Balatero Station
Puerto Galera, Mindoro
2 February, 14:19
The good news is I'm not dead.
The bad news is... I'm alive and have to deal with the mess called Lucas Tan.
Even when Lucas and I had long changed from our beach wear, we look nowhere as fresh as the other tourists on the beach. Weird rashes are peppering his skin. As for his bruises... now those are a different story. Especially his face, where Hogweed landed a handful of hard punches—I'm surprised that she didn't manage to break his nose or jaw. Not that I wanted that to happen. Maybe.
After all that excitement was over, we return to La Solidaridad. White Beach is located somewhere outside Puerto Galera, so we had to take a taxi ride to get back to the train station. On the way there, we stopped by a grocery store and bought snacks and other ready-to-eat food. With all the assassins probably still in our tail, it's probably a good idea to not eat anything served on the train for the rest of the trip. I'm going to miss eating those finger foods.
The two of us don't talk the whole time. I don't even spare Lucas a glance. He doesn't either, but from the way he leans away from me for every bump in the road that got us jostling to each other, he does not like it. The thorns in his hands were already gone, but I can't help but check on them from time to time, waiting to see if they're going to show up again.
I hate this tension between us, but with everything I've been through for the last 48 hours, I don't know what to feel or think. Not only did he lie to me twice—maybe more, only God knows—he killed Hogweed before I could get answers. I'll be contacting headquarters again soon. We've already contacted the local police about the dead body Lucas and I 'found' on the beach, but I'll have to tell Interpol too. That also means I have to tell them something or they'll find out about Lucas and his affiliation with Poison Grove. Lucas may be questionable, people might see him as a freakshow but I know he's not bad. In a way, he doesn't mean trouble. I have to water the situation down before they assume otherwise.
When I step inside the train, my body suddenly feels like lead. I didn't realize I was that tired. Lucas did much of the fighting back on the beach, but I guess the shot of adrenaline I probably got then is finally flushing out of my system.
The passengers are scant in the lobby. Most of them must still be on the beach or gone from the trip altogether—if the newest ambush hasn't scared them off already. The train officials have yet to make a statement about Hemlock, but the train is small enough that I know most already have an idea of what's going on.
Lucas keeps his distance as we head to the guest suites. Just as my hand twists on the knob of my door, Lucas grabs me by my arm, stopping me in place. His touch sends a tingle down my spine. My mind automatically thinks of the thorns that could dig into my skin right now.
"Come on," he tells me, tugging me toward his suite.
Somewhat stunned, I don't protest as he brings me all the way inside his suite, which is no different from mine. Except while mine's kinda messy because of my stuff tossed around, his room is tidy in a way that you'd think no one was even staying in the room.
"We'll be switching to new rooms tomorrow as soon as another room gets vacant," Lucas announces, scratching his reddening chin. "You'll stay in my suite until then. Or until we get to our destination."
I can imagine a record metaphorically scratching in the background.
"Uh, what?" I stammer out. "B-But my room's fine."
"But will you be when another assassin comes?" he retorts. "Not to underestimate your advanced Interpol training, but you have no experience with Poison Grove like I do. They're monsters and won't show mercy to anyone."
I bite my cheek. "For the record, I shot Daffodil before she got to you and made a plan to round up Hogweed before you killed her. I also explicitly remember you saying that you won't care for my dead body. So you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."
His eye twitches. "Do you even want to bother the train with delivering your stupid body to your stupid family? That would be a waste for everyone."
"My family's not stupi—" I pause as his words sink in. "What?"
Did he just take his word back? If I don't know any better, I'd think he's growing concerned over me. But that can't be right...
My eyes narrow to slits. "Are you saying that you care—"
Lucas lets go of the plastic bags of food he was carrying earlier, the whole thing making a loud thump on the table. I roll my eyes upward. Gosh, this man is really testing me.
"What were you saying?" he asks innocently.
"Fine, whatever." I cross my arms over my chest. "I should've expected that from a liar like you."
Lucas throws his hands up. "So we're going to talk about that again."
"Oh, I'll be talking about that. You think I was gonna let that slide?" I say. "You're wrong, mister. You better spill up."
"I don't owe you a single explanation," Lucas says with a scowl.
He thinks he can push me around just because I'm nice? Well, no more nice cop for him. I'm not gonna let him get away with it for much longer if he's going to continue being such an ass.
I start for the door. "Since you're not going to be honest, I guess you won't need me around."
"Wait."
I face him again, my features blank. Sighing, he runs a hand through his messy hair.
"I... I'm sorry," he says. "You're right. I should've been honest with you from the start. It's just that... I was scared that my past would chase me again if I told my secrets to anyone. It would be like admitting that every single bad thing I did for the last ten years was real."
He sounds like he's on the verge of breaking down, but I remain silent. He's done this act to me before, I can't tell if he's being for real this time.
Lucas must've read my thoughts because he continues, "I get it if you don't trust me. I don't trust myself either. Hogweed wasn't shitting around when she said I used to be part of Poison Grove." He sits down on the chair next to the mahogany table, his hands clasped together. "I was the very first member of the Grove—their first experiment. The first time I got dragged into their lab, I begged them to let me go home, but they just looked at me like I was some brainless animal. They made me go through so many experiments until they got what they wanted."
Thorns appear on the back of his hands, then they line around his neck and face like sharp welts. For a moment, fear grips me again. I want to react somehow but I stop myself.
"Since then, the Gardener—the mastermind behind the Grove—gave me the alias Prince of Rose. I was a success, but they wanted more. So they kidnapped nine more kids, all girls this time. Turns out girls injected with whatever they were making made for better and deadlier results.
"The ten of us didn't like each other at first. We were a bunch of dysfunctional kids with genetically engineered powers—if anything, we saw ourselves as rivals. We would fight over the assignments the Grove would give us." He lets out a somber chuckle. "Eventually we got tired of hating each other. By then, everyone else had started to call me Rose or Rosie. We pretended that we were a family and the Grove was our home."
I try to imagine the things Lucas just said, but I can't. Maybe he's left too many details, or maybe I can't bring to put myself in his shoes, I'm not sure. All I know is I'm feeling like the rug's been pulled under my feet while he's reassuring me when he's the one with the dark history.
Whenever someone feels down because of something bothering them, talking about it mostly does the trick. I don't know how to apply that now, but I can't think of anything else to say just so I don't come across as judgmental.
I swallow before I ask, "What were they like? The other assassins?"
His eyes widen a fraction, as if surprised by my odd question. "You've already met some of them. They're good in their job, but as for how they act as people... they used to be a lot less harsher until I left."
I doubt that's the case. That seems to be a story I should hear, though, but maybe for another time. "Do you think the rest of them will come for you?"
"I don't think so," Lucas answers, but he sounds unsure. "Their numbers are already cut down by almost a half. The Grove won't risk sending more without exposing themselves."
A small part of me wishes he hasn't told me all this, because then I'm obligated to tell them back to headquarters which would incriminate Lucas. But then maybe I shouldn't have asked.
"We should tell Mr. dela Cruz," I say. "Warn him about the Grove and have everyone on the train evacuate immediately while we're still on a stop."
Lucas hesitates. "That'll only cause panic, and knowing someone ambitious like Mr. dela Cruz, that's the last thing he'll need. Once word about Poison Grove spreads, he'll lose his potential clientele and lose his business. The Grove does not like flaunting its body count, but they'll kill anyone if they think it's going to hinder their mission of getting my head. I—We have to see this trip through."
"But everyone else will be in danger—"
"We'll see this through," Lucas repeats. "I'm not stopping you if you want to leave. If you decide to be a tattle-tale, fine. I'm not leaving this train either way."
I groan in frustration. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, he acts like a jerk again. There's no way he's making me choose between doing my job by protecting him and protecting everyone else.
Before I can even think of a quip, Lucas starts scratching again. He itches his arms, where angry red welts have overtaken his skin. His nails scrape against his skin so much I can hear it. The worst part is it seems to get worse with every itch.
I cringe at the ugly red things. "You're making it worse."
"Damn it." He sits down, still itching. "I have calamine lotion in my suitcase. Hurry and get it."
I go over to the bag parked by his bedside. Laying the suitcase flat, I zip it open, revealing a few sets of clothes, shoes and a hygiene kit. I grab the lotion inside and sit next to Lucas.
"Should I even ask where did those come from?" I ask as I squirt a generous amount of the cream on his skin.
"Hogweed," Lucas grumbles. "Her toxin is not that horrible, but it irritates everything it touches. She's—was—annoying that way."
With my fingers, I spread the cream evenly on his skin. The cream is a bit cool, and I hum a bit as I move on to his other arm, making sure that the white stuff thoroughly covers the red stuff. He's staring at the window the whole time, his body slightly tense.
Things go a little further as I shift to his face next, where existing welts are morphing into weird shapes.
Lucas starts to protest, "Wait—"
"Let me handle it," I tell him gently. "I might as well do you a favor."
He calms a bit, but there's a flush creeping in his cheeks.
I chuckle. "Don't make it weird for yourself."
Lucas huffs. "And you're not feeling weird?"
"No," I answer with a shrug.
I'm probably experiencing something out of a romance book, but it doesn't feel that way to me. Sure, Lucas has good looks, but he's not attractive that way. I don't know if it's because of his attitude that's a major turn-off or the fact that I'm just a bodyguard and not supposed to like him. Before getting my job, I read these kinds of scenes all the time in my favorite romance books, but right now, I don't feel the tension or angst that comes off when the main character tries to take care of their love interest. It's not as romantic or cathartic as I'd imagined. Just... normal, I guess.
Even outside work, my parents would set me up with boys when I was not actively looking for a relationship. That doesn't mean I don't want to have one, though. In the future maybe. But then again... maybe romance is not my thing, and that's probably not so bad.
The train finally moves. That's when my heart skips in surprise. I almost forget where we were for a second then.
And that's when the screaming starts.