Guilty | ✓

XIII | Guilty

CHAPTER THIRTEEN | YOU DON'T OWN ME

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THE REPEATING SOUND OF HEELS clicking against the ground reverberated against the smooth concrete flooring.

Numerous screams echoed her name, people hitting against the steel metal bars trying to get the slightest glimpse of her, the smallest touch, yet none were successful.

Genevieve's smirk grew broadly, the affair was certainly funny. Wronging people may have been one of her most favorite things to do, hearing them shout her name in utter rage made her smile. It was certainly weird - liking - but she didn't care.

Verily, she absolutely loved it.

She was known in the underworld as the king, the queen - the god of crime. Although there were far more dangerous people than her, nobody dared question her motives and only the bravest dared to touch her - well, before the incident.

One of her least proudest moments, yet, she got over it slowly. Very, very, very slowly. But as the saying says, 'never look back, darling, it distracts from the now'.

Now that they were over, Genevieve had full freedom to do whatever the fuck she ever wanted, she could love any man, she could con any person without him interfering.

The guards took a look at Genevieve, steadily the three opened the doors of the visiting room, scattered desks were placed in random lines - Two chairs on each side of the small table.

In the middle seated, in casts, slumped in the seat stood her victim.

Genevieve certainly never visited prison, much less a prisoner. It made her feel a sense of deterioration, being around all the people she's caused problems too.

Delicately, the brunette sat on the metal chair crossing her legs, her left hand holding a lit cigarette in between her fingers, her eyes covered by Bottega Veneta cat-winged sunglasses.

"Well it seems you finally have come to your senses, and you discovered your undeniable love for me."

The brunette let out a laugh, though it wasn't an airy laugh - it was bitter and amused, "No, I'm not one of those crazy nut jobs who falls for guys in prison." Genevieve looked up to meet Wiesel's eyes.

A cleared throat rang next to her, making Genevieve snap her head towards her right. The woman had dark auburn red hair that tumbled to her shoulders, she was a slender, small breasted woman. Her face contorted in annoyance - Genevieve then noticed her small comment.

Moving her hand dismayingly, Genevieve gave a small nod to the woman, her voice mouthing a small utterance, "Cute jacket."

Turning back to Wiesel, she puffed a bit of smoke from the fag. "I came here to talk."

"Talk about our relationship, fine. I have all day," smirked Wiesel as he leaned back on the uncomfortable chair, the handcuffs clanking against the table and settling them on his orange jumpsuit clad lap.

"No," Genevieve said, blowing smoke onto his face, "I'm here to talk about L."

Wiesel laughed, "I see you found the note - nice touch isn't it."