[Lol. Okay, my car seat neighbour is Kingsley, Mr. Bothersome himself. Anyway, he seems to believe that just because I didn't sleep last night doesn't mean I should sleep during the day. He finds car games the next best thing after real sport. Guessing the colour of the next car to come past is NOT fun, especially when he always gets white and everybody buys white cars... *rolls eyes* Unfortunately, there are no rules to this game except the loser has to buy a round tonight... with nine people on the trip, I am praying that four more tan/brown cars go past before we get to our stop off for the night... and no more red cars (sorry B)
So, the point of this author's note, was that Kings believes that because he was sitting next to me, reading over my shoulder and pointing out how awesome Larkin is (he believes that I based Lark on him) I should tell you that he wrote half of this chapter... he did not. But he got this mention in my long, boring and annoying message.
Enjoy the chapter... and your sleep. *evil eye* I envy you.
Sid x
PS. To the side you will see Kingsley's fave song. Doesn't really have anything to do with the chapter... but it is an awesome song.
I would also like to add that I love the band 'We Were Promised Jetpacks'. Awesome name. And they're around my age. And the drummer is mine -.-. Oh! And they are Scottish! Love the Scots (especially their Indie bands!)]
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"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage"
- Lucius Annaeus Seneca
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Chapter Seven
Talk | Dizelde
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Larkin seemed to forget his exhibition as he ordered me inside, no embarrassment or awkwardness came from him. From me, however, it came twofold. I made up for his lack of concern. Sure, the loose singlet and baggy sweats covered him adequately but my stupid memory kept showing me sights of what was beneath. My rational thought told me to stay several metres away. Insanity told me that if I got any closer than that I might have to touch him. Would those ridged muscles of his shoulders feel as hard as they looked? And he had a set of abs that erased the memory of marvellously sculpted muscle of most of the men at the compound.
He led me into the kitchen, nodding his head towards a seat at the small table, signalling me to sit. I did so quietly. He opened the fridge, looked in there for what seemed like ages, and then slammed it shut. When he looked over to me, his expression seemed angry. I wasn't surprised at the emotion, I HAD given him a bruised nose and shin as well as the swollen hand mark around his ear. But I was surprised that I hadn't seen it on his face until now.
"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
Fair question. "Dizelde," I answered.
He nodded, as if the name made something clearer to him, and leaned over the counter, angled towards me. His muscles were tensed, as if he were about to push himself up and leap over to me.
"Are you Luke's?"
I frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"
His face blanked for a moment. "I'll take that as a no. Luke wouldn't hide his girl away anyhow. And if you were Garth's he wouldn't have left you with me."
I felt myself blush as I realised what he was talking about. He thought I was one of the two's lover. Oh god, did he want to make me feel even more awkward?
"Is it just Dizelde?"
Why was my name so important to him? "No. I have a last name."
"What is it?" He refused to let it go. Damn him.
He would hear my last name and it would cause him to react the way everyone else did. Beaumont was automatically linked to the serial killer, my father. Scythe had told me all I needed to know about what my father did as a pastime. And every time someone learned my last name they would suddenly see me as devil's spawn. Scythe was the only one who had reacted differently and I still didn't know whether I loved or hated him for it.
"I'm Dizelde Beaumont."
He nodded and that was all.
He turned away again and reopened the refrigerator. "Thirsty?"
That was it? Was he holding himself back? Or was he just ignorant when it came to news?
He took his head out the fridge and cocked a brow in question.
I blinked slowly, trying to draw myself away from befuddlement, and shook my head, no, as my answer.
He frowned and pulled a few items from the fridge. I heard the sound of liquid being poured. He turned back to me and walked over with two large cups of water, sitting one in front of me before taking a seat across from me.
"I didn't-"
He raised his hand to stop me midsentence. "When you are dehydrated, your thirst mechanism switches off. So, by saying that you're not thirsty means that you either drank recently, are in the need of fluids or are too polite to ask for a drink. Seeing as you just ran up a tree, I'm going to guess it's one of the latter. Drink up, puppet."
How had he managed to turn my shake of the head into some kind of dire water deficiency? And what had he called me?
"Puppet?" I gave him a questioning look.
He smirked, drawing my attention to his lips and holding it there.
"You're easily influenced by your surroundings. Like strings draw you back and forth so that you make a change per alteration to your environment. I say something, make a move and you seem to react without meaning to. It's interesting."
This guy had known me for how long? And how had that stupid explanation sounded intelligent? How could have anything intelligent come from that brain?
He was watching me carefully, clearly entertained. I quickly switched to my emotionless mask. This guy was far more sharp and aware that I had presumed.
"So, who ARE you?" he said in a way that didn't quite sound directed at me.
I had already told him my full name. With that information, if he remembered anything about the Beaumont, Leandre the Lucky, he would know more about me than either Luke or Garth.
He rested his elbows on the table. I leaned further back into my chair and took a small sip of the chilled water.
"Where have you been since that day you were found in your father's basement?" His eyes were intently staring through mine as if he was reading my mind like pages of a book.
So he DID know. Then why wasn't he giving me wary, disgusted or pitying looks? Was he hiding it from me?
"Dizelde?"
It seemed that he wanted my life story. There was no way I could go through all that. But Garth had said that I could tell Larkin. So I said, "I've been training as an assassin in a complex on the outskirts of Carlow."
He barely blinked. Once again I got a short nod as if it was just another thing he filed away like it was regular.
"What is with you?" I asked finally.
His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "What am I doing that's weird?"
I let out a rush of air in a frustrated sigh. "You're not... reacting. Don't the things that I'm telling you seem odd? Don't you have a reaction after hearing my full name? And I know you know who my father is! How can you not make a comment on that?"
Still he showed me nothing but a smirk. "What reaction do you want?" His voice was soft and calm. I had to shift forward to hear him clearly. "Do you want me to say 'I feel for you' or 'poor, poor you'? Or did you want me to back off, grossed out from being in the same room as a serial killer's daughter? Did you want me to scream at you for who your father was? Ask you what it was like to live with a murderer for three years? Too bad, puppet, you'll have to get over the way I've reacted."
I gaped at him silently. Boy, I'd misjudged this guy completely. Luckily I didn't have to say anything in return as I heard the front door open.
Larkin leant back, linking his fingers behind his head.
"Garth, Luke! Kitchen!" he called out. I felt nerves jitter in my stomach, increased by Larkin's calm stare. Here came my interrogation. I wasn't completely sure if I'd be able to tell them much of what happened at the complex, my psychological training too strong.
Luke entered the room first, his expression irritated and he seemed more worn out than he had when he'd dropped me off. Hopefully he would need sleep and therefore keep this short. Garth followed him in, his eyes on Larkin and obviously amused.
"Sure you don't want to put some ice on that face, Lark?" he asked with a straight face.
Larkin didn't even acknowledge Garth's baiting, a small smile on his face as he stood up to give Luke a man hug. I'd studied these over the years after one of the girl trainees had talked to her friend about the different hugs between men and women. The men often kept a hand or arm between them as the other arm squeezed the friend's body, as if they didn't want their bodies to touch completely. And it was quick, their attention quickly switching to something else as the released each other. Men were weird.
"You're lucky she didn't break it, among other things," Luke remarked.
Larkin glanced at me. "I've heard. Assassin? Next time give me a little warning. Coach'll kill me if I miss training due to injury. We've got a charity game on Saturday."
"Charity game? Against who? Do I get a ticket?"
"Kerry."
Luke whistled. "So? Tickets?"
Garth cleared his throat noisily. Both Luke and Larkin glared at him.
"It's charity, man. Buy some. Buy twenty."
Luke sighed. "Fine." And then switched his attention to me. They all did. Garth's piercing stare, Larkin's relaxed but aware appraisal and Luke's powerful gaze. My heart skittered with worry. These men were dangerous.