Squad 6 | COMPLETED

Chapter 22- Andrew

Andrew

Cassandra hadn't waited for Andrew to stop the bike. She had jumped out of her seat and speed-walked up the stairs, two at the time and threw the front door wide open, scaring Bill who was carrying a cup of coffee. He dropped it on the floorboards, swearing. "I thought you were a fucking hitman."

"I am," Cassie snapped. "Kitchen," she announced.

Diana and Chloe were already seated at the table, looking at something on Diana's laptop. Chloe had been dressed in the pencil skirt and blouse she wore in London. A feeling of dread washed over Andrew when he saw what she had set down on the table.

"Oh, hey Cassandra," Diana said, almost shutting the laptop over Chloe's fingers.

Cassandra had stopped in her tracks, staring at the vials of liquid.

Andrew couldn't get the image out of his head for the past couple of hours. He had barely slept and the sun was already beginning to shed light on the city when he finally gave up. He knew what he should do. Steal the antidotes. Destroy them. Ruin the team's chance of replicating it, sabotage them every step of the way.

There was no reason for him to feel attached to any of these people. He had come with them to New York specifically to stop them. No. I came to save Maya.

Yet another reason why he should steal the antidotes. If George finds out Squad 6 has a lead, that they have a plan to get Gomez to work with them— he would kill Maya. Andrew was glad Cassie didn't agree to send the antidotes to Phi, for whatever reason. George would have found out for sure then. How could he even get out of that situation? He didn't know Chloe and Diana were going to go behind their backs, he couldn't have known. He was too busy keeping an eye on Cassandra. Not like George would care.

Andrew sighed, turning to his back. The worst thing was that he felt like he couldn't trust Chloe or Diana, now that they'd gone off on their own. Or maybe he was scared they might do it again. He was the untrustworthy one, after all.

"Depeche-toi, Andy." His mom used to say. How she missed her, even her nagging.

He was never an early riser, always late for school. He called back to her, tugging on a pair of jeans over his Spiderman boxers. He picked up his bag pack from the floor, stuffing it with his homework and a few crayons before making his was to the apartment living room. They were never a rich family, but they were a happy one. Andrew got toys for Christmas, dessert for dinner and hugs. It was enough.

His mom waited for him on the old, brown couch. He stopped every morning to look at her sitting there. She was his angel, the one who watched over him. His older siblings had already left for school, about an hour before as they do every morning. He grinned, excited to start the day, show his mom he was a big boy like Felix and smart like Nicole.

"You ready?" His mom asked, getting up. Her light brown hair was the same shade as Andrew's but long and collected at the back of her head with a clip. She wore dark black leggings and a pink top. But what he loved was her white cardigan. It was fluffy and soft. He loved spending night on the couch, his head in his mom's lap, using the cardigan as a blanket. She would watch Disney and Marvel movies with him and run her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. Somehow, he still ended up in his bed the next morning.

Andrew's eyes widened at the realization that he'd left his favorite toy in his room. He needed to show it to his new friend at school. He made a mad dash for his bedroom, using the corner of the wall to turn so he wouldn't lose on the speed.

He didn't get far before he collided with the grotesque figure that was his father. Andrew paled when his dad gave him an angry stare. He smelled of something bad and his eyes were red and watery. "J'suis tellement des—" but he never finished his apology. A hand merged with his face, sending him to the floor.