At Your Mercy

5

It isn't that I have lost count of how many times I've stayed outside and stared with the pure envy settling on my face. Or the fact that every time I think about it, these almost blinding white lights remind me of something that would remain, till eternity, one of the most tragic suspensions in time from my previous life. No, it is about the fact that after 8 years of dwelling in my own demons, today I am facing them.

It doesn't help with the spasms of fear that hit every second though.

Jason Carter is looking down at the handcuffs when I come in, and he keeps looking at them as I take the liberty of sitting down, and crossing my legs in an old fashioned way of making him feel at ease (not that he needed, he had to be the most well-adjusted person in the whole bloody building), a kind of tip I've picked up from here and there. I keep the file on my lap though; he doesn't need to know about that until I am done verbally briefing.

Its not an easy task, you know, starting up a conversation with what you could call the deadliest threat as of right now. You'd have heard, start a normal conversation, talk about his day and the weather and the crap, make him feel at comfort and then gently delve into the heavier topics. Well, you don't talk about the day of a criminal I just caught with him, supposedly he's been having a shitty day what with having him chained to the table and all. Its kind of a moment I would let Sloane slip in into action, because this, the part where I have been sitting at a table for five freaking minutes without saying anything, is where it gets to me.

It takes about three more minutes before the ice breaks.

"You probably do care." I hear a grumpy voice coming from the mop of brown hair that was in my visibility, because Carter still had his head down.

My expressions turn sour. "And what gives you the liberty to say that?"

At this, he moves his head up, and the green eyes look directly into my skull. His mouth is twitching somewhat, but he's kept his face straight. Ill say it again. You haven't shot me yet.

I snort, and his gaze turns to confusion." I could pull up a gun right now and put a bullet through your heart. No smartass remarks up when you're dead."

He then settles down on the lazy relaxation he had when he was chatting me up back at his hideout. I am kind of beginning to hate it. "But you wont. We don't always do the things that we want, do we?"

And I know I've heard all about how Eric filled me in that this guy probably uses conversational tactics to lure, and I'm pretty sure he's going to get chatty when hes handcuffed to a table, but there's something in those words that makes you want to rip his throat out. Hes saying it with normalcy, but if you hear it, it's spiking pure venom and it's frankly spiking my temperature too.

"Like let one of the two hundred pound guys on my back beat you up just so you can shut your mouth and we can get on with this exhausting get together?"

He laughs a little, and I cant help but notice the perfect white teeth all in their right places, and then I go back to my mirror, with my left canine overgrowing like I was a Dracula in my previous life.

"No. Like getting in your pants."

I cough a little, and try to shoot down the attacks that were working their levels up every second. I think that was the moment I decide to make a call and get this thing done with. Because if it wasn't fast, it was probably nonexistent.

Leaning a little on the table, I try to throw the venom out. "You're handcuffed to a table, you're probably wondering you're god knows where and there are rooms full of two hundred pound men that are going to end your life with a snap. So- "