They Who Slaughtered Hope 🌈| Slow Updates/Editing

Chapter 08

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𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚡

┗━━━༻✿༺━━━┛

𝘚𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 18𝘵𝘩, 𝘞𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨

Lennox awoke with a pounding pain in his head, most likely the humble beginning of a battering headache. He found himself in an unfamiliar place, one graced with concrete walls and floors. On a side table was the infamous bouquet of geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, yellow carnations, and orange lilies.

Previously, he had been with Ren, about to head somewhere for medical attention. Lennox had almost no memory of the events that came after, and he severely doubted this was a building dedicated to citizen welfare. The property was poorly lit, with only a few ceiling lights to aid his vision. The blond attempted to scour his body for any remaining injuries and found only shackles around his wrist. They came in the form of thick extension cords, the kind designed to brave all sorts of weather. It didn't help that the cord was plugged into a nearby outlet, obviously, it was meant to deter any plans of escape.

Lennox seemed to be alone, so he took the time to think in silence. He wondered if Ren was the one who had brought him here. If this was Ren's base, would he encounter any other members of the Syndicate? What kind of people were they? The florist also questioned who had bound his arms, and what their motive was for leaving his legs free. He vaguely remembered being carried—bridal style, he recalled—past a graffiti-covered monument before he passed out for the second time that day.

It came back to him in pieces, what Ren had done. Lennox was grateful, of course, for the bandages, but he needed more information. Luckily for him, a doorknob to the north jiggled. The florist squinted at the newcomer, noting the clack of red platform heels that was akin to his mother's. Coming into full light was Trixcia Delavare, whom Lennox had met at the Verita party. Today she modelled a purple shirt, an asymmetrical skirt, and a black leather jacket.

He rushed towards a diplomatic approach to his kidnapping. "Miss Delavare! We met at the gathering, remember? Might I be so bold as to ask what I am doing... here..." he trailed off, becoming wary with each step she took towards him, unsure of her intent.

Miss Delavare's walk was powerful, and her sneer nerve-wracking. He hastily moved his legs out of her path, not keen on getting pierced with a tapered heel.

"You know what I remember? My name being Trixcia, not this Miss Delavare shit. Only an entitled brat like you would want to be called by your family's name and not your own. Hello, Mr. Kendrick-Carson." She grimaced. "See? Isn't that just so impersonal?"

Trixcia knelt before Lennox, leaning in close—too close for his liking. She planted one of her hands between his legs, while the other traced his jawline. With a single manicured finger, Trixcia lifted his chin to her eye level. "Hello, Lennox," she purred, softly enough that he could barely hear her despite her proximity. "Doesn't that feel better? Ren told me all about you, you know."

Lennox wasn't convinced. Ren seemed more like the type to rarely share his feelings.

Time gave Lennox no more condolences, and Trixcia ensured that she would have his attention for the rest of her visit. The gothic enchantress moved her hands, caressing his face with her right palm. Using her left hand, she deftly whisked Lennox's bound hands up until a skein of cord caught on a ledge. Previous knowledge of it eluded the florist, and chills raced down his spine.