking tempt me.”
Once again, she waves her hand at me, then says, “I don’t mind a good spanking, Antonio, but you’re a little old for me.”
“What?” My jaw drops open in outrage at the implication I would ever think of her in that way. “It wouldn’t be that kind of spanking.”
“Oh, it’s always that kind of spanking.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask incredulously.
“So many things.”
Slowly coming to the realization that she’s fucking with me and likely will never stop fucking with me, I stare at her blankly, unsure of how to respond, which is also unusual for me. After a moment, she inclines her head in my direction and replies, “Listen, I’m getting the impression that I probably know more about your history with my mother than you do.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she lifts her hand, stopping me as she continues, “I don’t want to actually discuss it. I just want you to know that regardless of what you’ve been told or what you think you know, there’s always another side.”
I stare at her, pondering my response and then answering quietly, “I know what I did. No amount of discussion will ever change that.”
She raises her brows at me and lifts a shoulder. “I guess we’ll see then.”
She says nothing further and turns her attention back to her phone, which is still sitting on the table. She picks it up, looking down at the screen and then smiling broadly as she flashes it at me. “And at least I have the evidence of your secrets.”
I had forgotten that she was replying as me to her group chat. “Goddamn it,” I bite out. “Let me see that.”
She shakes her head, locking her phone and putting it in the inside pocket of her jacket before leaning back in her chair. “Someday, you’ll thank me, Antonio. Mark my words.”
I briefly consider attempting to overpower her and taking the phone, but I know at the end of the day, I’d just be making more trouble for myself.
Agatha and the entire crew are well known for their tendency to talk shit and crack jokes when things get stressful and chaotic, so I can’t say that these types of shenanigans are a surprise to me. But that doesn’t change the fact it’s a bit disconcerting, given our circumstances. Especially given the fact I so easily slid down their slippery slope into what I think can only be described as tom-fuckery.
Knowing full well that I’m completely out of my depth here, I force myself to sit back and shut my mouth, even as Agatha continues to sit across from me, smug as can be.