BOOK 3 of the ORPHIC Series
CHURLISH
/ˈCHərliSH/
marked by a lack of civility.
~~~~~
Lucille 'Lucy' Opal Baker finds herself in the 21 century sporting the title of Aunt while lugging along h...
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"Patience is not simply the ability to wait. It's how we behave while we're waiting."
??? RED ROOM May, 2016
LUCY'S EYES FLUTTERED OPEN AS the vehicle's engine roared for a second louder. Then it became utterly silent, the plane remaining still. She turned her head to see Klause awake, his eyes moving lazily from side to side. Lucy caught his eye and gave him a reassuring smile. He dipped his head in greeting, though his pupils were blown out, like he was drugged. No—he was drugged. The cut on his neck had stopped bleeding and had started forming into a scab.
Lucy wondered how many hours had passed. But it was otherwise dismissible because she was certain that they had just landed in the Red Room, or at least some part of it. She exhaled as the Widows stood up consecutively, all standing to attention with their eyes forward, shoulders squared.
It was behavior Lucy was used to, and it screamed that their handler was coming. Which meant Dreykov would be waiting at the bottom of the ramp when it opened, and Lucy would have to react accordingly—she would have to channel her inner Tony Stark. But there was also a chance that she wouldn't be able to speak; that she'd be too petrified to do anything.
She didn't fear Dreykov. Not really. But she feared his connections—she feared for the other Widows.
The Taskmaster stood to their feet, helmet still on as they unlatched the chain around Lucy's cuffed hands. They grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. Lucy stumbled like she always did during transport, caching herself before she could lean into the Taskmaster.
Klause let out a soft sound of displeasure as he tried to push himself to stand. He used the bench besides him as leverage and pushed as hard as he could. He stood successfully to his feet, and immediately teetered into the Widow who'd been keeping him in check. She grabbed his arm tightly, putting the barrel of her gun beside his shoulder.
She didn't pull the trigger, but Lucy knew who that warning was for.
She was turned around to face the ramp, the cuffs in her hand thin and, honest to god, worthless. She stared ahead of her, thinking of what glorious quip to say.
Loki would probably have a great sentence off the top of his head. Hela would say something arrogant, dark and unfathomably twisted. And Tony—Tony would start off with a nickname, say something snarky that would get his face punched.
The ramp lowered and Lucy felt her heart race against her chest and—
He was dressed in a blue suit, his hand playing with one of his sleeves, a ruby red ring glowing against the sunlight. His lips were curled upwards with a triumphant look, staring at her behind a fancy frame of glasses with those same eyes—those same eyes.
