It comes back in clips. Someone pulling me from the water, and me coughing the ocean out of my lungs. My hands reaching to touch the back of my head only to find blood. My brother on a lifeboat with a few of our guards. His green eyes searching for mine. Me being too weak to hold his gaze. Guns pointed at the five of them, tempting them to make a move. Me calling for Blayne and Blayne calling for me. The sound of bullets sliding into their chambers. That's it. That is all my consciousness allows me to see, permits me to remember.
The light is blinding as I shift awake even though the yellow bulb is dull. Towels are rolled up neatly to my right, along with hundreds of bottles and syringes of medicine crowding the shelf underneath. The baseboards of the room are cracked and dusty. Rusty gray pipes run up the wall and into the ceiling. This is not a hospital. "Blay-" My voice breaks from its disuse, from the strain of what it's been put through. My wrists are weighed down by cuffs and I tug at them weakly, trying to get out of my binds. "Stop." Two gunmen have rifles strapped across their chests and in their hands, ready to use them if necessary. The man on the right is bulky, the size of a tree trunk. On the other hand, the one on the left is short and stubby, an obvious beer belly fighting against the strap attached to the gun in his hand. Their faces are masked in silver cloths, concealing their features except for their eyes. Even though they could shoot me if I tried to escape, and they have me strapped to a cot, I cannot ignore the warmth behind their eyes. These men are not killers. I know what a killer looks like, for I am a killer. "Look who's finally awake." My eyes narrow, trying to adjust to the dark figure sitting in the corner of the room. He stands, his chair scraping against the marble floor as he does. His face is covered just like the guards, a silver mask hiding his features. I sink into my pillows, uncomfortable by the sudden realization that I'm strapped to a bed, in a room, with three men I don't know. I shut my eyes to stop the world from spinning, spinning, spinning. My heart races against time, making the wound at the back of my head throb. "Where am I?"
He leans against a fridge full of blood bags, the bright white light something I hadn't noticed before. It hums in the silence, whirring against the quiet. My eyes dart between him and the armed men, predicting what is going to happen to me in the next few minutes. My mind travels to dark places, the evil things that my mother told me men did. She told me they raped, they killed, they stole. She ingrained the words into my mind up until her death but I can't help but have hope. My brothers are an example of that hope. They are not all the same.
He removes his mask slowly, and it takes me a moment to realize I've been holding my breath. His eyes are so dark, yet so blue. His hair is mud brown, like the color of the marble floors. He has on a black shirt, tight against his body to reveal a muscular bodice, muscles bulging against the cuffs. He glares at me, before grinning, basking in my reaction. My eyes are wide as I'm still in shock, but my surprise slowly dissolves into fury. "Let me go, Black." Tattoos run down his arms and I memorize the one that catches my attention. The symbols of male and female, intertwined together, wrapping around his wrist in black ink. Black like his shirt, black like his boots, black like his soul. "I was waiting for you to realize... your majesty." He adds my title to mock me, to remind me that I am at his mercy. His words vibrate through the air and into my stomach. He towers over me, glaring into my eyes, burning me like acid. "I've been looking for you a long time, Jaxon Black. You should be afraid." His laugh freezes my blood, and I shiver at the sound. "I should be afraid? I'm not afraid of anything, little royal, especially not the likes of a spoiled princess," he spits. I meet him with a glare of my own, my anger blinding me from everything else in the room but him. I fight against my restraints, but they don't budge. "You tried that, remember?" I move my face close to his, inches apart, so he can heed my words. "Go to hell, rat." He clenches his jaw, balling his fists so hard his veins look like they're about to burst through his skin.
The door opens, a woman and a man waltzing through. I sigh in relief but it does not last long. The man stops at Black's side, his black eyes drinking me in. The woman pays me no mind, fidgeting with my fluid supply and examining the cut on my palm to see if it's infected. "Well? Anything, Jax?" Jaxon's eyes flicker to mine before turning to the man. "She's stubborn as hell. She recognized me." I scoff, staring at the bump under my sheet, which I believe are my toes. I wiggle them to make sure. "Of course, I recognized you, imbecile. You're wanted in every city," I hiss. He juts his lip, before shrugging. His action says it all. He does not have to speak. That's what you think, is what he says, without having to utter a syllable. My heart drops, but I do not show it. I have enough dignity for that at least.
The moment I speak, I earn the attention of everyone in the room, and I put on my mother's skin, lifting my chin in confidence. "I like this one," the man says, and I can tell he's smiling through his mask. He has sandy blonde hair, wild around his head, and the woman is simple to commit to memory. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Her eyelashes are long, I think, when she narrows her eyes at me. She does not judge me, she only examines me, curious to hear what the "little royal" has to say. "Stop harassing her, Jaxon. You're making her uncomfortable." The criminal shoots her an annoyed look. "I'm being nice, compared to what I would do to her." A heavy thickness hangs in the room from his words, and I swallow slowly. She slaps Jaxon on his arm, and it affects him all the same, even if he doesn't move an inch. He backs away from me, straightening into his full height.
I've studied this man for years, and now that I have him in front of me, I can't do anything but sit here, chained to a bed. I think over his interaction with the woman and frown. How can this man have friends? "She's going to be moved soon. Abigail wants to see to it personally," the blonde man says. Jaxon's head snaps to his direction. "Am I a part of it?" The man nods, crossing his arms over his chest. "She's healing well. Obviously, they're going to move her." The terrorist takes me in, watching me as if I'll run. I do the same. The woman, my supposed doctor, removes her mask with a sigh. "What are you doing?" Blondie asks.
She's smart, but not that smart. She doesn't think ahead, to what might happen if I get free. My training serves me well, glancing at the name necklace hanging from a gold chain on her neck. Olivia. Her lips are full, her face round, and her eyes wide with knowledge. I commit her to memory. "She's not going to escape anytime soon, is she? Okay then." She places her mask on my bedside table, placing her hands are on her hips. "Reaching subject's room. Prepare for removal." They have walkie talkies. I have a feeling there's more to this band of rebels than we're led to believe. They're well developed, planned out, strategized, united. It's terrifying.
The door to the room slides open, and masked men and women alike march in, guns pointed and ready. "All of this for a spoiled princess?" Jaxon glares at me, and I grin, sitting straighter in my cot. Getting him aggravated gives me a little bit of joy, and I've only the met the man thirty minutes ago. Still, it feels as if I've known him years, even if I'm a stranger to him. "What have you gotten from her?" I can't place where the question comes from, a dozen guards in the same uniform confusing me from identifying any of them. "Nothing, Abi. Nothing at all." Black pinches his nose with his fingers, and surprise shocks me awake, my fatigue gone with realization. Me and the rebel have something in common. We both don't favor theatrics.
Jaxon obviously has emotional ties to two of the women amongst the shadows, his eyes flickering over their straight forms. Mother would be impressed by their posture. His eyes linger on the lead of the transfer troupe, but the skin around her eyes is wrinkled with age, stress lines soft against blue eyes like Jaxon's. Maybe that's his mother? Is she cold like mine was or is she caring, comforting him when his sins keep him awake at night? The other is younger, but not much older than me. Her copper brown hair glints in the yellow light, and her eyes dart between me and the terrorist in jealousy. Girlfriend I'm guessing, by the way her eyes scream, I want to kill you. I snort as she drowns in envy. What she's envious about, I have no idea. I feel nothing but hate for the man.
I'm achingly aware of my binds, free from my wrists, calling me to freedom. Even if I do make it past all the guns on my form, I wouldn't get far. I'm dizzy the moment I stand, and I have to hold onto the wall to keep from falling. "Miss Oxuris, you are not our prisoner, I want to make that clear." Abigail. That is Abigail, my mind whispers. "It certainly does not feel that way, Abigail." She draws back, dropping her gun so it hangs next to her hip. She's next to remove her mask, and everyone in the room seems to tense with suspense. I suppose me and Blayne were wrong. Jaxon is not the leader, but merely a pawn in this band of rebels. The way people straighten to attention, look over to her to know they're next move. Perhaps she's a leader in charge of a portion of the Bloods and she answers to someone higher than her, like the council back home. But one thing I know for sure. She leads the people here. "Very perceptive of you, little royal." She smiles, her teeth winking in the refrigerator light.
Her hair is short, and her lips are rosy pink. She looks good for a woman her age. Then again, women don't have much to stress about nowadays, so there's not much ruining our youth as we age, except nature. I'm not apart of that majority of stress free bliss, especially now. "Olivia here fixed me up well. I thank you. But, this rat, has done nothing but pester me. As for this one." I point to the blonde man before continuing. "He's interesting. An airhead and an imbecile, yes, but interesting." Jaxon lets out a boisterous laugh, and I hide my grin, crossing my arms over my chest to keep myself balanced. "Well done! Anything else?" Abigail asks with an intrigued smile. My eyes trace the line of every person, leaning back on my heels. "This one looks like she wants to kill me and Rumplestiltskin over there needs to lay off on the beer. Don't even know how he can get to that much alcohol, especially with laws like ours."
I've struck a nerve. The girl my age, rips off her silver cloth, glaring as she lunges. Jaxon holds her back with gritted teeth, but I do not flinch. I don't have it in me to flinch at anything anymore. "I could slit your throat, right here right now." I give her a forced shrug, pursing my lips. I've faced more dangerous enemies than the likes of a lovesick school girl. "I'd like to see that, love. I'd give you the chance to try but I think Abi over here wouldn't like that." Abigail levels the girl with a look. She straightens, backs into the protection of her Blood brethren. "You must forgive Ivy. We haven't had a guest as special as you in a long time." I feign a smile, letting my peaceful facade boil the tension in the room. "Ivy. How fitting. Are you always this jealous when he's in the proximity of a female?" She snarls and Jaxon frowns at me. "No. Being in the presence of royalty makes me sick," she spits. Anyone else would cry, would run from her, her threats plain as day, but not me. "Likewise, rat." Abigail holds up a hand, cutting off any of her retorts. "If you cannot handle this, Ivy Sinclair, I suggest you take your leave." Her mouth hangs open, ready to fight, but thinks better of it. She turns on her heels and the troupe splits, letting her leave in a whirlwind of anger. She mutters curse words under her breath as she leaves, slamming the door behind her. "It's not funny, James," Olivia scolds, shaking her finger at the blonde man, who's snickering so quietly I don't notice.
I no longer am bound to a bed, but they've placed new restraints on me. They allow me to walk freely, but I can't used my hands. Unfortunately for them, I don't need my hands to get out of a predicament like this. I've gone through a simulation like this before. There aren't as many guards as before, two on either side of me. Rumplestiltskin and Tree Trunk came with, staring ahead as if their bored with their lives.
Black stays with me, but Olivia is gone. Blondie stays. I like Blondie better than his name, James. Blondie fits him, especially since that's what I first noticed about him. "You're not bored of me yet, Blondie?" He grins, biting the inside of his cheeks. "Not yet, little royal. Not just yet. You and I are going to be great friends, I can tell you this." I raise an eyebrow, giving him a sidelong glance as we walk. "Oh? You've come to this conclusion how?" He smiles, his eyes growing wide. "I'm psychic. I can tell the future," he whispers. A laugh escapes me, and Jaxon glances at me, his lips turned into a frown, deep in thought. "Am I making you uncomfortable, rat?" He smirks, rubbing his temples. "You don't affect me." I stop, and so does everyone else. Abigail stops, the guards stop, James stops, and last but not least, my sworn enemy turns to face me.
"No, I don't believe that."
"What makes you so sure that you do?"
"Your pretty easy to read."
"So are you."
"Right. That's why you told Abigail that you've found absolutely nothing on me." He snarls, invading my personal space. "That conversation was not any of your business," he snaps. I push back my shoulders, and he devours me, scanning me up and down before finally reaching my eyes. "For a rat, I'm surprised your breath isn't foul. I love these little exchanges of ours." I throw him a wink I've learned over the years from my brothers, and he chuckles, shaking his head. "You love trying to get under my skin, don't you?" A smile grows on my face. Always, it says. "We're wasting time. Miss Oxuris, the only reason you're restrained is because we don't know if you can be trusted. But, hopefully, seeing the things you will see, will change that." Fury pulses through me, and my cheeks burn with emotion. "I will never help terrorists. Who do you think I am?" He shakes his head, the one who can't shut his mouth even when he isn't being spoken to. "You have some nerve. You think you're so noble, yet in the past three months, a thousand men have been murdered under your families reign. Young and old. But we're the terrorists, the murderers, right?" I spit at his feet, lunging to knock my head with his. I'm pulled back before I get the chance. "That was my mother, Black. You have no idea what goes on in that castle! You have no right to judge me!" I scream. His eyes narrow as he listens to my words, deciphering every word I say. "Do not meddle with things you do not understand, you vacuous idiot. Do not speak on my family's name. You do it again and I will kill you while you sleep." My eyes glisten with venom, glinting with murderous intention and he steps back. "Not pleasant is it? Someone trying to piss you off?" He grins, maddening. So much so, that I fight the thought of breaking my thumbs right now to get out of these chains and slit his throat. I narrow my eyes, the links of the chains around my wrists clinking together. "Don't get your undergarments in a twist," I mumble.
The place is a maze, but I memorize the ways we twist and turn as best as I can. I've learned a few things here. I've noticed that we are not in a warehouse like I'd originally thought. We're underground. The pipes that run up the walls were in fact running down, distributing clean water through the ducts in the concrete. They lead down many passage ways, in this slab of gray under dirt. The channels enter certain doorways with numbers on them, small curtains drawn to block out eyes like mine peering in through the small windows, like mine. This place is a refuge for the Bloods, a place for them to feel safe, to plan they're next attack. Did they plan to shoot my sister here?
They open a door for me, and the steel catwalk shakes under our weight. We are not alone. The metal trembles with the weight of little footsteps, running back and forth. "Liam!" Jaxon yells. The boy stands to attention, wide with fear of being scolded. "What have I told you about being up here?" Liam smiles, running towards us and giving the murderer a hug. Jaxon breaks into a smile of his own, lifting the boy up in his arms. He looks to be eight or nine give or take. I stur uncomfortably, resting my hip on the railing and watching the scene unfold. "What have I told you? You don't listen." He ruffles his hair, and the boy laughs. Abigail's eyes are bright with happiness, watching them two. They're related, all of them. He kisses his forehead, urging him forward. "Go play with the other kids, Liam, I'll get you later." He salutes, running back the way he came and through the door. My lips are tilted upward into a small smile, and Jaxon glances back at me with a sigh. We descend metal steps, into a cafeteria buzzing with people. A few stop to stare, but most are occupied with their meals and talking with each other. "Well Miss Oxuris. Welcome to the Hideaway."
Men, women, and children alike walk around full of life, vibrant with peace. I let my hands hang with my chains, scanning through the crowd. This place is so alive. My world is so dead. My life tilts on its axis, and I hide my tears. This could be an entire world, but my bloodline decided to make half of the worlds population suffer, for centuries, for sport. They will not poison me here. "I want to leave. I want to go home." Abigail shakes her head, cutting off my view of the life I could have lived. "We can't let you do that, dearest. Come on." She gently places her hand on my arm, leading me away from the cockpit. I pull away, refusing to face them all. I will not cry here because I do not cry. I will not believe this lie, this fake world that they've manufactured to play with my head. I will not.