Bill
"Really?"
Bill gave a thug on the ropes that tied his limbs to the bed. His wrists hurt from where he'd tried to set himself free. He could see the door from where he was lying. He relaxed against the ropes, panting. The headache had intensified with physical labor. Bill suspected he'd gotten a concussion. He could feel dried blood on her cheek and his locks that had glued to hid forehead.
He had not expected to awaken after he got his ass handed to him in the fight. He'd been too distracted to realize someone had sneaked up on him. He closed his eyes. Nobody had come to see him yet. If they hadn't heard him swearing and talking to himself for the past few hours, they'd come when the morning did.
He didn't know long he'd been out. It could've been a few hours, a day. He didn't know if his team was fighting still or if they'd escaped. He only knew he was tied to a bed and a headache worse than any hangover. His eyes were falling and he shook his head to stay awake. He may not wake up if he slept. His eyes hadn't gotten used to the darkness. There was no way for him to plan his escape until the sun has risen and he could see where he was.
He tugged on the ropes again, wincing. They wouldn't budge. Calm down, he told himself. Taking in a deep breath, he got more comfortable. What would Mike do?
The sudden thought of his brother being tied up in this room, without a way out, brought on a chill. Had Mike been in the same situation? He couldn't imagine his brother being helpless, lying alone in a room without a way of breaking free. He was always the capable one.
He was dead now. Which Bill will also most likely be if he didn't something out.
"Fuck me," he swore. This was not how he imagined his first time being tied to bed would feel like.
He looked at the ceiling, giving up. He would wing it when he had to. At least it was just him that he needed to worry about.
Unless it wasn't.
He moved his leg, trying to figure out if he still had the phone he had used in New York. He didn't have it on him. When he looked closely, he wasn't even in uniform anymore. His airways stopped functioning as his mind flooded with explicit details of a dead body. A brunette girl in a waitressing shirt. A brunette with soft lips and an enchanting smile. If they harmed her thinking she had anything to do with Phi, he— now, he couldn't really do anything but hope.
There wasn't a single person in Bill's life that acted like Naomi had even when he showed up drunk at her doorstep. Except for Stella. His brother's girlfriend had always annoyed him. Up until the very day he last saw her.
#
A door closing made Bill flinch, his eyes flying open.
"Good morning, sunshine."
Bill gritted his teeth, looking at the guy in front of him. He knew him, he just couldn't put his finger on it.
"How's the head?" the guy asked. He wore a black uniform with a red crest on it. His nose was slightly crooked and his hair short and beard clean-shaven.
"I know you," Bill murmured, racking his brain. His thoughts were jumbled up to begin with.
"If you don't cooperate, you'll know me as your worst nightmare." The man approached a knife in his hand.
Bill held his breath. "That was cringe-worthy, you know that right?"
"She wants to see you," the man said, bringing the knife to Bill's wrist, cutting him lose.
Before he could made a move to punch the guy, a blade pressed to his throat. "There's guards all around the perimeter. You won't even get to the door. Now, calm down, unless you want me to do it for you."
Bill gave him a dirty look, but stayed still. The man was right about one thing. If Bill planned to escape, he should study the layout and get the approximate number of people so he could assess the risk.
The man pushed him out the door into a short L-shaped hallway. There were two other doors in the hallway, one on each side. Bill walked around the corner, finding himself at a doorway, two other men on each side. It was a small living room with a fireplace with a TV mounted above it and a sofa across from it. Bill could see a clearing through the window and larger bunker-like building nearby.
Bill stumbled inside, the man pushing him forward. He stopped in the middle of a light brown carpet, feeling the soft surface underneath the soles of his shoes.
"What? Are we gonna have tea and gossip?" he asked, looking at the three men.
They ignored him and took positions on three different sides of the room, waiting. Bill swallowed a lump forming in his throat and stood as tall as he could.
He noticed a figure outside, moving towards where he assumed stood the front door. There was at least 4 of them. Maybe he could take them on if he knew how they fought. Blindly, he doubted his chances.
The men remained expressionless when the sound of heels clicking on the floorboards echoed the house. Bill's breathing became shallow, a shiver creeping up his spine.
A woman stopped at the entrance to the room. She looked at her guards and then stepped over the threshold. Her hips swayed as she took the few steps until she was in front of Bill. She was shorter than him but under her cold, hard eyes, he felt smaller than the dirt under her fingernail. She checked him out, her face and body stoic.
Noticing the rope marks on his wrists, very slowly, she lifted a corner of her lips into a smirk. Then she turned and took a seat on the sofa, crossing her legs one over the other. She wore black pants and a white shirt, contrasting her red hair. She checked Bill out again, waving her hand in front of her. "What do you think?"
He didn't say anything.
She cocked her head. "Oh, come on," she pulled a face. "The sofa is Italian leather."
When he didn't say anything, Majesty dropped the grimace.
Bill kept his gaze steady.
"Wouldn't you like to introduce yourself?"
"You know who I am already."
She shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to be nice."
Bill held back a snort.
Majesty gave a signal to one of her guards and he promptly left the room. "You won't hurt me. That's a sign of me trusting you. Show me I'm right and then we could have a private conversation."
"You shouldn't trust me," Bill said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"You haven't given me a reason not to."
Bill fisted his hands inside his pockets, measuring the distance between himself and Majesty and her and the guards. Making his choice, he squared his shoulders. "I'm about to give you one."
He shot from his spot, jumping on Majesty in a split second and knocking her over. As quickly as his stiff body and concussed head allowed it, he lifted her to her feet, keeping her in front of him. "Nobody move," he told the guards who had reached for their guns.
"Stand down," Majesty said, remaining in Bill's grip.
The guards released their holsters, taking a watchful stance.
"Now, Bill, what do you think you're doing?" she said.
Bill was about to reply, when his world spun. He hit something hard and groaned, grabbing his head with both of his hands.
"Pick him up," he heard Majesty say.
The guards lifted him by the armpits, forcing him to stand.
Majesty approached, a knife in her hand. She slid the blade across Bill's cheek, making a small cut. "I don't want to hurt you. But keep in mind how easy it is to slit your throat right now. Because next time, that's exactly what will happen." She gave a sweet smile at the end.
Bill stared at her wide-eyed, his hands shaking. She was better than he expected.
"Now, let's talk like civilized adults, shall we?"
The guards released Bill at the gesture of a hand and he sat in a chair they pulled up for him. Majesty returned to the couch, toying with the knife.
"Why am I here and alive?" Bill said, staring out the window.
"Because I want to talk to you."
"Well, I don't particularly feel like speaking to you, so—"
Majesty cocked her head to the side in irritation. "Must you act like a child?"
Bill shrugged.
"My methods of getting people to tell me things have evolved from what you may know them. Consider yourself lucky. Had we met two years ago, I would be tearing you apart. Limb by limb." She folded her arms across her lap. "Of course, I will refrain from it if you cooperate."
"Which I won't do." Bill was surprised by the coldness in his own voice. He kept a straight face, a glint of satisfaction burning within him. He wouldn't let it show he was unnerved.
"Tell her what she wants to know," the man who had brought him in here growled.
Majesty cast him a warning look. "Easy there, George." Her attention went back to Bill. "Talk to me about Cat Eye."
"No can do."
Majesty sighed, hands on her knees. "My people tell me she's the one hiding Maddison and not Snakehead. All I want is for you to tell me what you know and I'll let you go."
"Just like you let my brother go?" Bill challenged.
"I don't know who your brother is," she said and he had no doubt it was true. It hurt that much more.
"I'm done talking to you."
"Fine, but I think you'll find yourself changing your mind very soon," Majesty said. "Take him away."
"I can walk," Bill said, getting to his feet before the guards had a chance to grab him.
As he was leaving the room, he noticed Majesty whisper something to George. He nodded and followed after Bill, who had already rounded the corner to the hallway.
"She said you can use the bathroom if you need it." The discontent in George's voice was evident.
Bill wanted to refuse but he didn't know if he'll get a chance to go again.
The bathroom was small and dark, a circular window letting just enough light for you to see where you were going. He wouldn't be able to escape through it.
Bill washed his face and neck, rinsing the dried blood from his forehead. He had a black eye and the cut on his cheek had swelled and was pink. He didn't look his best but it was far from his worst. The drunken nights he spent in Phi left him looking hungover for days afterward. He knew that he would never land a job if he drank. He was a danger for himself and others. Scott was the one to get him to sober up and start back on his training. If not for him, Bill's liver would have given up on keeping him alive. Either way, he would much rather die of liver failure than get murdered by the same people who killed Mike.
When Bill exited the bathroom, George was gone. He returned to the bedroom in company of one of the guards and found a stack of clothing on his bed.
"The window and doors won't open from the inside. Don't even try it," George said, standing across the room. "We'll know if you do."
Bill rolled his eyes, brushing shoulders with him as they switched places.
When the door closed, Bill took a better look at the room. The only bit of furniture was the bed he was tied to. The light was coming from a window he couldn't open apparently and the door looked like a regular door. No hidden mechanism, not even key-pad lock. Just a door. It had to be more than that. They had to know he could pick a lock, that he was more of a threat.
He looked around the corners, looking for any sign of a camera.
When he didn't find one, he resorted to the next attention-drawing method. And screamed.
George barged inside, giving him a glare. "What? Why are you screaming?"
"Me?" Bill pulled a grimace. "Oh, nothing. Just wanted to give these back." He threw the clothes at George, the man catching them mid-air.
He glared at Bill and turned to leave.
"Another thing," Bill said.
George stopped.
"Go fuck yourself, traitor." It had taken him a moment to realize who George was, but the pieces had come into place when he lashed out at Majesty.
George dropped the clothes, spinning around.
"I don't think so," Bill said. "She said not to touch me."
George let out a deep growl, slamming the door closed.
Bill smirked. They were too easy to tick off. He's going to have a lot of fun until they kill him.
______
Hey there!
I had so much fun writing this and I hope it lives to the expetations.
What do we think of Bill's approach? What about Majesty? There's been more of her lately? What's your thoughts on her character?
Just want to finish off by thanking you guys for supporting me and this book. It's been a long journey for me to get to where I am with my writing and I hope that you all know how grateful I am to you as my readers, for making my day with your comments and votes.
Thank you and happy writing,
Sara