Predator (DWT x OC)

103

They drag me away, stripping me of my axe and my knives almost immediately. Schlatt has a particular wolfish grin when they fish the one that was sewn into my waistband, raising his eyebrows when one of his soldiers hands it over to him. I keep my expression stony, meeting his eyes with a challenging stare. 

All our intelligence reports had described him, but wow, it is a sight to behold in person. He's ghostly pale, the tell-tale yellow eyes of someone who's been overloading their liver, bloated in the stomach. I remember warning him about his drinking, ages ago, when I was put in the jail. I'd almost forgotten about it.

I'm marched back to the white house, looking a little weather worn, sandbags and barbed wire piled out the front as crude defences, manned by a wall of soldiers in those same black and red uniforms. The group enters through the main entry way, and I'm pulled down a few different hallways, before stopping at a door. One of the soldiers unlocks my handcuffs and I'm thrown into what looks like an old meeting room, the tables and chairs stacked on top of each other in the corner, the curtains torn off their railings. 

I blink, once, twice, trying to send away the blurriness. The air is clean here, and it helps with my headache. I stand up straight, smoothing my palms down my thighs. I'm here.

"Well, well, well." The crooning voice feels like I've got rats running down my back, and I'm almost worried my lunch might make a second appearance all over this carpeted floor.

"Schlatt." I plaster on a saccharine smile, watching him walk through the door. 

"I'll be honest Rosie." He says, pulling out two chairs from the tangled wooden pile, and gesturing for me to sit down. I do, and he hands me a glass of water, before sitting in the chair opposite me. "I knew this would work, but I never expected it to be so fast."

"I'm efficient." I shrug, taking a sip of water.

"So, your little kids do trump everything else." He leans his forearm against the back of his chair, twisting so he's facing me directly.

"Yep."

"And I'm assuming that you came here with a plan to take me out?"

I tilt my head, lifting the corner of my mouth. "Very good Schlatt, you've got me all figured out."

"And how is that going?"

I roll my eyes, setting down my glass. "It was never the priority."

"Oh really?"

"You took Tommy, and I came here to get him back. I've done what I've needed to do, as far as I'm concerned."

"So that's...it? You trade in for Tommy and suddenly you're out of the game? C'mon Rosie, give me a bit more fuckin' credit than that."

"I'm serious Schlatt, I don't have anything else to play. You know me well enough to know I'll do anything for them, even if it means screwing myself out of this fight. I'm here now, Tommy's safe, sure I'd love to kill you, but like you said, the odds aren't looking great." 

"Fuckin' hell." He shakes his head. "Look at you, all mellowed out. What happened to the psycho that put a knife to my neck in that graveyard?"

I lean back in the chair, tilting my head back to look at the ceiling. A yellow water spot has bloomed over the white plaster, a brown ring spread out over one of the light fittings. The paint is peeling in spots. 

"I'm tired Schlatt, I'm tired."

"So no plan? No do-gooder, underdog spirit? Nothing?"

"Nothing." I crane my neck so that I'm almost looking behind me, lost in the abyss of the rotting ceiling. "Not much left."