22.
T he first thing I notice is the smell of blood, followed by the sensation of it trickling down my temple. And then I feel a pinching, all-consuming pain on the right side of my head. I hear voices around me – muffled, urgent – followed by footsteps that are dense yet unhurried.
My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my throat is so dry that I can barely swallow. I feel grass under me, and realize that I’m on the ground, back up. I groan as I shift my stiff body, then force myself to open my eyes.
“Fuck,” I hiss when my eyelashes stretch and pull against each other, most likely because of blood having dried on them.
I can’t see clearly, and have to force my lids to stay open when a wave of dizziness washes over me. I feel sleepy, disconnected from my surroundings, but I try to focus on every little thing I can. It’s so goddamn hard since my ears are buzzing and my head is heavy, but still, I try.
“Get her up, Chris,” says an unfamiliar, commanding voice.
My heart races up to my throat as I push my body forward in a feeble attempt at dragging myself away from the crowd I feel circling me. But I’ve barely lifted my chest off the ground when a pair of rough hands grab my arm, all but hauling me up to my feet.
A broken scream rips through me as my muscles throb in pain. I sway a little when my head swims, but the man – Chris , apparently – stabilizes me before I can fall.
“Let…” I swallow the chalky dryness in my mouth when my words fail me. “Let me…go,” I whisper, I think. Or maybe I say it out loud. I honestly can’t tell the difference right now.
Chris ignores me as he proceeds to bring my hands behind my back, crosses one of my wrists over the other, then wraps a cable tie around them.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” I grit out as I try yanking my hands out of his hold. “Fucking stop!”
The harsh plastic bites into my skin as he clips it – completely undeterred by my protests.
“I’d suggest that you keep your mouth shut and let my guard do what he’s been told to do, Cignette,” says that same voice from a moment ago. “After all, you and I both know that your defiance is inconsequential to us.”
My nostrils flare as I look forward, and meet a set of eyes that are the exact same shade of blue as Timothy’s were.
His red hair, peppered with prominent greys, is slicked back, whereas his white suit is held snug against his tall, lanky frame, which is balanced by the cane he’s holding in his right hand.
Fredrick Byron, flanked by over a dozen or so guards wearing grey suits, stares down at me with pure hatred marring his gruff features.
Each of said guards is armed with a sleek AR-15, and as I twist my head to glance behind me, I notice six more of them, dressed in black, with their faces concealed behind masks.
They’re all holding shotguns, and when I scoff at them, one of the guards raises his arms and points the tip of the shotgun’s barrel at my forehead. Typical .
With a laugh, I face Fredrick again. “You work fast,” I muse.
“You killed my son, you cunt ,” he sneers. “Did you really think I’d sit back and let you get away with it?”
“I was hoping you’d thank me for it, actually,” I retort, then shake my head a little when my vision turns fuzzy.
Fredrick’s lips quirk up in a smirk as he watches me. “And why the fuck did you think I’d do that?”
I sniff. “Because you thought Timothy was more of a burden to you than an asset.”
He pauses for a beat, seeming disoriented, then swiftly regains himself. “He was my heir ,” he states. “My flesh and blood; my–”
“God, I really didn’t take you for a whiner,” I cut him off, then stretch my neck when I feel some tension there. “Now I know where your son’s lack of self-control over speech came from.”
Behind me, Chris stiffens, which makes me want to roll my eyes.
Fredrick grinds his teeth as he glares at me, and then, before I can so much as blink, he raises his left hand and slaps me across the face.
I gasp as the breath is knocked out of me, both because of the suddenness of the assault, and the force used behind it.
And, since he hit me on the same side as the wound on my head, the pain that rings through that area is indescribable.
So much so that I feel a stubborn weight on my chest, right before my body bends over and I empty the contents of my stomach on his black Brogues.
Chunks of my vomit splatter over the grass, and as I retch a second time, Fredrick stumbles away from me, only to fall against one of his guards.
“Sir–”
“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, then straightens and glances at his shoes before letting out a groan. “Go find me some water,” he orders the guard. “Right now.”
The guard all but runs off to do his boss’s bidding, just as a man I’ve never seen before rounds the corner and makes his way to Fredrick. He’s short, portly, and has a head that shines like a toddler’s ass on a sunny morning.
His expression scrunches up when he reaches Fredrick. Placing a finger under his nose, he looks around, then mumbles a curse when he sees my vomit staining Fredrick’s shoes.
“The bodies have been dispatched,” he announces, turning his gaze to me.
My stomach flips when I notice him staring blatantly at my chest, right before dragging his eyes lower to the exposed skin of my thigh. His grin is gradual, just like his perusal, but when Fredrick clears his throat, he all but jolts out of his trance.
“Has our driver taken off, then, Heyman?” says Fredrick.
Heyman , the fucking pervert, nods. “He should reach the estate soon enough. I have also spoken to the funeral director about the pro–”
“That is enough.” Fredrick’s face tightens, and his lips flatten in a thin line as he gives me a brief glance.
“Look at you showing emotions , Fred,” I taunt, ignoring the burning in my throat, then twist my wrists against the rope. “I would almost believe you if you told me you’re a human. Almost .”
“And you – what the hell are you ?” he hisses, then invades my personal space while pointing a finger at me. “You are just as much a monster as I am, Cignette Adler. You are nothing but a slave to your compulsions.”
“Monsters have different faces, though, Fredrick,” I tell him around a smile. “At least mine isn’t forged from the ashes of those who died because of your insatiable greed and pride.”
“We all do what is needed of us to survive in this world.”
I chuckle. “Do spare me the self-righteous bullshit . I’ve dealt with assholes like you in the past, and let me tell you: it’s never about survival for you all, but power and dictatorship.
” I shift closer to him. “People like you thrive on superiority, but you forget that a coin has two sides, and it’s only a matter of time before it decides to fucking flip on you. ”
His eyes glaze over as his anger rises. “I should have killed you instead of knocking you out,” he says.
I grin. “Well, why didn’t you, then?”
“Because I didn’t want to let you off so easily,” he admits.
“Of course. It’s only fair since I didn’t let your son off easy.”
His face reddens with rage, and I notice a second too late as he moves his upper body backwards. I try to pivot my face away from the punch he throws at me, but still catch his knuckles against the side of my nose, gasping audibly as it briefly stops the flow of air to my lungs.
“You’re a weak, weak man, Fredrick,” I rasp, then sniff when I feel a thick line of blood dripping down my left nostril. “Keeping me tied up so that you can fulfill some masochistic fantasy of yours – now that’s a bit of a cunty move, don’t you think?”
“Why haven’t any of you idiots covered her big mouth yet?” Heyman asks the guards, and when none of them answers, he sighs and pulls a handkerchief out of his suit jacket.
“If you take one step towards me, I swear to God I’ll kick your balls so high up your fucking guts that you’ll have a hard time looking for them,” I warn him.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Chris mutters from behind me, then brings a white linen handkerchief, rolled flat, in front of my face before wrapping it around my mouth.
“Fuck you!” I scream, but my voice comes out muffled. I try to get away from him, but he fists the back of my hair and pulls me to him, making me cry out. My head swims once again, and my shoulders slump as pinpricks overwhelm every inch of my body.
“Sir?”
Fredrick turns, and there stands the guard he’d commanded to bring water a few minutes ago. He’s holding a small box full of packaged water bottles, and looks unsure of whether to put them down, or to keep holding them.
Fredrick and his bald disciple make their way to the guard, but halfway through, the former stops and twists his head, bringing his sharp eyes to me. He smiles in a way that makes bile rise in the back of my throat, then looks behind me.
“Get to work, Chris,” he orders, and beside him, Heyman’s shoulders shake as he coughs out a mocking laugh.
And I? I take a deep breath in, then let it out slowly before bracing myself for the agony I know I’m about to endure.