BEFORE YOU READ: I have a question for you! I'm thinking about starting a Billy Hargrove / Stranger Things fan fiction. I want to know, is that something you would be interested in? Comment here, let me know your thoughts. If I get enough interest, I'll post an excerpt of a first chapter before the next chapter of Baby. NOW READ ON!
Riddle made me eat when he woke up. I didn't want to, but he buttered a piece of toast and tossed it on the desk in front of me. He pointed at it, and I slowly picked it up to take a bite. It had been six hours since we had heard from Vinny. I had the team at London looking into what they could, but there wasn't much we could do without eyes on the ground.
"Don't call him," Perkins had told me. "You wait for him to call us."
My fingers itched to pick up the phone, but I did as I was told. I felt like I was going to be sick. I couldn't stop thinking of Harry. I didn't know if he was in pain and I didn't want to think of the worst. Riddle kept me busy with pointless tasks. Calling this person, checking on this flight. Anything to keep us busy.
It was near six that evening when Vinny finally rang Perkins. Perkins emerged from his office, pointed at me, and turned back around. My heart jumped and I jogged to follow.
"Close the door." He said, sternly. "Vinny did some digging. Ricci's always been harmless, helpful even at times. But he owes money to Marco Abramo."
"Abramo?" I echoed. I sat in the seat opposite of Perkins' desk.
"One of the main reasons Vinny sent Styles' father into hiding. Fucker had it out for his head."
I felt numb. "So you think-"
"If we're right, Al tipped him off on Styles' whereabouts."
"We didn't tell my grandfather about the party." I said.
"Didn't have to. Abramo got the Americans involved, they did the dirty work. Don't know why yet."
I gripped the arms of the seat. "So, what the fuck are we doing about it?"
"There's guys on the ground in Italy that are investigating what they can. We have to be strategic, though, Caine. We're not some fucking amateurs. I know you're upset but get your head in the business. That's the only way you're going to get him back."
I pinched my nose. "My fucking grandfather."
"Right. That part's quite shit."
I scowled at him. "Quite."
He sent me off to relay the information to the team Riddle was working with. Riddle stared sternly, but grabbed my shoulder when the group dispersed.
"Your grandad ratted his own out." He said.
I shook my head. "Treated him like family over the whole holiday. I'm sick, Riddle. Betraying blood for a debt."
And I was sick. I didn't want it to be true, when I thought about it for the first time, but part of me knew. Even worse was that my grandfather knew I was involved. He took the thing I cared about most away from me and practically threw me beneath the barrel of a gun.
After another hour of waiting, biting my nails, and pacing, Perkins finally emerged again. He pointed at Riddle and me.
"You two, have one of the cars take to you the plane. You're flying to Venice to stay on standby. Nothing's certain, but we know they're based just outside of Venice. There will be a car waiting when you land. Go. I'll be in touch."
I looked at Riddle, then down at the dress I was still wearing. He threw his hands up and stood.
"We'll have to find something for you to wear when we get there." He said. He spoke to the team around him briefly as I walked back to my desk and picked up my phone. I stared at the lock screen, willing a message or a phone call.
"Right, ready?" Riddle said, snapping me out of my daze. He had tried to straighten up his suit, but his hair was still a mess.
"Have to be." I whispered. He nodded and turned on his heel. Silently, I followed. We both picked up handguns on the way out. He strapped his to his waist, and I strapped mine in a belt around my thigh. We left the building and hopped into the nearest car; the driver already knew where to go. I stared out the window, out at a gloomy London, as we drove, and Riddle rubbed my back.
"We're going to find him, Tilly. I fucking promise you."
"Don't promise anything." I said, my voice cracking. He didn't respond.
The jet was running when we arrived. I followed Riddle up the stairs and settled into a seat near the front. Riddle offered me a soda, but I waved him away. I didn't mean to fall asleep, but before I knew it, I was being shaken awake by our landing.
There were bags of clothes for us in the car that picked us up. In mine, there were a few black turtlenecks and pants, along with a black wool coat. Riddle sifted through his bag, then set it at his feet. We were silent as the car drove along the dirt road from the airfield. Soon, dirt roads turned into cobblestone streets and we were in the heart of Venice. I glumly watched as we drove alongside a canal.
We finally stopped in an alleyway, and the driver pointed at a door. Riddle nodded, and I thanked him. Inside the door was a staircase to a small apartment. There was one bedroom and Riddle set his bag on the couch. The floors were wooden, and the furniture was old and worn. The kitchen was small and connected to the living space. I set my bag down beside the bedroom door and looked back at Riddle.
"Any word?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You should sleep."
I balled my fists. "Not tired."
"You should sleep." He repeated, leaning against the couch. "Please take care of yourself, Tilly. You won't accomplish anything dead tired and starved."
I adjusted my weight and crossed my arms over my chest. He was right. "Fine." As I began to turn around, he called my name.
"You doing alright, love?"
I ran my hand through my hair and shook my head. "How do you think Riddle? Honestly?"
"Dumb question." He said, stepping forward. He stretched his arms out and wrapped them around me, pulling me into his chest. He set his chin atop my head. "We'll figure this out. We've handled worse. I promise, it'll be okay."
I knew he meant well, but I couldn't bear to be around any one. "Stop making promises."
I stepped back and walked into the bedroom, taking the bag of clothes with me. I went into the bathroom that was connect to the bedroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My hear was a mess, my mascara was smudged down my face. My dress was stained near the bottom with dirt. I unzipped the back and stepped out of it. My chest felt tight. I clutched the sides of the sink, let my head fall, and finally began to cry.
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I know this is kind of short, but I really want to produce content. And there will have to be chapters where not much is happening, just to move everything along but not move too fast with the plot. I'm trying to keep a realistic speed.
I'm trying to write one chapter a day until I can finish this book. putting it in writing here will hold me accountable. the end of the book is soon, just know that, but there will still be more chapters. all of your comments seriously warmed my heart last night. it feels so good to be back and to want to write again. I feel so lucky that there are so many people out there that actually want to read what I write. I never imagined this when I set out to write this story, and I'm so grateful.
Let me know what you think about a Billy Hargrove fan fiction. I've read a couple recently and felt inspired. Some of the writing is really cheesy in a lot of the one's I've read, so it'll be a more mature style of writing. If you know me, you know I hate the exact way I used to write: cliche and bad. But I cannot criticize because we all have to start somewhere :)
I love you guys so much!
Becca xx