Guilty Pleasure

Twenty-three: truth hurts like a bitch

Tw: torture, Doyle

Jean

Every hard decision asks for a price. The key is to not pay with regret afterwards.

As the second night broke down, the moon brightly shining above my head and loosing it's form, I hold onto my chest. Days had passed and I started loosing hope that the team had found Emily on time. They must have gotten to her. I sent a message to someone, I knew that. And even if it were just senseless letters and numbers rhymed together, the fact I had sent out a signal was bringing me peace this night. Not only this. An image of Emily's bruised and bleeding body painted my mind. It was a horrifying memory, a memory nonetheless.

I had gotten used to a light slumber for every night I was able to lay down. Every night we were not on the move. Yet no matter how deep I was in the fight or flight mode, I was tired.

My annoyed mood should have earned the redhead to crawl into the corner of the car farthest away from me. An utterly cynical glare on my face should have put Kia in her place, but she still could not keep her eyes to herself, as she sat opposite to me in the van. She glared at me whenever she had a chance. Though, I swore that if she'd throw another glare at me, when I hid anything remotely close to a weapon, I'd stab her with it. It did not matter if the weapon was a spoon. I would end her once I had a chance.

The night I shot Emily was on my mind for every second I spent away from her. The sound of the gun firing the shot at her body and the sound it made when... I shuddered and refocused my eyes and to my bad I glared directly into Kia's hooded eyes.

I groaned, yet said no word. I would not even take that path. I would not flatter her by starting a conversation.

"That rage should be used for your job," Doyle pointed out and smiled devilish at me.

"I'll keep it in mind," I muttered and threw Kia a glare now that we came to a stop. Why was the drive so short this time?

The man handed a file to me and with a deeper inhale, I flipped it open. A higher politician was the target. I supposed he was in the way of Doyle's plans. A man spreading an opinion Doyle did not share. And who would he be, if he tolerated other opinions?

"In and out. As long as you stick to it we'll pick you up again." He chuckled, as if it was amusing to think about the possibility of being captured.

Changed into the suitable attire, Kia and I walked into the side entry for the staff of the event. It was almost too easy. Too easy to slip into a building full of security because they were aware of what had happened to a bunch of other politicians. Assassinations on men. I would not say I was glad they were high ranking people in society, but perhaps I was feeling a spark of hope. It drew attention to the attack and the team would for sure pick up on this. I deeply hoped they would, before I had to kill this man. He surely was no poor being, when he was involved with Doyle. Yet murder was morally wrong if it was done like this —it was always wrong to kill someone, but an assassination?

Clark Thompson. Black perfectly styled thick hair, blue eyes and that puppy glare. He would of course receive most votes from straight women and gay men. He was handsome, but there was always something behind that mask. He was not yet stepped onto the stage and we were supposed to prevent him from doing so.

Gun hidden in the back of my waistband, I trusted Kia to lead the way through the whole lot of hallways and staircases.

"I meant it when I told you it was nothing personal, Jean." She said as we walked through an empty grey hallway.

I stopped in my tracks meeting her neutral face. Eyes hooded and somewhat calm, she glimpsed at me.

My teeth gritted together. "It never is personal is it?" I scoffed. "You do realize that you lied to me all these years? You lied to me from the moment on you opened your mouth that day— apparently not even college. I spilled almost everything to you —after time. My sister's disappearance, the death of my parents, Andie. I guess, you just waited for me to finally break down my walls and expose my Achilles heel to you. And when you knew my greatest weaknesses —betrayal...abandonment— you soothed my breaking heart, as I thought the woman I loved would be dead. You hold my hand and warned me about danger and stabbed me in the back as if my life was nothing but a fucked up chore of yours! And I fucking fell for it, but you know what? I guess your future is waiting for you after this, so how does it feel to win?" The rage in my body heated it up and I gave not a single fuck about how it came off. I was done with her, even if the gathering tears in my eyes would tell me differently. "So don't get started. I want nothing to do with your halfhearted excuses."