"You okay?" I ask as I run my fingers down Samuel's cheek, the tears dried and his eyes blinking as they fight away the sleep that tries to consume him. He breathes shakily, giving me a half smile as he meets my gaze, "I think I want to hit something." I smile back at him, beginning to stand and nod a few times, his warmth falling away from me as I take a step back. "Alright..." I glance at the clock that reads only 2 A.M., and I gesture in the general direction. "We can still make it to the street fight. Just let me change really fast, I don't want to go in these skinny jeans." Sam smirks and follows close, turning to his own bedroom to change into something more suitable for a street fighter.
I grab a pair of shorts that reach just above mid-thigh and a shirt that shows off only the edge of my shoulders, pulling them on quickly and swinging my jacket over my arm. I tie my hair up quickly and walk back into the apartment's living room, pursing my lips as I tug on my black boots and tighten the laces; Samuel is already finished changing and is leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He wears a halter shirt and black sweatpants, his own jacket thrown loosely around his back. I dodge back to the kitchen in order to grab my satchel, checking to ensure I have a few extra dollars stored inside.
"Ready?" He asks as I tuck a strand of red hair behind my ear, the tendril curling around my skin and brushing against my cheek as I nod only once. "Yeah, I think I overheard someone mention that there was one over near the warehouse tonight- the place where we first met."
Sam chuckles and takes my hand, guiding me outside his home and towards the elevator as a few men and women exit, discussing politics or some other nonsense that I need not concern myself with- one of them even bumps into me roughly and does not bother to apologize. I scoff quietly and dodge in the lift with my best friend at my side, his fingers intertwined with mine and keeping me closer than usual. "I think I want to hit something too..." Samuel laughs loudly as the metal doors shut and he presses a button to bring us to the ground floor, and we see the lobby filled with many people of the same social status as they dance and drink; there must be a reception for some event taking place here tonight; we wouldn't have noticed it as we have been in Samuel's apartment since only a couple of hours after noon.
By the time we arrive at the street fight, many of the rougher fights have begun and outside the warehouse, in the shadows, a line of injured men sit nursing themselves or friends. I expect- from the damage and agony I see- that more than a couple brawls left some people temporarily crippled or inhibited. I avert my eyes as a man ties off a large cut on his thigh, a scream silenced as he bits on a piece of wood, and hurry with Sam inside the large metal building. There must be a gang here tonight.
Samuel rolls up his jacket sleeves and tugs me around the back of the crowd, his eyes searching for a spot to stand, and I glance over my shoulder as a victorious cheer sounds from the people; a bloodied and broken body is draped across the floor, a scraped and bruised man stands over them. I scrunch my nose in disgust as the winner spits in the general direction of the loser, the two men's friends trying to pull each one away before a larger fight breaks out between the two sides because of the viscous shouts of temper and poor humor. "Come on," I whisper to Sam and pull him away from the back door, allowing the shouting men through as they stumble out with their earnings.
"I'm going next," Samuel declares, gesturing towards the large man that has entered into the human-made ring; he is a good half foot taller than Samuel. "Are you sure? I've seen that man fight before- he isn't easy." My friend smiles and kisses my temple, and before dodging ahead of other street fighters he says carefully, "Oh, calm down, Amelia. I'll be fine; I have adrenaline working with me." I grab his upper arm and pull my lips to his cheek quickly, Samuel mumbling the last word in surprise. As I pull back with a smile, he smirks at me, backing closer and closer to the middle of the circle. "What was that for?"
"Luck."
Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes. "Couldn't have given me a real kiss?" I push him gently with blush filling in my pale cheeks and watch as he moves away, shoving a rowdy man out of the way in order to meet his opponent in the middle of the lights and excitement. A ref strolls out- a woman who appears to be just under thirty and has sharply beautiful features- staying quiet as the two men prepare themselves in their own routine ways. Samuel shrugs off his jacket and runs a hand through his hair, cleaning the raven strands away from his eyes and forehead and smiling and greeting the crowd and man. The tall fighter straightens his long-sleeve black shirt, shaking away the sweat that beads on the end of his large nose, and winks and smirks at his admirers; his cockiness and ego shows easily; it is starkly different from Sam's humble approach to the fight.
After a minute of letting the rustling and impatient people build in their craze, the female ref waves her hands for silence and waits until she can shout loud enough to be heard. Her straightened hair sways in the ponytail as she speaks and walks around the men for effect. "You know the rules, as you two are no stranger to these fights, am I correct?" Samuel nods and the man gives a shortened grunt in reply. "Alright, then we won't make these lovely spectators wait any longer, shall we?" She backs up to the edge of the circle. Ensuring she is far away from the area where they will be fighting, she finally gives an almost ear-piercing shout, "Fight!"
The stranger heaves himself forward and lands three fast punches to Samuel's ribs, causing him to grunt in pain and throw a swift uppercut in response. The opponent backs off for a moment, eyeing the smaller man as he gauges him for a weakness or for an apparent injury- I know that Samuel has already taken notice of this and has done the same before even stepping into a new fighting stance. My friend ducks to a squat as the man swings out a clenched fist, kicking out his legs to sweep the fighter to the concrete. Screams of encouragement rise from the sidelines, my own throat burning as I cheer for Sam as loudly as I can.
I raise myself to my toes when a person edges in front of me, leaning against shoulders and torsos in order to support myself and my sore legs. "Coward!" Someone shouts as Samuel's opponent races away from the assault he has brought upon himself by stepping too closely to the long reach Sam has. Laughter affirms the attempt at provoking the man, and he responds by letting out a curse and racing towards Sam. I feel my heart almost stop as a powerful kick sends him stumbling into the people behind him, his form collapsing as he tries to regain his senses.
The man takes the opportunity.
He grabs Sam by the wrist and twists him through the air, a sickening crack sounding through the building as my friend lands on his front, and I hear him strive to silence the scream of agony. Sam tries to block the kicks and punches as his opponent releases his fury upon him.
The congregation swells to deafening levels as Samuel shouts and jumps to his feet in one deft movement, slamming his anger into the man. I watch in awe as he moves quickly around the ring; one hit to the lower back; a kick to the anterior side of his body; a hard elbow to the man's nose; a fist to the left eye. He does all of this without once being hit, avoiding and dodging each attempt the man makes to hurt Samuel further. Blood spews from several places on each fighter, Sam's shirt clinging to his skin as sweat drenches his figure, and both spit at the edge of their feet.
I cannot hear what they are saying, but I can tell that Sam is taking taunts from the man without giving anything but a smirk or a quick one-liner. It only angers the opponent at an increasing rate, screams of rage heard each time he makes a move towards Sam. I visibly flinch when Samuel slams his hand into the man's throat, a wheezing cough sounding from him as he falls to his knees. He splutters and groans, crumbling further to the ground, his elbows now bent against the concrete.
The crowd still roars and thrashes about, the tall female ref stalking towards the severely injured man, Sam's chest heaving up and down as he breathes heavily from the edge of the circle.
"Can you get up?" The woman's voice is slow and purposeful.
"Grgh-" is all we can hear as he presses a large hand to his already discolored neck, and I can tell from just looking that Sam broke the man's larynx. He won't be speaking for a while. The ref leans closer as he gasps out in a strained tone, conceding the win to Samuel. She smiles brightly and strolls to my friend, taking his hand in hers and raising it above their heads. "The winner is Samuel!"
I lift an eyebrow, surprised she knows his name, and feel a flood of heat race through me as she sends him a flirty wink and wave. He barely even acknowledges she is there as he stumbles to me, an arm wrapped around my shoulders so that I can support him out of the way of the main congregation.
"Know her?" I ask quietly, helping him to take a seat against the back wall, my satchel bumping against our legs.
He chuckles breathlessly, gesturing to the tables of water and drinks; I grab him a bottle of water before I return to his side. "She thinks I'm hot- she asked me for a drink one night." I cross my arms and sink to the floor with him, elbowing him in the ribs- he groans painfully- and wiggling my eyebrows despite the feeling that has entered my stomach. "What'd you say?" He drains the plastic bottle in only a dozen or so seconds, gasping as he leans his head against the wall and taking a teasing tone to his voice. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous, Miss Amelia Reyes."
I feel my cheeks warm and he places his hand on my elbow gently, "For the record, I said no."
I nod once and turn my eyes back to the fighting, pointing to the fighters that are within the ring and changing the topic. "Who do you think is going to win?"
"Him," he nods towards the lanky one.
"Why?"
He smirks and turns to look at me, tucking strands of hair behind my ear as he stares at my lips; he echoes my words from one of our first times seeing each other. "Does it really need explaining?" I wrinkle my nose and inch closer to him, removing my bag and dumping it at my side, before leaning my head against the wall. "God, you're annoying."
"I know."
****************
"That hurt," I groan as I push into Samuel's apartment.
I stumble towards the couch as I press my fingers against my wounded side, muttering a curse when my hand comes away bloody. I am thankful that we could enter through the back entrance of the building so no one within this affluent apartment complex could question our bruises or bleeding knuckles; or the crumpled cash stuffed inside my satchel. Samuel leans against the doorway walls, closing and locking the door behind him; he watches me carefully as I nurse and inspect my stabbed side.
"We should get you to a doctor for them to check out; you might need stitches."
I shake my head several times over and continue to hold a partially dirtied piece of cloth against it, attempting to staunch the flood of blood that pours from the deep cut on my left side- I estimate that's fit had been only three inches further to the right, I would be dead. "We can't go to a hospital; it's too public." I grit my teeth and clench my eyes shut as I collapse into a chair in the kitchen, Samuel kneeling beside me and placing a hand against my leg. "I know... But, Amy, this isn't just a scratch." He chuckles as I roll my eyes, but I can see the concern building within his gaze.
I moan painfully as I reposition, ducking my head towards his bedroom as sweat pours down my spine. "You're as prepared as a Boy Scout, Sam. I'm sure you've got a first aid kit somewhere around here..." I pause and purse my lips, "Is there any way you could just bandage me up here?" My friend takes my forearm into his hand in order to move it away from the injury, frowning at me as he lifts my shirt away to inspect the wound himself. He shakes his head, "I'm not exactly-"
"Your mom was a nurse or a doctor, right? I am sure you know at least something about taking care of a small scrape."
"It's not just a scrape, Amelia! You need stitches or you will keep bleeding out!"
"Then do it here, Samuel!"
His eyes search my stare for almost a full minute as he processes the idea, finally cursing under his breath and moving to his feet; as he dodges into his room, he mutters about me and something about my "stubbornness." I grin grimly and laugh under my breath, looking down at the cut once again and taking in the seriousness of the knife cut. The wound that runs almost two inches long and a centimeter deep lines the side of my abdomen, and dark red blood drips down my skin- despite my best efforts to dry it up with a cloth and my hands.
I should have been more careful- fighting against a high-ranking gang leader and not going down after numerous threats against me and my life was not necessarily my best choice as of late; but on the upper hand, it gained me a lot of respect from those who frequent the street fights on this side of the city of New York; many dislike gangs whom threaten in order to win.
Samuel reappears with a small white box and a handful of gauze. "I don't lave any anesthetic."
I laugh at the grisly thought, responding quietly through a firm jaw and tightly closed eyes. "I've been through a lot worse without anything to numb the pain, Sam... Just be quick about it, alright?" He nods curtly and walks to the table, setting the little plastic box with a red cross on top on the ground, with his fingers set into my knees. "Just focus on something else, Amy... My hands are steady, but the cut is rather large so I don't know how long it will take.
I meet his stare slowly and smile grimly, shrugging my jacket off and tossing it next to us. "I'll be fine." I wrap a hand around the arm of the chair and begin to clench my teeth, but Samuel nods to me, a serious look upon his face. "Your shirt too," he gestures to the coat I threw away from us. He explains as I raise an eyebrow, "I can't hold it up and stitch your 'scrape' at the same time.
I scoff and roll my eyes, the initial panic and adrenaline that rushed through me because of the stab now wearing off; it no longer numbs my body. "Like I'd believe that... You just want me shirtless, don't you?" I joke, trying to ease the situation.
Samuel grins, "Like I'd admit that even if it were true."
I pause a moment before I grab the edges of my shirt and slowly peel the sweat-covered piece of clothing away from my battered body, throwing it loosely across the room and revealing the dark colored sports bra I wear. I stare down at my abdomen, bruises and scratches decorating the skin around my ribs, arms, and stomach. I inch my gaze back up to Samuel's, feeling a little more comfortable as he doesn't stare for longer than a second. His fingers open the box and retrieve a silver needle and black stitching thread to set to the side.
"So, you ever done this before?" I ask, trying to keep my mind off the thought of this. "Never on another person... I sewed my leg up once before; healed quite nicely." He replies, grim determination seeping through his features as he finishes threading the needle, and he looks at me. "It's going to hurt," he breathes, but doesn't let me say anything more as he presses the tip of the sharp object into me. A muffled scream rips from my throat in half surprise and half pain as he pushes it across the wound and to the other side, tugging the skin towards each other.
I grab onto his hand as mine shakes violently, and Samuel tucks hair from my face, whispering as he continues with the next stitch. " I know. I know." By the time he finishes, I have leaned back in the chair and caused the inside of my cheek to burn from chewing on it. After he cleans up the blood and supplies, Samuel tapes two rectangles over the wound, ensuring it will stay clean and dry.
I look to the window as I regain my composure, sunlit blazing through the glass panes as dawn overtakes the night. "Well, we stayed out later than expected," I breathe, my side aching as I stand and pick up my shirt, pulling it back over my head. Samuel smiles and gestures to nothing in particular. "After you take a shower, come see me again and I'll put a new bandage on it... I'm going to go wash off."
Over six hours later, I have cleaned up and changed, neglecting to do anything until I had taken a long nap.
I woke up around three in the afternoon, my heart pounding as I pulled myself from a nightmare. I wandered around the apartment for a while, reflecting on our plan to head to the orphanage tomorrow night.
I have made Samuel and I coffee- somewhat terribly- which he accepted gratefully and quickly poured in an excessive amount of cream and sugar; I do not blame him; I had never made a brew before in my life and I was unsure of how much of the grounds to put; he insisted it was perfect.
We sit in the living room as I turn a small glass statue over in my hand absentmindedly. "So, Mr. Ellis had said we should gather the materials- such as the gun and knife I'll use- from him today... I think we planned for five, but I wanted to leave soon to be there a little early." Samuel nods and finishes his second mug of my horrible coffee. "Alright... Would you like me to come with? I wouldn't mind stretching my legs if you want."
I shake my head and shrug, "I'm sure I can handle it. It will only take a minute and it's a waste for both of us to go." He runs his hand over my hip, lifting my shirt to gesture to the bandaged wound. "You sure this doesn't hurt too much?" I smile as he touches the skin around it gently, goosebumps rising on my legs and arms. "I'm fine, Sam. You're a worse worrier than me!"
He leans closer and kisses me gently, a grin on his lips as he sits back. "I take that as a compliment." I laugh a little and let him to take my cup from me, allowing me to head into my room in order to grab my satchel and shoes. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. I think I'll have dinner with him so we can talk longer." He nods once and asks, "Think you could grab me something too? It will make it a lot easier." I nod, tug on the boots and tighten the laces, swinging my jacket off the coat hanger in the closet and waving goodbye to Sam. "See you soon."
**************
"Miss Reyes. Pleasure to see you."
I look up from my drink, setting the condensing glass to the side of the table so that I can stand and greet Mr. Ellis. He smiles warmly and accepts my handshake, patting my wrist as he searches my gaze. "I brought everything that you will need," he gestures down to the briefcase at his legs subtly. "The van I have for Samuel to drive is parked just a few miles away from this cafe; once we are done talking, I'll lead you to it."
I beckon for him to sit down as I clear my throat. "Thank you, Mr. Ellis... You truly are a lifesaver." He mumbles a 'thank you' humbly, and I say quickly before he can interrupt, "Please, let me treat you to dinner. You must be starving." The older gentleman smiles and accepts the menu from me, our waiter taking our orders not long after. Our conversation stays lighthearted at first, the only seriousness being what type of gun and how many rounds it can hold before needing to be reloaded. This changes after we are halfway through our meal and after he has passed the gun and knife to me.
"I've been wondering, how long did it take you to readjust to life?" I look up, swallowing a piece of the roasted chicken and setting my fork next to my mashed potatoes as I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean?" Mr. Ellis chuckles and twirls pasta around his utensil absentmindedly, shrugging loosely before he meets my stare. "I mean, after you left the orphanage... When you escaped and claimed a new name and a new home and a new family. How long did it take for you to become accustomed to the idea that you no longer were- shall we say- owned?"
I chuckle a little, pursing my lips as I take a sip from my drink, and I feel the cool, fizzy bubbles racing down my throat as the soda washes down my food. "I don't think I ever did feel like I was my own self and was free from the Association- until I met Samuel and began speaking with you and the FBI about everything..." His head darts up when I mention the FBI, but I ignore it and continue. "They had beat in the idea that I was alone and unwanted, that any mistake I made should force me to be punished, and I believed that screwed up logic for a long time- that I was worthless and the Association was benevolent for taking me in. They had broken me." Mr. Ellis' lips twitches at my last sentence.
"How did you put yourself back together? You say-"
I don't let him finish. "I never did... I believed to be getting stronger, more resilient, but when I got old enough to fight on the streets, I noticed more and more of the horrors that went on. I saw how trapped and scared the kids were and how lucky I was to be a street fighter; I was still owned by the men, but I was more free than many of my friends. I began to see how they suffered, and then I began to suffer for them instead..."
I shake my head, "I let them break me again and again because I could not let others be shattered. I became weak again and would practically do anything to save another. I begged for the punishment they handed to the youngest and asked for them to take my rations; I was called a 'hero' by the children; I was called a 'fool' by anyone else."
Mr. Ellis sits forward, his food completely forgotten as his eyes gleam. "Amy, a hero is powerful and that is what you became for these children; a legend, an inspiration. Now, tell me, Amy. Tell me how that sounds like they broke you."
I frown, about to tell him that there were times I wished to die and times I wished I was a coward; I know how they broke me over and over and over; he speaks first.
"As much as you hate to admit it, they did not break you, Amelia. No, they made you stronger."
My stomach turns at his words and the sick smile on his face. The wariness of the man has returned to my chest. I fumble with my fork as I pick it up again, shoveling a piece of food into my mouth as I concentrate on something other than Mr. Ellis' strange reactions and replies. He sighs and taps the table gently, looking over his shoulder as he scoots his chair closer. "You said something about speaking with the FBI... Did you never mention this to me?"
I purse my lips once more and shake my head, "I didn't think it was relevant information for you to know. I barely told him stories that scratch the surface of the horrors there; he couldn't even probably get a search warrant to question and turn the place upside down- it's all hearsay, despite the fact that he believed every word."
"You didn't think it was relevant?" I flinch slightly at the rough tone his voice has taken. His demeanor has changed within seconds. "Amelia, I thought we promised that you would share everything with me."
I lift a shoulder, "Agent Lawson is a very trustworthy man. I believe him to be able to protect me from the Association and I don't mind sharing my info and past with him."
"You think he can protect you from the orphanage?" He scoffs, his voice incredulous. "No one can protect you from the Association!" I feel a few stares turn our way as his voice raises above a normal level. "They know everything about you, Amy! They knew where you lived. They have been tracking you where you eat and fight and run! Do you really think a sorry example of law enforcement as the FBI could ever stop our organization from catching you?"
I open my mouth to respond to him, surprised at the anger he is projects, but I pause as my heart almost stops.
Our organization.
Our.
"Our..." I breathe, barely audible and I am unsure to if he heard me or not.
"What?" Mr. Ellis says, raising an eyebrow.
Oh, shit. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening.
He is the Association.
Mr. Ellis is the Association.
I swallow and grab the satchel from the back of my chair, swinging it over my shoulder as I clear my throat and attempt to remain calm. "I, um, really should go. I need to get home and-" I shake my head, beginning to back up to leave before he realizes I have suspected all his lies. But he stands also, his hand placed against his head as he becomes aware of his own mistake. He laughs slightly and his voice lowers to a deathly calm, a sick and twisted look appearing in his gaze. "Whoops," he chuckles and approaches me from around the table- I circle with him. "And I had been so careful not to use those pesky little pronouns."
Every inch of my being, every muscle in my body, urges me to run, to get away from the man who has lied to me about everything. Sweat collects on my spine and on my neck as I shake my head once again, Mr. Ellis reaching within his suit jacket, obviously in search of a weapon. "You were helping me!" I try to understand his motives, why he gained my trust and broke it in the worst way, at the worst time. "You helped me get away from the Association one day!" I scream at him, successfully gathering the attention of the dozen or so people outside the cafe.
"Did you never pay attention to the details, Amelia?" My. Ellis' reply comes quietly and sends chills down my spine, the man gesturing to nothing in particular. "The Association? How could I possibly know it by that name? Only the FBI, Lawson, truly calls it that besides the orphanage itself! I never told you how I collected my intel, I never told you how I knew so much about you- you knew you were off the radar and no one should know about you. You never picked up on the knowledge that I should not have? Could not have?"
Everything seems to fall into place in my mind at once.
The looks he gave when they were getting close to me.
The inside information I had never told and he could never have.
The facts only an orphan like me should know.
He knows of our plan to save the children tomorrow. I have to get them out. I have to save them tonight.
I struggle to breathe normally, my head spinning as I formulate a plan as quickly as I can think, and I wrap my fingers around my satchel tightly.
Mr. Ellis walks forwards. "You're coming with me, Amelia. Time to go home."
A/N I realized I got my days all mixed up when Lawson said to talk to her on Wednesday again and the three day plan to go to the orphanage, they all might be a little off of those days, but hey, I got a worse memory than a little blue fish! :)
Sorry it's a little bit of a cliff hanger, but the next scene will take a while to write and I wanted y'all to have something this week (plus, this chapters already 5000 words) 😋😌
You have no idea how much I enjoyed writing this chapter. Mwahahahah! >:)
Lastly, not my picture (same for almost all previous images). Found it on Internet- credit where credit is due (as always) (: