'Some pasts are too dark to be brought under the face of light.'
Al is a name that sends shivers down spines when it is whispered.
Al rules the city with an iron fist but not from an office of presidency.
No. She rules the city from her mafia.
Althe...
• This chapter is dedicated to samanthacassidy92 Your stories pull me in, your kind words drive me insane and your beautiful heart is the final blow to my weakened form •
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"You're a long way from your kitchen Zeke. What brings you down here?" Althea's lilting voice reached Zeke's ears across the darkness.
He couldn't see her in the dimmed light but her voice resounded through him loud and clear, making him gulp. This had indeed been a bad idea.
Zeke widened the doorway further, trying not to avert his eyes to the light glinting off of that throwing knife stuck in the wood of the door. He could now clearly see into the dark room and he stopped short of words for a second.
The lack of light made it hard for him to make out the walls decorated with different weapons lined after another but they were a proof to what this room obviously was. An armoury.
There also was a big metal desk on the further left side of the room. The top of it was covered in tools and knives, welding equipment and so much more. Everything you needed to clean a weapon and make one from scratch if you wanted to.
On the chair beside the table sat a figure, their backs to the door, hunched over by the shoulders. Squinting his eyes, Zeke could easily recognise those long locks of raven black hair that was tied up in a ponytail, effortlessly blending into the darkness of the room.
He took a couple more cautious steps into the room, careful to look out for anymore projectiles that might come his way.
"I asked you a question pretty face. What are you doing here?" Althea spoke up again without turning around. Her voice was a little raspy, Zeke noticed. Like she hadn't used it to form words for quite a while. Or hadn't drank anything.
Her hands kept moving over the desk and Zeke took one more step closer to be able to see over her shoulder. The large button up shirt she was wearing had been rolled up to her elbows and her hands and forearms were dirtied in black smudges. Similar to ones a mechanic would get after working under a car. But hers was from working on weapons.
In her hands, there was a throwing knife almost identical to the one she had thrown at Zeke. A whetstone in her hand and holding the knife at a tilted angle, Althea was sharpening the weapon.
Every time she dragged down the knife across the stone, a screeching sound that was somewhere between nails dragging across a chalkboard and metal clacking against each other was being heard.
The normally quiet noise was amplified from being the only real sound in the quietness of the dark room.
Zeke didn't know how to reply to Althea's question. He hadn't been a double agent for more than a day and he had already been caught sneaking where he shouldn't. Maybe if he acted like it wasn't a big deal and made it seem like this was all part of his stupid, curious personality (which partially was), then he could get a way with it.
