These Vicious Games (Seattle Undeground)

Chapter 26

“There is something about love and hate that brings people down from their pedestals, darling.”

-Robin Finch

He did not in fact take me to go see my mom.

Up until this point, I had been burying everything. The emotions of the memories. The fact he knew who I was when he took me. How he’s been keeping a huge part of my life a secret. And now I know why.

Because he…

Yeah. Even thinking it or saying it out loud is too much. How could he do that , and then kidnap me? How could he…

There is a clank on the table that knocks me out of my thoughts, but doesn't quite cool the anger in my soul. The roar in my blood and the heat on my skin reach an all time high as I stare at his clothed back.

My fists curl as I make my way to the table. The cool metal of his gun under my palm as I grab it with a steady hand. Pointing it at his back.

I could kill him.

Atticus turns, face never changing as he watches me. He walks towards me, cool and steady steps that unnerve me. His hand wraps around the barrel and instead of jerking it away, he places it to his chest.

“If you shoot here, right into my vile heart, I’ll bleed out quickly, my death resulting in less than a minute.”

He moves the firearm, his body getting closer, the only thing between us is his gun. One hand on it while the other wraps around my neck to tip my face up to meet his eyes. “If you shoot me in the neck, it’ll stop my brain from getting blood. Not a quick death. It just depends on how long you want to watch me struggle.”

His thumb runs over my throat soothingly, as he directs the gun in my hand to his head. “Now here, eviction style is a classic, one of my personal favorites. The only difference is, I will not beg for my life. You have control over whatever you choose.” His lips brush over mine as he whispers, “But I’ve seen people live long after a shot to the dome.”

His lips kiss the corner of my mouth, “ At the end, my life is yours. You hold it in your tiny unsure hands. If you want to take me out, go ahead, baby. I’m at your mercy.”

His words unravel me, and the gun trembles in my hands, a tear stinging my cheek as I get lost in his endless green eyes.

He pushes his temple harder against the gun, clicking the safety loose. “It’s okay, Little Bird. If this is the only way to move forward, take it.”

With a sob my hand falls and I close my eyes. “I can',.” I whisper.

“You know why?” He asks, taking the gun from my hands, gripping it in his as he slides it up my skirts. “Because you know you haven’t remembered everything yet. Isn’t that right?” He slides the barrel over my clothed slit. “Open your eyes and answer me, Little Bird.”

I shake my head, feeling the barrel slip inside me with ease. Because some part of my brain is okay with this. My hands grip his black, dress shirt for dear life as he slips the gun in and out of me.

“She’s purring for my gun, Little Bird? Hear how wet your pussy is for it? Do you think the idea of killing me got you wet or because I’m simply in your vicinity?”

My eyes snap open as the gun rubs over that sensitive spot inside me. And I realize now that I’m trapped. Trapped in his eyes like the prisoner I am. “I hate you.” I gasp, contracting around the gun.

He gives me an unguarded look. One of power, bliss and lust as he rams his gun back up inside me, twisting it side to side. “The safety is off, one click and I’ll have your pretty insides for my viewing.”

I gasp, my head falling back as I shamelessly ride the gun. Taking my own pleasure. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you and I,” he jerks my dress down to expose my breast. “Are inevitable.” He pinches one between his teeth and unravels me completely. I scream out, my hands clawing at his shirt as he peppers my breast with kisses, moving his gun lazily inside me as I chase wave after wave. The only thing keeping me up is my hands in his shirt.

He removes the gun, wrapping his lips around the glistening barrel and sucking my juices clean. “Now, Little Bird, go get ready to see your cunt of a mom.”

The prison she’s located in is away from society. I guess they do that so the public isn't in immediate danger if a prisoner escapes. The parking lot sits below the small hill the facility is located on. A pale gray building is surrounded by more in the back with barred windows. Three watchtowers are stationed around the premises. There are chained fences higher than all the buildings, barbed wire at the top catches the gleam of the sun. There is an electric metal gate you have to pass through until you reach another one, where you wait for what seems like an unreasonable amount of time before they finally allow us to pass and walk through the doors.

The room is compact, with a small set of lockers that allow you to place things inside, like keys and purses. We opt out, of course. I don't have anything and the idea of anyone being able to fight Atticus for his keys is laughable.

We have to walk through a metal detector and then get patted down before we’re led back to an interview room instead of the visitation room.If I had to guess, I would bet that was Atticus’ doing. Pulling his strings and what not.

I haven't spoken to him since I came around the barrel of his gun. Ashamed, as well as confused. Not to mention, one of the hottest things I've ever done.

He confuses me to no end, but he’s right. I know what I remember but there is still this doubt of not knowing if it’s the full memory.

I jump slightly when the doors open, a flood of memories when my eyes connect with my mother’s. The neglect and hurt hit me like a ton of bricks. Emotions and trauma I didn't even know existed start to unravel slowly inside of me.

I may have forgotten, but my heart and soul had not. Which explains a little of why I need antidepressants, why suicide has always been on the table for me.

She’s bigger, dark hair cut unevenly, but her eyes have yet to change. Cold, uncaring, and almost dead. She’s always had these eyes. It’s as if life has beaten her down and she took everyone else with her. Poison everything she touches.

She sits across from me, looking to me and then Atticus. “Should have known you’d find her eventually.” She looks back over to me, glaring. “What is it you want, Constance?”

I try not to take offense at her tone of dismissal and the tiny sneer when she says my name, but I guess a part of me, a tiny naive part, thought she might be excited to see me.

I sit up straighter, rolling my shoulders back. “I want to know what happened.”

Her eyes narrow, “So, it’s true. You don’t remember,” she says through cracked, pursed lips. She paused, and then snapped “What happened is, you ruined my fucking life.”

“Watch it.” Attcius bares his teeth at her. “Prison or not, I can still get to you. Watch how you speak to her. It’s not her fault she got you as an egg donor.”

She rolls her eyes, “She's not worth your protection, Beast. Never has been and never will be.” She looks me up and down, “Because of you, I lost the chance at millions.”

I’m trying to hold it together at this point. No one wants to hear those words from their mother.

“I was going to sell you, it was all you were ever good for anyways, but then…” She trails off and I lean in closer. This is the piece of memory I need.

Finally.

She smirks, “And then something happened. That you don’t remember apparently. And why should I tell you? What have you ever given me besides a fucking headache?”

“I’ve never asked you for anything. Please,” I plead, “just tell me.”

She rises, banging on the door. “Why don't you ask him .”