James
No, it was never my fucking intention to capture her. I didn't even know Siege had a daughter. Especially not her. But when the opportunity slaps you in the face, you take it. Kill two birds with one stone right? Or so I thought. That was two days ago. Two whole days of fucking silence. Just two days. Not long by anyone else's standards, but I am not anyone else.
That isn't like him. If anyone knew Siege well enough to rip him apart, it was me. And Siege? He doesn't wait. He reacts. He has a habit, a ritual, really, of sending messages back in the form of bodies. Not words. Not threats. Just flesh, broken and lifeless, left somewhere his enemies would find them. A signature written in torn throats and blood-clotted fingernails. A language I understood. But nothing. Just silence. Just this dead, rotting quiet that tastes like the moment before a storm.
I fucking hate waiting. It makes my skin itch. My jaw tightens, my fingers twitch, and this restless, gnawing thing inside me starts clawing at my ribs. I need movement. Violence. Something to fill the space between now and whatever the hell comes next.
And that motherfucker—what was his name again? Hule? Yeah, Hule. That fucking thing of a man. If I say his name enough, will it stop irritating me? No, of course not. He's not speaking. Not screaming either. Not anymore. I already worked him over enough that his body barely holds itself together, a mess of bruises and half-healed fractures. But that smug fucking grin—oh, that's still there. Taunting me. It's like he's daring me to go further, to break him apart piece by piece. And I want to. God, I want to. Just the thought of carving that smirk off his face, slicing it away until his teeth are the only thing left grinning at me, sends a sick sort of calm through me. But then, what good is he to me if he dies? No, no. He's just a warm-up. He's just an accessory to this whole thing now.
Because her? She's the key.
The woman watching me now, her eyes sharp and suspicious, judging me like she thinks she's got me figured out. Like she's waiting for me to make a move so she can confirm whatever version of me she's built in her head. And she might be right. She might have every reason to look at me like that. She doesn't trust that I'll keep her breathing, and maybe she's right not to. Maybe I'll decide that carving my answers out of her is worth the risk. Because I will get what I need from her. One way or another.
"A problem?" she says, her tone flat but edged like a blade, the kind that slices deep before you even feel the pain. "If this is about Sie—Father, then I don't know where he is."
She corrects herself mid-sentence, but the damage is already done. Siege. Not 'Dad.' Not 'my father.' Just Siege, like he's some war-torn ruin of a man she's long since disowned. As if the name alone is poison in her mouth and she's trying not to taste it. Interesting indeed. I let the smile linger, just a second longer than comfort allows, letting it stretch too wide, too practiced, something that says yes, I heard that and now I'm going to play with it.
"Father, huh?" I echo, soft and deliberate, trying the word on for size. "Almost sounded like you forgot who he was to you for a second. Or maybe you're just not used to calling him that?"
Her eyes flicker, just a twitch. But I see it. It's always in the eyes. They lie in every other way, but the eyes? That's where the real shit slips through. She crosses her arms, tilting her chin up like she thinks posture alone will make me back down.
"What, you psychoanalyzing me now? Gonna tell me I've got daddy issues and blame that for your shit decisions?"
Ah. There it is. The crack. Small, but widening. I take a step closer, slow and intentional, hands tucked behind my back like we're in a fucking art gallery and not a room thick with blood and dust and tension. I circle, just enough to force her to shift, to track me with her eyes. I want her off-balance, and I'm getting there.
"Sounds like there's some history there," I murmur, half to myself, but loud enough. "Not a daddy's girl, then?"
She bristles.
"This is getting irritating," her voice sharpening, then quickly adds, "let me see Hule."
"Oh, see now you've got me curious." I stop in front of her again, let my head tilt to the side, my gaze drops just for a second, sizing her up. "Tell me something. When was the last time you saw him? Talked to him? Got one of his nice little messages written in arterial spray?"
She doesn't answer. Silence, again. Not the kind I hate, though. No, this one is useful. This one speaks volumes.
I lean in, bringing myself down to her level, close enough that I can see the faint tremble in her jaw, the way her throat bobs when she swallows. She's scared. She's good at hiding it, but I can smell it on her, fear always has that sharp, bitter edge. Acrid. Real. It's a truth serum. The thing is, she's not scared of me.
"I'm gonna guess… a while. Which makes me wonder: does he even know you're gone? Or did I just rip someone out of his life he'd already cut loose?"
Her lips press into a thin line, eyes narrowing just a little.
"Let me make something clear," I say, my voice low and unflinching now, the smile slipping into something colder. "I don't need you to like me. I don't even need you to be comfortable. But I do need you to talk. Because every minute you don't, I start thinking maybe you're not the key after all. Maybe you're just another fucking pawn. And you don't want to be a pawn, do you?"
She looks at me, her gaze slowly turning to slits, flickering with displeasure. "If you think threatening me will make me betray him, then you've got me figured all wrong."
I grin again. "Oh, sweetheart. I hope you're loyal. Makes it so much more satisfying when loyalty breaks."
She doesn't rise to it. Doesn't even blink.
"You're mistaking quiet for weakness. That's your first mistake." Her voice is flat now, her expression unreadable. "The second? Thinking Siege is the one you should be worried about."
Now that gets my attention.
I lean in. "Then enlighten me."
She leans back, slow and smooth, like we're just two people discussing business, not captor and captive. "You're focused on him. Obsessing, even. But while you're watching one door… you're not asking what came in through the window."
For the first time in two days, the buzzing in the back of my head sharpens into something clearer. A thread, pulled tight.
"What are you saying?"
She smiles softly in contrast to her icy gaze. "I'm saying that while you were waiting for a monster, you might've already let one in."
Silence follows before I slowly analyse her more properly, getting the image that for the first time in years, I've underestimated someone. Again. The thought speaks more pronounced as I mirror her smile more widely, an unwelcoming boil thrumming through my veins.