Bloodlines

Impostor

"What do you mean people will die?" I stress, uncertain I want to know the explanation.

"Exactly as implied, Octavia. The Hoods need someone of the same bloodline to take charge. If you don't take that role then rival gang members will come for my men. There is no covering up who they are, their identity is stamped on their skin for the world to see, " he states, using his hands to gesture towards Clarke. "They will come for you too, " he adds, "and likely slaughter your family and loved ones before your eyes. They want revenge, and will stop at nothing to get it."

I take a moment to let his words sink in, sifting through my emotions. I find myself surprised to discover that the strongest emotion isn't fear, it's anger. This man who is my biological father hasn't seen me for who knows how many years, and now he wants me to flip my life upside down to save him and his gang? Seriously?

"So let me get this straight, " I muse, placing my hands on the desk in front of me, "I'm in grave danger, and being hunted down, all because you decided to fuck up your life?"

The room is silent. The only thing I hear is Clarke audibly swallow beside me. However, the man before me chuckles darkly, standing in an impeccably controlled manner.

"You are lucky you are my daughter, young lady. Because if you were anyone else I would have cut out your tongue for that."

I gulp.

"You decided to give up that status the minute you walked out on us," I bark back instantly.

"Shall we retire downstairs for some recreation?" Scar inquires calmly, sending a smirk my way, "I do believe things have gotten a little tense in here. We can continue this conversation at a later date."

And with that said, there's a sharp tug on the back of my dress. Clarke hauls me from the room in a split second. Out in the corridor, he squares up to me, gripping my shoulders with his hands.

"Are you a complete idiot, Octavia? Or is it your intention to get your throat slit?" Clarke demands shaking me for emphasis.

"He can't hurt me," I respond smugly. "He needs me. And so do you. I'm not afraid of you anymore, Carlos," I sneer at him.

His eyes examine me for an extended time, flitting from left to right. I have the sudden urge to wave a hand in front of his face to check he hasn't miraculously turned to stone.

"Correct. I can't hurt you, Princess," he agrees, "but remember I can make your life hell."

He grins, holding an outstretched hand for me to take. I ignore him, sauntering past towards the stairs, but as I brush past him he backhands my arse with an almighty thwack. Spinning on my heel so fast I almost topple over, I stare daggers at him. If looks could kill he'd be in the depths of hell right now.

******

Clarke positions himself at one of the many poker tables and pats his knee joyfully. My eyes narrow once again, in annoyance. "I don't think so, Buddy," I reply, maintaining my stoic expression.

Clarke shrugs nonchalantly, and the game commences. Upon glancing around the table I don't notice anyone of particular interest. The man to the left of Clarke seems like your average Joe, and the same goes for the guy sat next to him. Scar sits opposite Clarke, once again hidden from view by dark shades. A large wad of notes splayed across the table in front of him proves the truth behind his wealth and status. That, and then there's the attractive, big breasted female sat atop his lap.

Watching the two of them together makes me want to puke, with her giggling at a pitch only dogs could hear, whilst twirling a lock of golden hair around her finger flirtatiously. Clarke slides me a sly smile which I respond to with an eye roll. If he thinks I'm going to sit on his lap and be 'his trophy girl' he needs to think again.