[COMPLETED] Echo Donaldson is like any normal girl. She's sweet, and innocent---wouldn't hurt a fly! Or at least, that's what she wants you to think. The truth is, Echo is involved in some dangerous things most girls wouldn't even think of. She's hu...
I picked up and Eric's voice filled my ears. "Where are you?" He asked. He sounded pissed—but then again, Eric was always pissed.
"It's only..." I checked the time, and sure enough, it was only thirty minutes until nine o'clock. "Eight-thirty."
"Have you even read my texts?" Eric scoffed, and I could hear muffled voices in the background.
"No—" I said, beginning to ask a follow-up question when Eric interrupted me.
"We need you here. Now."
"Why?" I demanded, watching as the sun disappeared from sight. The dark blanket of black and stars began to become clearer.
"Just trust me. Get here in thirty minutes, or the turnout won't be pretty," Eric growled, then hung up. I lingered there for a minute, the phone still pressed to my ear, as if Eric was still on the other line.
"Echo?" A soft voice asked, and I turned to see Grey, now fully clothed.
"I'm right here, sorry," I said, blinking the tears from my eyes.
"Is everything okay?" Grey asked, putting a warm hand on my waist, finding a lit skin under my shirt. It made me feel just a little better.
"Yeah... It was just Emily. She locked herself out of the apartment and I have to go help her," I lied, forcing a smile.
"Alright," Grey said, and since it was dark, I really couldn't see his expression, but I could hear the disappointment in his voice.
...
Eric grabbed me by my arm and roughly pulled me into the secret compound. "Finally," he growled, finally letting go of my hand as I shot him a death glare. No, seriously, I hadn't wished more that a person would just drop dead.
I'm sure Eric got the hint, so he smiled and picked up a knife, angling it at me. It was like he was trying to remind me of my place, even though I hadn't said anything. I immediately straightened, and avoided his gaze. "What do you need me for?" I spoke as calmly as my voice would allow.
"To do your job," Eric repeated what he had said early. "Kill." He grinned mercilessly at me. Then he set the knife down and ranked a hand through his dark brown hair. He picked up a cigarette and lit it, the smell burned my nostrils.
"Who?" I croaked.
Eric grinned. "The Squealer."
"I need their name," I grumbled impatiently, tapping my foot. Eric took another puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke into my face, making me choke. "Just cut the shit, Eric. Give me the fucking name."
"We don't know the name, Eliza," Eric said slowly, holding the cigarette between his teeth. "That's part of your job, actually. Find out who the informant is and kill them."
Jesus Christ.
The thought of hurting someone else again—let's just say it makes me sick.
My voice shakes as I speak, "What if I don't want to kill, Eric?"
"Well, that'd be a problem," Eric said, thoughtfully pulling a long drag on his cigarette. He blew the smoke from in between his teeth and then dropped the half smoked bud, crushing it beneath his loafers heel. "Because then you wouldn't be of use, now would you?"
I didn't answer.
"And you're aware of what we do when people aren't of much use anymore, don't you?" I closed my eyes for a second. I knew all too well what happened to people who weren't of use anymore. "Exactly, Dear. So, be a good little girl and do as you're told. Got that, Sweetheart?"
I long to slap this patronizing asshole's face.
"Yes, Eric," I said through gritted teeth. Eric smirked and collapsed into his seat, where he grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey and poured it into his cup. He lifted the shot glass towards me, as if this drink was dedicated to me, and finished the liquid in one gulp.
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