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I could toy with her some more and say she could have it back after the mission, but then she’ll catch on that I’m holding it as a souvenir rather than a reason for her to come back. Or both reasons on why I kept it. I gather the will and head to my room, taking the dagger from the trusted spot I had for it.
I stroll back out, her brow raised, eyeing my hand. I had it covered at the sharp end because without it, I would be dead. I found out it’s coated in high amounts of atropine and scopolamine. Of course, I had it tested for fingerprints and anything else unusual. It makes me think back on when she willingly gave it up and didn’t fight to get it back. Sneaky, sneaky snake.
I place it in her palm. She grabs it, and I swear I heard a sigh of relief.
“Anything else?” I slide my hands into my jean pockets.
She lets out a breath. “Right now, I am tired. The tour of this big ass place wore me out. Inform me when it’s time for our mission.” She stops herself and looks at me, catching what I caught.
Our.
“Themission,” she corrects with a snide tone.
“It’s okay if you’re excited to be by my side.” I tilt my head, holding an involuntary smile that’s waiting to come out.
“Excited about the mission, yes. Excited to do it with you?” She kneels, finally grabbing her duffel bag off the floor. Then, looking over her shoulder, her top lips curl up with a sneer and her dark eyes are ice-cold. “Definitely no. I’ll rather dip my flesh in acid, but here we are.”
Damn, that’s fucking extreme.
Then, without another word, she shifts. As she turns to the door, I catch a glimpse of the rest of her tattoo. I noticed parts of the snake’s body. It’s nearly covering her entire back. From what I imagine, the ink wraps around her stomach as well.
Before I can retort back, she opens the door, then slams it behind her.
Leaving my mouth agape and my mind in a goddamn spin.
This is either going to go bad orveryfucking bad.
My hand swipesover the condensation sticking to the mirror, the droplets from the glass coating my palm and dripping to the sink. I clear away enough to only get a visual of my face and nothing more. Twelve years later and I still refuse to look at the scars on my chest.
A reminder of my weakest point in my life.
Of course, I have taken a glance here and there. It’s inevitable. But I don’t keep my eyes there for too long. It causes a disturbance in my chest to awaken; the guilt consuming me like a bad dream.
I have my fair share of those.
It’s always Carter’s body stabbed to death with a bullet in his head. The blood just drips and drips and drips. Seventeen times.
Seventeen drips.
The peaking nose grows louder and louder, even when I escape in the dream. It follows me.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I run my hand down my face. Every so often I wonder if Carter and I weren’t friends, would he be alive. Of course, he would. It’s the guilt that drives me, but also destroys me. But they weren’t after me for my money. They were after our blueprints. And I plan to find out why.
I get dressed and head outto the pantry closet to grab water; the moment I take a sip, the door opens. A pound in my chest hits against my ribs as Anita comes out holding a pink and black skeleton mug, along with a small bag with something green and leafy in it.
Her eyes flicker to me as I gulp the water. We continue our stare-down as she treads slowly to the kitchen. It’s fucking awkward, no doubt, but I still don’t avoid skimming down her night wear. A black oversized shirt with flannel black shorts that gives me a preview of her smooth long legs. A tingle to my balls permeates, uppercutting me in surprise.
Don't focus on her legs.
I swallow down the water and it becomes thicker. She breaks the intense stare and saunters over next to me at the sink embedded into the island. She removes a tiny metal spoon and runs water into her cup, dropping the bag onto the counter and something else that looks like an empty tea.
Neither of us talk, since she did mention to never speak to her while we’re in closed spaces. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit about someone’s demands.