Her Fallen Crown

HFC | Chapter V

Chapter V | Round 'Em Up

•hours later

Chef closes the door behind him and turns the latches. He just finished running his morning errands along with his morning work out. Walking with his crutches, he travels to his room and opens the drawer of his dresser. After taking out his clothes for the day, he travels to the bathroom to get clean up. He takes the plastic wrapping off the shower rack and sighs in disappointment. His leg is in a cast thanks to Phaedra shooting him in his knee. He's now in a cast and walking with crutches, but he's managing. After a thoughtful shower, Chef gets dressed. He grabs his phone and limps to the basement door to get to his office. Hopping down the stairs, he groans at the pain in his knee. He needed his medication and the last place he had it was downstairs. He locates the pill bottle on the coffee table, heading over to the bar to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He has a seat on the couch and fetches for his ringing phone. Chef answers and places the phone to his ear.

"What's the move?" He questions, shaking two pills into the palm of his hand.

"Everything is here. The full amount plus extra." His worker tells him over the phone.

"Bet. You hear anything from Savon and them?" Chef questions, frowning as he lifts his casted leg on the table.

"Nah. I called both of them but neither of them answered." The worker informs.

"I'll drop in on they asses later. Just get everything together and I should be there in about two hours." Chef orders then hangs up. He sits the phone to the side and tosses the pills in his mouth. He drinks the liquor to drown the pills and swallow them. He sits the empty cup on the table and sits back, sighing as he relaxed. The meds mixes with the alcohol calms him down. It wouldn't be long before he would fall into a deep sleep. Closing his eyes, he relaxes his head against his the couch cushions. The quiet added to his body slowly going into a trance.

"You know...it's not smart to mix alcohol with your medication. Someone could catch you lacking." His eyes pop open as he sits up quickly to grab his gun. He lifts the couch cushions but freezes when he hears the gun cock behind him. He turns slowly to the intruder, grilling them as he stands.

"Looking for this?" Phaedra smirks and arches an eyebrow. Chef stares at her continuing to keep quiet.

"You should keep more then one weapon down here. You never know who might show up." She advises and tosses the empty gun to him. He catches it and sizes her up as she scoffs a laugh, turning on her heel to the bar behind her. As she poured herself a drink, he stared at her backside and squints his eyes.

"You're suppose to be dead." He mutters. Phaedra takes a sip of her drink and nods before turning to face him.

"Yea. I see working with me for over a decade, taught you nothing." She sighs and shakes her head.

"It actually taught me a lot." He argues.

"Really? Because I could of sworn I told you if you wanted a job done, do it your fucking self." She reminds.

"Yea you did but we do shit differently." He assures and tosses the gun on the coffee table.

"Or maybe you're too much of a bitch to kill me yourself." Her words stung but Chef couldn't deny her conclusion. Seeing her after all these years, and then hearing she's running the streets with someone else. It confused him but mostly hurt him.

"Look at it from my perspective for once. Would you be able to face me after disappearing for five damn years? Could you pull the trigger if you still love me?"

"I could." Phaedra shrugs with pouted lips.

"Clearly." Chef hence at his busted knee, rolling his eyes.