My Classified Life

Chapter Forty-Five: "A Girl Who Got The Best Of You."

I stood strong, staring down Pierce Hamilton as he flicked his hand and guards rushed towards me. I didn't run as he was expecting, both guards that came by me didn't know what to think of me. As Hamilton came closer, I felt the crowd beside me being pushed out of the courtyard quickly, curious glances all trained on me. While I shot Hamilton death stares, he looked like he had gathered his latest prize, played his most exciting game yet. I refused to look at Dylan again, I would break down the second I did. Hamilton waited for all the other women to disappear out the only exit, the guards still stood by me but did not restrain me. Before he was going to start his monologue, I could already tell it was going to be excruciating.

“Well, well, well,” he speculated, growing nearer to me. I scrunched up my nose in disgust as he continued to examine me, trying to figure me out. He flicked his head towards me and one of the guards slipped my hat off my head, my cherry brown hair was messed up and fell all around my face. I brushed it out of the way quickly. Just to be cheeky, I slipped the too small shoes off my feet so I stood with only my thin, blacks socks against the grass. He looked to my feet, slightly scowled at me, and I just smirked. Might as well get comfortable, and those shoes were really killing me.

“I see you've... gotten comfortable, now.” He muttered, making my smirk just grow wider, I crossed my arms. He looked back up to me, icy blue eyes looking at me with a gaze that would make me shiver any other time, but my resistance was hard set.

“You know, dressing as Amanda, that was unexpected, clever even. But did you really think you could fool me?” He paused to let it sink in, I brushed it off like dirt on my sleeve. “Amanda and Dylan here, robbing me? That wouldn't happen in a million decades, and you know it. Don't you?”

I didn't respond to any of his questions, only stared ferociously back at him. “Because you, miss, you are smarter than that. You're related to Amanda, I can see it in your face. Sister, I'm guessing?” He began to move slowly in a half circle in front of me, remaining the same distance from myself. I followed him with my eyes, they wanted to break to Dylan so badly, it was killing me. But I had to be a rock, and seeing Dylan hurt would reduce me to rubble. I had to hold on for a few more moments, figure out a plan of some sort. I'd come up with nothing thus far, not good.

“So, what's your name, Aphrodite? Surely your father wouldn't name you such a thing, it's a silly codename, really.” I knew I shouldn't have reacted, but he had just insulted Dylan and in a weird way, me. I had to clench my fist so tight, I nearly drew blood, to refrain from retorting. His calculating eyes saw me tense up, he knew he was getting under my skin, and decided to dig deeper. “But, Houdini seems really silly. Seeing as he couldn't disappear at all, we got him, easy.”

Pierce Hamilton just might have been the most creepy, narcissistic, atrocious man I'd ever met. Surely, no one could be that heartless, that sickening. Those were the people you only read about in books.

He continued to taunt me relentlessly, “Now, I would like to know one thing, Miss Smith. What do you want from me?”

There were a great many things I wanted at that moment. Among them were that I wanted Dylan to be safe, outside in the tent, waiting for me to skip through the snow with the document in my hands. I wanted to go home and see my family again. I wanted my classified life to not be so screwed up. But Hamilton would only give me one thing. A hard time.

“I want what I came here for.” I spoke for the first time, my voice quiet but strong.

He pretended to be shocked that I had spoken, “Oh, and what would that be?”

I smirked at him and retorted cheekily. “What's the fun in telling you?”

He laughed lightly at me, still moving in front of me, like an animal waiting to strike it's final death blow. But, he already had. Because lying behind him on the ground was the one person who could bring me crumbling to my knees. We were connected, like the Fates' chords in the old Greek legends. Cut one string, and you cut both. I could feel the tugging, the longing to run over and help him.