𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 ❖ DARYL DIXON

20. INHERITATED ANGER

FREYA STILL KNEW SHE WAS alive because there was no way her head could be hurting this badly if she wasn't. Her head felt like it was burning through a white, hot searing pain. Freya wanted it gone, but as she even tilted her head the slightest, the pain screamed at her.

"Freya, don't panic." Even though it was Hershel speaking, Freya didn't have the slightest sense of Zen in her at his words. "Everything's under control."

Freya then noticed she were on the ground. The floor felt cold and tiled, and once Freya opened her eyes and the room stopped spinning, the brunette was able to see the marble flooring of her grandparent's mansion lakehouse that Freya had stayed at for the last however many months its been.

"Is she awake yet?" A woman's voice asked, and the fact that Freya wasn't able to determine just who it belong too already set the girl on edge. Whipping her head up, and making the room spin once again, Freya caught sight of short haired blonde woman with a strong jaw and dangerously blue eyes.

But what Freya paid attention to, was Lori, who was kneeled at her feet with a gun to her head. Lori's face was tear stained, but by now she had stopped crying and there was a brave expression on her face.

And with a sudden sense of worry for the woman, Freya looked back up to the woman that held her hostage. Behind her, there was at least 30 men and women all dressed in black and armed to their teeth in guns and knives. But it wasn't the number of black-op looking army units behind the woman that left Freya speechless, it was just the woman in general.

Like any person, she had aged with time, and time seemed to be her friend, all things considered. Blond hair, firm eyebrows and eyes that could make any man fall to their knees. It wasn't unknown to anyone that Josie was beautiful.

"Josie." Freya murmured her name, having not seen her for years. The last time they met, Freya was a whole different person, and the last time they met, Freya had changed Josie's life.

"Hello Winifred." Josie mutters, a dark expression on her face. "Well...I can't say I'm not glad that you remember me."
How could Freya ever forget Josie? Josie was the bully at school, and Freya had hated her because Josie was just a crude person in general.

But what could Freya even say in defense of that when Freya had killed her father?

"Forgive me that I haven't introduced myself yet!" Josie called out, smiling and waving to the group. Rick had to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from doing something rash and getting his wife hurt. "My name is Josie. Josie Aimes!"

Freya then remembered the car she was driving only moment before, and more panic set in the woman as she looked around the room. Her worry left her almost instantly as she saw Nate, Sophia and Carl all huddled together near Maggie, Glenn and Annie.
None of them looked injured so to say. Sophia's upper eyebrows was bleeding slightly and Nate looked like he had been thrown into a dust storm, but the kids looked strong and stable.

Freya on the other hand...
Well, there was a reason Hershel was on the floor next to her. Looking around the room, Freya could easily spot the blood that was dragged along the ground, ended at where Freya was. Looking all over her body, Freya felt the concerning amount of blood dripping down her ear, down her nose and she felt just about every ache of her body. Without a doubt, Freya would've been covered in bruises left and right.

"What do you want?" Hershel asked, from beside Freya as he used her shoulder to stand. And as a gun was placed in his direction, Freya scrambled to her feet, ready to protect the man if needs be.

Josie blinked, seemingly impressed with the elderly man's resolve. "What I want is simple...I just want payback."

Freya nearly fell over now. Payback meant getting equal, and the one thing Freya had ever done to Josie to make her this mad after so long would've been killing her father. With her heart going crazy, Freya searched the crowded stair case for her father.
And Paul was standing there, hand on the railing with a firm look in his eyes as he held a cigarette in his mouth. Of all the fucking times in the world, this man...