𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋

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CHAPTER 2
hallelujah, my ass

"𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 funny chief ?" I speak up for the first time.

I have always known that I was adopted. That was a thing I came to terms with, years ago. But missing? Does that make me kidnapped? I wouldn't be surprised if the Rousseaus were also child traffickers.

"Miss Noemi, this is not a laughing matter," Chief explained. "You have been reported as kidnapped 17 years ago, with witnesses. What was committed is a crime, and you and your whole family are victims."

"Don't these case close after a while?" I found the idea of someone looking for me for such a long period of time strange, almost a fantasy.

"They reported you missing again and again, year after year. The only thing we could do was wait for your DNA to appear on our system. It never did, though."

I owe that to my father who always refused to bring me to the hospital. I remember one day, when I was five years old, I fell down a tree and broke my leg. He refused to bring to a hospital as if it were his arch nemesis. Instead, he brought me to a babushka who leaved next door. Everyone spoke praise about her healing abilities, yet I spent six months limping.

"Who are the Riccis anyway?" Mockingly, I asked.

"They are a very wealthy family. Their business consists of resorts, clubs and casinos. What people go to Vegas for."

So mobsters, you mean.

The door swung open before I could protest any further, revealing three men in suits and two in much more casual clothes. Every single one of them was handsome, each in his own way. Cold gazes traveled across the interrogation room and I shuddered at the hostility.

"Inspector chief Presscot at your service, sir."

What a sucker. Presscot stood up, warming up instantly as if the sun itself walked in. The man, who seemed the oldest, nodded at him but didn't speak any further, his eyes focused on me so hard I might believe he wants to kill me.

When the silence stretched into a staring contest with the tall man, my green eyes staring right back into his brown orbs, Presscot mumbled something I didn't hear and got out, door locking after him.

Did he just leave me with these woman-beating, human-killing, soul-torturing assholes? I know I shouldn't judge, it goes against every principle I held onto, but when they looked at me like I just killed their mother, I can't help the feeling of worry clawing at me.

The asshole in the black suit sat down in Presscot's chair.  His brother, I assume, in a tan suit stood beside him, hands on the back of the chair. The other asshole stayed by the door, arms crossed. As for the other two, they stood behind me, leaning against the wall, their reflection in the mirror showed so.

"What's your name?" The man in black suit asked.

"How about you tell me your name first?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "No. How about you take off these handcuffs first."

The one in the tan huffed a laugh. " I am Nolan," he started. "This is Nico," gesturing to the king on his throne. "Over there is Noel. And those two are Nye and Neo. And you are?"