Chapter Fourteen

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I didn't stop screaming his name until I was back in Detainment Room Seven, and although I was silent, my mind was full of him.

He hated me. I saw it in his eyes. The burning rage, the betrayal, the coldness of his eyes and the hardness in his face. The way he had slammed his hand on the table, how much the fire in his eyes told me. I offered him the chance to hit me. But he didn't take it. Maybe he thought if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

I would have let him.

And Tony. The disappointment, the sadness on his face broke me. He had been proud of me. He was proud when I succeeded, and he was encouraging when I failed.

But this time I had messed up too much, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

The chains dug into me, and I knew that if I wanted, I could break the chains. But I wouldn't be able to get the metal cases off my hands without the key. I had a bad feeling about everything, about all of this. Everything was falling apart, starting with Bucky, and now. And I still couldn't get that weird feeling about Bucky out of my head. I could have sworn I'd seen him before, years ago. I thought I must had met him, but the nagging in my head wouldn't go away. Where had I seen those eyes, that face, those lips?

The door buzzed and opened, and in walked a young woman. She was muscular, with shoulder length chestnut brown hair, and a pair of ocean blue eyes that twinkled menacingly at me. Her smile was wide, and movements calculated, and instantly the faint scar on my cheek gave a twinge, my chest tightened, and I growled.

"You," I snapped, straining against my restraints. I glanced up at the cameras in the corner. The red light was off.

"Don't worry sweetie, no one knows I'm here," Rebekah drawled, placing her clipboard on the table and taking off her headset. She was wearing classic CIA desk agent clothing; a tight black pencil skirt, white blouse and suit jacket, with a set of cream pearls against her slender neck. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she sat down gracefully, an art I had never perfected.

"How did you get in here?" I spat, making sure to get some in her face and in her immaculate hair. With a perfectly manicured hand she lazily wiped away the spit from her face and studied me with those big blue eyes.

"Oh, didn't you know? I work here now. My name is," she glanced at her clipboard. "Megan Taylor. Cute, right?"

I was speechless. I thought after New Zealand she wouldn't have shown her face here again. She was even crazier than I thought.

"Look, it wasn't part of the plan to come and chat with you, even though I love it when we talk, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Mr Stark and that handsome hunk of a man Captain Rogers out there. It was, so amusing. Honestly like a reality TV show or something. And I just had to ask," she leaned close, so we were inches apart.

"How much did it hurt when you told them?"

I snarled and jumped forward, but the chain that was fixed to the wall like I was an animal stopped me from touching her, and she sat back and cackled.

"I love seeing you like this. All tied up like an animal. Useless. Weak. Soon, you'll be shipped off to some psycho ward with all the other crazies and we'll ever see you again," she inspected her nails absent-mindedly.

"I thought you wanted me dead," I said, bubbles of anger in my throat. Her perfectly rounded lips cracked a manic smile.

"Oh no. I don't want you dead. You're no fun when you're dead. I want to see you suffer. I want to see you in pain. And you know, there's plenty of people like you in the world. Plenty of people who can replace you," she stretched out her arm, and tongues of blue fire licked her skin, caressing her arm all the way up the elbow.

UNRAVELLED ~ STEVE ROGERS [3]Where stories live. Discover now