Our Finest Moment ✔️

8

LIANA

When I wake up, it's hard to see. It's bright and painful, and when I turn my head to look around, even more pain fills me, starting at the side of my neck. I suddenly remember what happened, and sit up with a jolt.

I'm still here, still alive and breathing, and with a big bandage wrapped around my throat.

The room begins to clear up, the yellow-painted walls coming back at me. Unless they're just yellow from the lights. That could be. But I'm still in the cell, and there's a note on the floor next to the mattress.

Our deal is still on—
Prove you're not a spy, and we'll work something out.

I didn't remember that, so I swallow my embarrassment and try to thank the big and burly guy for leaving the note. Not that he's even here to hear it.

My mind still spins, and I have no idea how much time has passed. It's chilly in here, too, but to be honest...this place is a lot better than the street. And the building with the fallen down ceiling. So, if this guy needs time to see I'm not whoever he thinks I am, I can live through the winter.

It's crazy how quickly my thoughts change directions, and it gives me whiplash just thinking about all the different thoughts I've had since Dorian found me in that apartment. Most of all, though, I'm a little ashamed that I tried to cut my own throat when that man wouldn't kill me. It's strange, and it's scary, but the fighter in me tells me to keep going—even if the realist in me tells me I have to get the fuck away from this shit.

How, I don't know.

Maybe if I give them time, they'll come to trust me, and I won't be locked in here, and I can escape. And...then, what? Go back to living on the streets?

Oh, God, I'm such a mess. And the worst part is that the shame and embarrassment of my actions is starting to go away, being replaced by anger that I'm still alive. In this shitty situation. In this shitty city, where my father, according to the guy keeping me captive, was a criminal.

I get up and decide to move around a little, to make my brain come up with some solution, because everything I see at the moment is either death or death. One quicker than the other. No matter how bad things seem now, this can't be it; so I won't let it. If the big, burly, handsome guy wants me dead in the end, then...fine, but if I escape? Then I'm going to make the most of it.

I'm going to find a job. No, demand a job. And I'm finding a new place to live, and making a whole new life.

And then I'm going to forget that this crime boss exists, with his criminal friends and helpers, and his knowledge of my family. The knowledge I now have of my father dies with my relationship with all of this, sooner rather than later.

I jump when the door clicks and opens, and the blonde man walks in, dragging a chair behind him, and a paper bag in the other. "Morning," he says, as the door shuts, and he locks it again.

Dorian clears his throat as he sets the chair next to the one already here, and puts the bag on the table. He just sits down casually, leaning back as he picks up what looks like a burger wrapped in more paper from the bag. He gestures for the other chair, and I tentatively walk towards it.

"Morning?" I question, furrowing my brows.

"Yeah," he confirms, biting into what is indeed a burger. "You went out cold yesterday, and you've slept for, I don't know, about twenty-four hours?" He lifts the bag and moves it more towards me, a silent offer. He adds, "How's the neck?"

My hand moves up, clutching the bandage-covered skin as I swallow. My mouth waters, thanks to the smell from his food, and I sit down on the chair.

"It's sore," I manage, taking a peek into the paper bag.