Chapter 1 #2
“The base, though that’s not for another couple of hours. I’ll be there the entire day, Freya’s coming with me to see Amy.”
“Do you want me to come with you? I can postpone visiting Hudson if you need me.”
I shake my head. “No, absolutely not. Go see your father, I can deal with Amy on my own. I can handle this.”
He’s reluctant to accept the fact that I don’t need his help, but when he sees the determined look on my face, he sighs, and nods.
“Fine, let me drive you there.”
“Well, duh,” I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t planning on walking.”
I step out of the room, and he spanks my ass. “Cheeky brat.”
???
Freya’s already within the base, mingling around.
Honestly, I highly doubt she’s left. Her eye’s still recovering, given that it’s not been too long since the injury happened.
I wasn’t there to witness the shot, however, I vividly remember the fact what she looked like – the empty, bloody socket, and the bullet that pierced through. She’s lucky it didn’t hit her brain.
But, for the most part, she seems to have come to terms with the fact that her eye will never be functional again.
The base is rather empty, except for the room in the basement where we’ve been keeping Amy.
It’s been two weeks since I stabbed her numerous times, and she’s conscious now.
The doctor guaranteed that she’s going to make a full recovery, as long as we keep the room she’s in, clean.
She’s in the cleanest part of the building.
It’s sterilized, and cleaned daily, just to make sure none of her wounds get infected, and to ensure she’s recovering well.
We can’t have her dying from an infection, I need her.
Thus far, there’s not been any issues. She’s regaining her strength, but that also means she’s regaining the ability to cuss me out.
She’s hurling insults and of course, threatening me and anyone she comes in contact with, every moment she’s awake.
There are four cameras inside of the room, covering the entire space, ensuring there’s no dead spots. Oh, and they record audio, too. So, I’ve had the utmost pleasure of hearing her true thoughts about Arlo, this entire situation, and me.
“How’s our little guest feeling?” I ask, leaning against the wall next to Freya.
She’s sipping on her water, her left eye bandaged. Slowly, she looks up at me, then scoffs. That response is all I need, but she provides a verbal one, anyway.
“She’s obnoxious. I’ve thought about poisoning her, but then I figured, I’d die before she does.
Arlo wouldn’t let me live after that one either,” Freya sighs.
“She’s finally able to sit up properly, but just to fuck with us more, she’s ripping her stitches open on purpose.
It’s like she has an actual death wish.”
“She’s just stalling,” I groan, head slumping against the wall. “I genuinely have no idea what her endgame is here, but whatever it is, it’s starting to annoy the hell out of me.”
“Me too. Have you talked to Arlo about the mole?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s been on my mind, too. It’s insane how good this person is. How the hell are we unable to catch them?”
“There are a few reasons,” she shrugs, setting the empty glass aside.
“If they’ve been with the organization for a long time, then they’d also know all the ins and outs.
Sure, not all cameras are visible, but if you pay close enough attention—which everyone within the company is trained to do—you’ll spot them, sooner or later.
There’s always the possibility of it being a whole team, which would make it easier for them to get in and out without being noticed. ”
“I really hope it’s not the latter,” I can feel a migraine incoming, at the mere thought of us dealing with a team of fucking rats. “God, this is such a mess. We have so many things to deal with, and I’m terrified. It’s going to take us years to achieve all our goals at this rate.”
“It won’t,” Freya says, sounding certain. “Now that Arlo is sober, everything will resolve itself within six months–tops, I guarantee it. I know that man, and so do you. You should be aware of how hard he will fight and how badly he wants all of this to be over with.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I try to sound confident in my words, but it falls flat. “Let’s get this over with shall we?” I push myself off the wall, making my way toward the basement.
Freya follows behind, with a gun and a knife.
You can never be too careful. The goal is not to kill Amy, after all, I need to keep her alive.
I have much greater things planned with her in mind.
Lucas has already done everything I’ve asked him to do, and now, all I need is to kill Paul Simmons. Only after that, will Amy be done, too.
I push the door open, and groan at the sight.
Freya’s quick to push past me, and smack Amy’s hand away.
The bitch was about to rip her stitches open, again and for the millionth time, apparently.
Amy winces in pain, but Freya isn’t done just yet, she slaps the shit out of her and I wince a little knowing it’s got to have hurt.
“Try ripping your stitches again, and I swear, I’ll make you regret it.”
Amy grabs her cheek, the red imprint from Freya’s fingers slowly taking form. She looks at me, with a blazing fury that warms my insides. Freya makes sure all the stitches are intact then comes back to me, pushing the gun and the knife into my hands.
“I’ll be right back, make sure she doesn’t bleed out.”
I nod, and the door closes as Freya leaves.
Amy’s still far too weak to actually stand up and fight me, so I’m not overly concerned for my safety.
I’m aware that it was sheer and utter luck that I managed to overpower her once.
However, it won’t happen twice, especially not if she regains her full strength.
She’s stronger than me, so I know I’ll be her first victim.
“What do you want?” She grits out, her voice hoarse, her hand still cupping her reddened cheek.
I take a couple of steps forward, sitting on the single chair that’s in the room.
The entirety of the space mirrors a hospital room, though with less furniture.
I can’t have her using anything to escape or hurt herself, because if she escapes again, I highly doubt we’ll ever catch her a third time and if she dies I can’t use her for what I need to take out Simmons.
“I came here to check on you,” I shrug, lying through my teeth. In reality, I came to question her a little, to try and make sense of everything that she’s been doing. “But I can see that you’re still trying to kill yourself… Why?”
“Because I’d rather die than be a prisoner again.”
I snort. “Of course. Look, I have a packed schedule for today. I’ll ask a few questions, you’ll answer, and you won’t have to see my face again.”
“You can ask,” she drawls out, “but I can’t promise honest answers.”
“Of course you can’t,” I exhale, exasperated. “But I’ll take my chances, anyway. How the fuck did you become a killer?”
“When you grow up in a town like Long Grove, you come to understand that such a town has limited options. It was all so… dull. So, I decided to travel a bit. I ended up in New York, hooking up with a guy that stole some money from the wrong people, and they killed him in front of me. I had a choice, die at their hands, or I could join them.”
A frown tugs on the corners of my lips. “Just like that? They asked you to join them, just like that?”
“Well, no. It wasn’t just like that,” she rolls her eyes, readjusting her lying position.
“When they shot him dead, I acted on impulse. I reached for the gun I owned, and somehow managed to shoot one of the men in the chest, killing him instantly. The others took me hostage, and well, you can figure the rest out from there.”
“Why would you do that? You had a life in Long Grove. Surely you could’ve gone back at some point.”
“You should know by now that leaving a life of crime isn’t always an option,” she scoffs. She’s not wrong, the only way out of this life is death. “And besides, why would I go back to that godforsaken place? This is way more fun.”
The way she speaks about killing people; it being fun, without so much as a single ounce of remorse makes me shudder.
In that sense, she’s similar to Kaya, but Kaya has a reason for why she became who she is.
Amy doesn’t. Her psychopathy must run deep, and now it all makes sense that she’s not terrified of dying.
She simply doesn’t care and would pick death over not having control.
“Why? Why do you want me dead so desperately?”
Amy looks at me, up and down, without a single flash of emotion on her face. Then, without missing a beat, she responds.
“Because I don’t like the fact that you have my face.”
I’m shell-shocked at the absurd reason she wants me dead. I don’t get the chance to pry further because Freya returns, with a lot of leather belts. Amy doesn’t get the opportunity to protest as Freya ties her wrists to the bed, making sure she cannot move an inch.
“There,” Freya smirks triumphantly. “Try picking your stitches now, bitch.”