Episode| VII
Ayana stood across from Honey, locked in conversation.
They were talking about their futures, though Ayana was only engaging because she had to, not because she wanted to.
In the back of her mind, she was planning—planning how she would kill Block.
The idea simmered, but the details were hazy.
She nodded absently as Honey spoke, but the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. Something was off.
She rubbed her neck, trying to shake the feeling. Honey shifted in her seat, oblivious. The sensation grew stronger, like the air itself was pressing in on her. Ayana scratched her nape again, her skin crawling. And then she felt it—warm breath on her knuckles. Her entire body stiffened.
Block was there.
Without a word, he snapped his fingers, gesturing for Honey to leave. She stood up instantly, almost sprinting from the living room.
"Take a seat." His voice was a low whisper in her ear, so close she could feel the vibrations against her skin.
Instinctively, she touched her ear as if to wipe the feeling away.
She sat down where Honey had just been, and Block slid onto the couch next to her, leaning back as if he owned every inch of the room—and her space.
The main living room felt cavernous, the midnight-black wrap-around couch framing the space like a shadow.
Eight lamps sat on side tables around the room, their soft glow creating pools of light that barely touched the edges of the dark.
It was the kind of place that should inspire creativity, she thought absently, a space where someone could sit and write.
But right now, it felt like a stage—a set for something far more sinister.
Block clapped his hands once, and the lights dimmed, the room plunging into a deeper shade of darkness. Ayana’s breath hitched. She scooted to the left, trying to put distance between them, but Block’s arm shot out, trapping her in place. His grip was firm, unyielding.
"Don't piss me off," he warned. His voice was a quiet threat, the calm before the storm. It was nearing 1 a.m.
“This won’t be our last position, so be good for now.” He released her leg, but she winced as she rubbed her thigh, already feeling the dull throb of a bruise forming beneath the skin.
Block slid a bottle of wine toward her, the glass catching the dim light as he poured.
"Drink it," he said, his gaze falling to the floor, distant. His tone left no room for argument. Ayana hesitated only for a moment before lifting the glass. Something in his silence told her not to push him further tonight. She took a deep gulp, swallowing the wine like juice. The taste filled her mouth—it was bold, sharp, but she let it slide down smoothly. She loved wine, though Block didn’t know that.
She usually preferred something like Vanilla Red or Apothic, the kind with vanilla undertones and sweet red grapes. But this... this would do.
“Can I have some more?” she asked, her voice timid, uncertain.
Block smiled—a slow, deliberate smile. "I see you can speak now. Please, have some."
His sudden shift in mood unsettled her. Why was he so jolly? She poured herself more wine, but doubt flickered in her mind.
“You didn’t put anything in this, right?” she asked, her voice cautious.
Block’s smile faded. He turned toward her, placing his hand back on her thigh, his fingers digging in with just enough pressure to make her flinch.
“I don’t do drugs,” he said, his voice cold and steady. “I don’t like drugs. I don’t smoke. And I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” His grip tightened. “If I wanted to drug you, don’t you think I’d just rape you instead?”
Ayana swallowed hard, her throat tightening. She shoved his hand off her thigh.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I’m concerned.” Her voice faltered as she broke eye contact, staring into her wine glass instead. She took another sip to steady herself.
“I’ll be right back,” Block said, standing abruptly.
Ayana watched him leave, her thoughts racing.
She scanned the room, glancing at the exits, but knew escape wasn’t an option.
His soldiers stood at each door, stoic and alert.
Running would be suicide, especially with Basket around.
She could feel the weight of his hatred every time he looked at her.
She knew he’d love nothing more than to empty a clip into her.
Block re-entered the room, carrying a small purple and blue chest, no bigger than a shoebox. He placed it on the floor in front of her and sat back down.
“After we talk, I want you to open this box,” he said. “That’s not a request.”
Ayana nodded, her pulse quickening. “What’s in it?”
Block licked his lips, his gaze heavy as he took his seat again. “Like I said, once we finish talking, you’ll find out.”
The way he watched her—it was as though he was reading her thoughts, seeing straight through her. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
“Don’t do that, Ayana,” he said sharply. “Don’t make this difficult.”
His eyes searched her face, looking for something—an answer she hadn’t given. Slowly, her head lowered, her grip tightening around the glass.
“Good girl,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost soothing, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable.
He sat up, his posture shifting as if he were readying for something more. Ayana leaned back, folding her legs beneath her to get comfortable. She felt the strain in her body, the tension she couldn't shake, as if Block was draining her energy just by being near her.
“So,” he said, locking eyes with her. “Since you’ve had time to think, let’s talk. I want to make one thing clear: you answer me at all times. And it’s not ‘yes,’ it’s ‘yes, sir.’ Understood?”
Ayana nodded.
“That starts now,” he added, his eyebrow arching expectantly.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Block’s lip curled in satisfaction.
“We had a conversation earlier,” he continued, “and I need to know something. Why is it you can’t seem to listen or obey?”
Ayana grabbed a pillow from the couch, placing it in her lap like a shield. She folded her arms over it, then leaned her head back against the cushions. After a moment, she straightened up.
“It’s not that I don’t want to listen,” she began slowly. “I just didn’t feel obligated to.” Her voice was firmer than before, but there was a tremble beneath it.
Block’s disapproving hum filled the room. She swallowed hard and continued.
“I... I want to kill you. I don’t understand why you think I should have to listen to you.” Her voice wavered, but the words hung heavy between them. She braced herself, trembling, knowing she was pushing it too far.
To her surprise, he didn’t react immediately, so she pressed on.
“I want to leave,” she whispered, “and I think you owe me that.” Her breath caught as she finished, her body tense.
Block shifted closer, his face now inches from hers.
The warmth of his breath brushed against her lips, and her heart pounded in her chest. She could smell the wine on him, thick and sweet, and her eyes flicked down to his mouth before quickly returning to his eyes. The space between them was suffocating.
“I don’t owe you shit,” Block growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m giving you a choice right now. Do you want to live or die? Because the moment you walk out that door, that’s it. I can let you leave... but I won’t let you live.”
Ayana stared into his eyes, struggling to process his words. Did she hear him right? Was this a trap?
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Ayana?” His voice cut through her haze. “If you want to leave, then leave.”
She shook her head, her mind spinning. If she opened that door, would he shoot her? Would she even make it to the threshold? The weight of the choice hung heavy over her.
Finally, she pushed at his chest, her voice trembling but calm. “Can you give me some space?”
Her words were soft, silvery, almost pleading.
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