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I fell off the bed. Specifically—shoved in surprise.
That was all I recalled from last night; falling off the damn bed.
Now I woke up to myself tucked under my warm blankets, tucked nicely with—“The hell?” I grumbled and held the empty wine bottle.
Sitting upright, a mental brick slammed against my skull and I clutched my charcoal bird nest hair. My moan prolonged for what seemed like eternity and when I thought it disappeared, another strong wave knocked back into my head. I seized my churning stomach and suddenly shifted on my side to watch revolting chunks fly out of my mouth.
The nurses soon heard the gagging and rushed in, shrieking at what happened before gazing at the sea of bottles across the bed.
I wasn’t even able to be nerve wracked about what happened last night, occupied with the fact my brain was mentally being smacked off the wall a thousand times and the nauseous feeling sourcing from the pit of my moaning stomach.
“Here.” The same nurse who aided to my needs when I first arrived at Eagles pressed a mug to my wet lips. “It’s honey, lemon and hot water. It’ll replenish the fluids and sugars you lost to the hangover.”
I lifted my chin to urge her to tip it in my mouth—hands not wanting to move. Warmth spread down my throat and I sighed, taking another sip. A burnt tongue was the last of my worries with this golden remedy at my disposal.
Then a nurse burst through the door, and said frantically, “Romane needs help too!”
Half the nurses evacuated from the room and I perhaps I should have been offended if it wasn’t for my curiosity swimming among my thoughts.
“What did he do now?” I croaked.
The nurse’s round cheeks pinched higher with her smile. “That phrase usually means he drank too much the other night.” The mug halted by my bottom lip and I whimpered. Her gears were shifting and her eyes held a knowing glint. “You weren’t drinking with the leader last night were you?”
I just grabbed the mug myself and downed half the hot liquid. Gulping, I said in a smoother voice, “I don’t know. Last night was a blur.”
Her features still held that mischievous sparkle, failing to conceal her growing smile. “Oh. Alright.”
Irritated at her expression, my grip tightened around the mug and the hot remedy shoved back the creative words I wished to flourish.
The more I tried piecing what happened last night, the more my head hurt so I refused to think anymore, drifting back to sleep.
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I kid you not, I didn’t get out of bed until the next day. I was behind in my training and I couldn’t waste one more second.
My breath was rigid and uneven, wrapping the bandages around both bleeding knuckles. The pain was numbed in my hands as I was training myself this new practice. Pain could only happen if I accepted it. If I refused to feel the pain, refused against stinging on my open wounds; the Cold blood side would contribute its emotionless traits where I felt nothing.
But the Cold Blood side had its negatives. The ego was surfacing so before I began this morning, I locked the training room door and allowed the demon to step out.
Securing the last knot, I picked up the sixth punching bag today and hooked it on the chain. Eyes swirling black and brown, each punch had a different controller. Left swing was from the Cold Blood ego and my right swing was from the human Jess. I understood it was too dangerous for the entire demon to stretch while my only sanity was hidden, vice versa. If I had both egos however, both surfaced and able to work together, I’d have control and power. But it was harder than I thought.
I was to keep the punching bag hanging, rather than blowing it right off the chain. Which I failed miserably at since after every twelfth punch, my Cold Blood ego didn’t cooperate and sent the bag across the room with one knock.
The left arm’s twelfth punch was approaching and I tried relaxing my thumping heart. After the ninth beat, I blocked all white noises and zoned in on the sixth senses. An audible droplet of sweat hit the floor, the smell of worn bandages flared my nostrils, I felt my teeth painfully clamp on my tongue and tasted the silvery blood, experiencing both hot and cold sweetness. I saw my knuckles dent into the cushion before bouncing off to contact again. My heart beat quickened at twice the speed and I struggled to maintain the same rhythm. Then unexpectedly, the blackness devoured the brown in my eyes and my heart slammed against my chest before my left fist drove forward, sending the punching bag soaring to pile on top of the mountain of beaten bags.
“Fuck,” I shouted, kicking the next bag. The pain striking up my leg was no match for the frustration boiling inside of me, and I snatched the next bag to quickly start hitting it. It only lasted to the sixth punch. Then the fifth, fourth, and third.
“Open the door, Jess,” a stranger ordered.
My neck cracked to the rattling knob and the brown poured back into my eyes, muscles loosening. I counted to three, making sure the demon returned to its closet and then unlocked the door.
Romane’s worried eyes swam into mine, absorbing my terribly state. I noticed his eyes were faintly red from the alcohol, hair slicked back with gel. Body covered in a white tee and pants, aviator sunglasses were perched on his head. He picked up a strand that escaped my ponytail, and dropped it, the greasy strand matching my hair. “You look like someone hit you with a truck.”
“Yes,” I said dryly. “Did you not see the red Chevy come flying through the wall two seconds ago? Hit me smack on the head.”
“That explains everything,” he gasped, teasingly.
My brows sunk into a dark V, and I pointed to the hallway. “If you have no business here, leave. I’m in the middle of something.”
“Someone’s bitchy,” Romane clucked, pushing me aside to survey the wrecked training room. His back stiffened and he glanced up. “How many punching bags did you go through?”
I closed the door behind him, muttering, “More than I should have.”
He inspected the destroyed bags, and I knew he connected what I was up to. “Are you progressing?”
The stench of blood tingled my nose and I unwrapped the soaking bandages. “I’m getting somewhere,” I said distantly. I reached for the new tape and enveloped my hands with the tight fabric.
“Good.” His toe punted the bag, it rolling over. “Because you’re going to join an Eagle mission tonight.”
I dropped the bandage, it rolling to Romane’s white sandals. “A-are you serious?”
“Yes, wildcat,” he said, bending to pick up the binding. “I trust you. Now you have to trust me. We’re leaving after dinner so get some rest.”
He spun on his heel, but I planted a hand on his shoulder. Immediately his whole body tensed. “Stop,” I demanded. “Mind telling me what happened two nights ago?”
He shrugged off my hand and gave an impassive glance. “We shared a few drinks, and you fell asleep. Nothing big.”
I failed to solve his expression, drawing in a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” he affirmed, and strode out the door.
Unsatisfied, I mumbled aggravated nothings as I hooked on the next bag. He knew something I didn’t—and I swore to myself I’d find out every secret. Nothing would surprise anymore because I’d be ready. I was ready.
Obliterating five more bags, I swabbed the oil off my face with a towel and unhooked the intact bag. My own unhygienic stench was displeasing and once I discarded the moist bandages, I stripped off my tank and entered the vacant hall in the sports bras.
Suddenly, my gut twisted and I halted. Something was wrong. Before I could remove the hidden dagger from my thick ponytail, a bullet curves around the corner and drills me in the shoulder. The unexpected force slammed my back to the wall. Pain erupted from the wound and I forced my cry to slip without a sound. My nails tightened around the injured arm and I sunk lower, knees pressed to my pumping chest. The pain was travelling across my arm, and I bit into my knuckle to release another quiet scream.
Don’t accept pain Jess. Pain only happens if you accept it. It’s all in your head.
I focused on the pain, dispersing it with my thoughts. Extinguishing it from my mind and I shut my eyes. The shooters footsteps were clear, now three meters away. I swallowed the big lump in my throat and breathed out. The cling of metal falling to the ground had my eyes fly open. There, painted in my blood sat the bullet. The sting vanished and my now trembling fingers touched the hole in my shoulder.
My heart crunched into a ball, crushing my insides as I felt everything cage, compress me; the air having trouble finding my lungs. This wasn’t—wasn’t possible.
The sound of my shooter’s progressing footsteps attracted the other ego. Darkness leaked into my eyes and I unsheathed the knife from my ponytail. My body functioned all at once; my senses heightened, my body split to fit the Cold Blood and my mind was connecting the dots. I was an open shot in this empty hallway. Those smart enough to threaten me knew how to kill. They purposefully missed.
Standing up, I held the knife up and shuffled closer to the corner, my foot knocking the bullet to the open space.
The sight of the bullet silenced the shooter and that was when I heard their escape. I rushed around the bend and sped up to the hooded figure with their gun strapped to their back. They darted down the hallways, taking sharp turns as if they had a map in their head. My calves burned and I pushed faster, a meter away when they swung open the door. A gust of the early morning wind broke off my face and I battled against it. On the outside loading dock of the aircraft, they shoved crates to the floor and I hurdled over them, slowing me down by a second.
They then scaled a stack of crates and I wasn’t far behind. I reached out my hand to swipe for their ankle but missed, hissing at their incredible luck and climbed quicker. They arrived on the top of the crate pyramid and leaped off, hands snatching onto the crane. They rocked forward, the chain tightening at the weight before they let go, rolling onto the ground. I mimicked their moves but propelled double their force and jumped farther, landing the shooter. My knees rammed into their shoulders and their legs buckled, diving head first onto the ground. I tore the gun off, tossed it to the side and flipped them onto their back. Then I lifted their hood.
“Levi?”
His honey eyes creased in amusement and those soft, pink lips curled into a heart melting grin. A smile that broke my heart and filled it with joy; a smile that sent me to my grave and dragged me to heaven.
“Morning, darling,” he heavily breathed.
I wasn’t one to swear. But when it came to this man, I was Nicki Minaj on a sugar high. Sensors would have been too petrified to shield my filthy mouth. Déjà vu wasn’t far and I noted he always knew what buttons to press—with the simplest actions too.
And he just laid there. Grinning. Pouring out my guts, metaphorically speaking, and my breath was the heavy one now and he. Continued. Grinning. I finally asked in shocking gasps, “And you missed!? I was out in the open!”
I didn’t think his grin could get bigger. But it did. “You know a Sniper never misses, darling.” He flicked his chin to his pocket. “Could you be a doll and get your present out of my jeans?”
That could have been interpreted in two different ways. You’re a terrible person, Jess. Downright awful.
Rummaging for the item, I pulled out the 212.
“You left it at home,” he said as if that was the most casual thing he could say.
“The Snipers are not my home,” I gritted through my teeth.
“Jess, you will always”—his eyes lingered to the hole in my shoulder—“be one of us.”
I should have crumbled. I should have allowed those sneaky tears to reveal. I should—but would not. Because I wasn’t the same girl as I was before. I shook my head at Levi and spoke softly, “Family doesn’t keep secrets from one another.”
His eyes widened as I copied his words. Shock registered his handsome features and for a moment, I actually felt like the dominant one. For once, I had control over him and I knew something he didn’t.
But life was full of surprises.
His grin returned and I didn’t know how, but he pinned me down, slamming my back onto the ground with that killer smile staring down at yours truly. “Keep the gun. She's your baby.” Before a retort could utter past my lips, he whispered words that crowned him Romane’s powers, “You’re right, you’re more than family, darling. Because I’ve always loved you.”
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This wasn't the bad ass, horror, thrilling scene I told you about. I know. I'm a liar. Next chapter, kay?
But if you are a badass reader, I just posted a new Horror, Action, Paranormal and Humour story called Mad As A Hatter. Some of you have read it and go ahead and ask them: It’s pure utter madness and gore. You’ve been warned.
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