The Lone Dove #1 ✔️

33. Celestial

He laughs just like the joker and he appears as maniacal and manipulative as the mentally disturbed man on Bat's hit list, "What I want? Right now, is to roughen you up a bit." He bites, then stands and slowly his face is captured in the light. He's on my hit list now. Either my initial interpretation of colour has changed or the blue background fades to a red haze each time his face is in my line of sight.

My attempts to clear it fail to follow through with my commands, the closer I am to collapsing once more.

It's so blurry that I require a few minutes of nauseating dizziness before I finally come to terms with the face in front of me. It transforms mine into an ugly scowl when I come in contact with his hatred-filled eyes.

Aaron Dark-Wood stands short amongst his men, an evil glint in one eye and pure betrayal in the other, he chuckles with no laughter, "You know, we wouldn't be in this situation, had you let me finish that job, Hell-had you paid me better." He comments, shaking his head down at me.

He was incompetent and incompetent workers build atrocious designs and even worse for the physical framework of the task at hand. I would never work with someone like that. Plus, I paid him more than he deserved.

"I would never have felt the urge to steal from you-" he raises his hand, pointing up one finger, I internally roll my eyes as he lists, "-I would never have unprofessionally called you a psychotic bitch, I would have never kidnaped you, twice and none of us would have been in this situation." He finishes, rotating his metal chair to lean his arms on the back of it, whilst still glaring at me.

"You were using your own designs and you were not following my orders. It's just business." I whisper, nonchalantly, though the sound of metal screeching on concrete sharpens in inner hearing. He raises his fist and slams it against my cheek, my head slams straight forward while I grit my teeth and silence the pain, or at least try to.

It's subjective, Poppy.

You are better than this.

He's gotten more angry, more volatile. I wonder if it's just the business he wants, or if someone else is pulling this bitch's strings.

He growls with a low rumble, annoyed that I'm not fatigued by it, "Well then, you can look at this as 'Just business', Miss Parker." He kicks hard into my abdomen, shoving me a metre away from him, along the floor. I bite my lip, hard, to stop my groan of pain to be released. I shake my head profusely, this is not me. Falling to the ground and getting kicked around like some kind of rag doll is not in my nature. It is not in my blood to let someone as incompetent as this smirk as he attempts to defile me. My blood seems to drop from my nose as I slowly raise a hand to the ground, pushing myself up into a seating position and dodging his next blow to my face, all I had to do was duck.

He growls out his frustrations once more, "What I want, Miss Parker is for you to sign over the company to me? I want what you refused to get me last time and if you do so, I'll be merciful before I kill you." His voice, lowers to a dangerous tone with a dangerous edge as it sharpens to the extent of a dark pitch.

I sigh, "Do you have any family?" I ask, randomly, possibly to divert his attention from the knives that feel cold on the skin of my ankles.

He raises an odd eyebrow, thoroughly confused, "What has that-" before he can finish, I interrupt.

"Do you have any loved ones? Children? Wife? Perhaps even a girlfriend?" I ask, listing as his face reddens, but not in anger, I come to notice.

The men behind him, only three as the walk closer into the light, "No-" He mutters, glancing up as his men get closer.