The White Queen (S.Rogers)

Chapter 23

Brooklyn felt the words, the confession of her sin, leave her mouth and drop into the room like a bomb. Both men froze still, Rogers sucking in a breath, Wilson letting one out. The darkness of her actions clung to her skin, almost like it was visible. As if she could look down and see it painted on her skin for the whole world to see.

She didn't want to say anything more. Not about that. She didn't like talking about Grant, barely let herself remember his name, his face, his voice. She had locked him up in her memory, behind as many locked doors and boxes as she could. She didn't want to force herself to remember how, why he died. Why she killed him. The choice she had made, that day, that led her to having to kill her own twin.

Instead she focused on her anger towards Rogers. It was safer, she figured, to focus on that, then try to unlock the door where Grant still existed, in her head.

The look on Rogers' face when he came into the kitchen, when she was bent over the table, Wilson trying to pry the bullet out of her had been furious. Furious with something else mixed in. It hadn't been the same face he had on when he found out she had siblings, back when he thought she was just someone who had worked with her father. That had been a thunderous face of anger. The face he had on when he saw the position that she was in with Wilson had been the face of a man who was ready to tear the world apart with his bare hands.

When he had started demanding answers, as if he had any right to them, as if she was answerable to him, had set her anger off. The pain helped her focus away from it. Getting shot was never fun, but the pain was pure in it's own way. Pain was the body telling you it was still alive, that you were still alive. Pain was the push to continue to fight for your next breath.

And the idiot dick cheese who had shot her was going to learn that lesson. She was going to personally give him a lesson in pain. Him and his dick jockey, Diamonde.

She was focusing her attention on all the ways that she was going to remove pieces of skin from the two ass dribbles who had put her in this position in the first place, when Wilson cleared his throat gently.

"Queenie, what do you mean, you killed him?"

She glared at him, refusing to answer. They couldn't make her, really. She could only ever give away information that she wanted to. What would they do to her? Past experience with the two of them told her that. They could threaten, they could bluster, Rogers could try to use his height and weight against her, but in the end, they were really incompetent when it came to interrogations. Neither one was inclined to actually use physical force or pain to get what they wanted. In the scheme of things, it meant she still held all the power over what information they gleaned from her.

"Did you know, that in chess, the most powerful piece on the board is the queen? And some players think that the white queen is the most powerful, if only because she can gain access to the board first? If she is freed, she can be used to take down the opponents defenses faster, gain control of the board. And her sole purpose in life, is to protect the king." She rubbed her wrist, focusing on the sensation of her skin beneath her fingers. "She mimics the moves of the bishop and the rook and is one with highest point value if captured, and gives the player control of the board if she is the first one out. If the white queen is put on the board first, she automatically makes the other player have to move defensively. When the queen moves, the other pieces around her move in response."

She shifted and began to pace along the kitchen. She was making an effort to not look at the men, to not meet their eyes.

"Are you the white queen, in question?" Wilson asked.

"I was supposed to be." she sighed. "I was supposed to rule the chess board. My goal was only ever to protect the king. The king who would rule the board, once I took the enemies off of it."