Chapter 78: Codename: Aconite Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Just explain it to me because I’m having an extremely difficult time figuring out if you’re suicidal or just fucking stupid,” Silas snaps in exasperation.

I tune him out as he continues his ten-minute – and counting – long tirade regarding me and my sanity. I focus on meticulously organising my botany sample slides in their case in alphabetical order by species name. I’m just approaching the C’s when Silas’ hand comes slamming down on the desk in front of me, causing several slides to jostle out of place.

I slowly look up at him, boring my eyes into his skull. “You made me lose my place,” I say with quiet dissatisfaction.

“At least I’ve got your fucking attention,” he says acerbically.

I roll my eyes. “Are you developing early-onset senility? Is there a reason I need to repeat my plan to you yet again?” I quip.

“You didn’t even ask me about this first, you just fucking went ahead and did it,” he says furiously, making my molars snap together.

I rise to my feet and step up to him until we are just a breath apart. “I don’t need to ask you for anything. I had an idea; I ran with it. Now we may be working together, but you are not my warden, you don’t get to dictate what leads I can and cannot follow.”

He stares me down, anger and frustration burning in his emerald eyes. “What you’re doing is suicide.”

“The Tournament is the only organization we know of that – for reasons never made clear – has information on every last one of us. Now suddenly their competitors are dropping like flies and not in the confines of their sick little Thunderdome. They’re not going to kill me; they keep that shit in the arena. All I’ve done is put out feelers to say I would like to speak to an ambassador or something; find out if they know anything and then go from there,” I say calmly.

“What makes you think they’d help you? Their entire system is built on killing us.”

“Exactly, and they love having that control. Now someone is taking it away. I plan to appeal to their narcissism,” I say as I lean back against my desk.

“You’re making a huge mistake, iubi,” he says darkly before walking out of my office and slamming the door behind him.

I take in a deep breath and lean my head back, staring up at the cobwebs on my ceiling. “I hope you’re wrong.”

I lug my groceries over to my car and set them down on the ground while I fish my keys out of my pocket. Once I  open the trunk, I load in all my groceries. Silas has been eating me out of house and home, so I needed to go and get some supplies, but mostly I just needed a break from him and his constant glowering at me and silent treatment. The man is acting like a fucking child and driving me absolutely insane, not to mention taking over my space. I was going to ask him to go and stay at a hotel and give me my apartment and hot water back, but when I went to kick him out I found him asleep in his bed completely naked with the sheets off. I ended up getting distracted and forgot what I was in there for. He probably did that on purpose, reh maláka.

I finally get all the groceries squeezed into the trunk and slam it shut, rotating my shoulder as I feel a twinge of pain radiating through my shoulder blade; a constant reminder of the worst date ever. As I turn to make my way around the car, a 5’9” man with short dark blonde windblown hair and a vacant expression on his unassuming face, blocks my way. He’s got sun-kissed skin and is wearing a thin white sweater with grey slacks and white loafers. I go to step around him, but he steps in front of me, irritating me.

“Signomi,” I say politely as I attempt to step around him again, but again he blocks my path.

Fed up with this kólos, I turn around to walk around the other side of my car, only to find another guy standing at the rear of my car, also blocking me. This one is about 5’7” with messy dark brown hair, rigid posture like something crawled up his ass and refuses to leave and is wearing a grey and orange pin-stripe button down with rolled up sleeves, grey slacks with an ironed seem down the front and white tennis shoes. He’s as unassuming as the other guy, except this one bears a striking resemblance to Ted Bundy, which isn’t a good thing.

“I am in no mood for bullshit right now, so it would be in both your best interests to walk away,” I say coldly.

“Miss Aconite, we’d like you to come with us,” announces the blonde from behind me.

I freeze at the sound of my alias and immediately realise this isn’t a simple case of street thugs or guys who can’t take no for an answer. I slowly turn around to face the blonde, while maintaining my composure.

“Might I know what this is regarding?” I calmly ask. The blonde silently walks over to the burgundy 1985 Mercedes-Benz 500SEL parked behind my car and opens the backseat door, indicating for me to get in. I quirk my eyebrow at him. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s unwise to get into cars with strangers?”

He says nothing. Not so much as a twitch on his face. I glance behind me to see the brunette stepping uncomfortably close, and I realise my sarcastic quips aren’t going to do me any good right now, so I resign myself to my fate. Keeping my composure, I walk over and slide into the back of the car. The blonde slides into the backseat beside me and shuts the door while the brunette gets into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the car.

Movement to my right has me turning my attention to the blonde beside me as he holds out a black satchel.

“Put this on,” he instructs.

“I appreciate that you’re all for protection, but usually wrapping up is the man’s job,” I say facetiously. Again he just stares at me unperturbed while he keeps the satchel held out to me. I roll my eyes. “Well, I can see this is going to be a fun ride,” I say sarcastically as I take the satchel and put it over my head.

The moment the bag is on, I’m bathed in darkness. The car starts up and we take off. I count us driving for 2 minutes when I feel the car pick up speed and suddenly I’m thrown against the door of the car hitting my still-healing head against the glass making me groan as the car begins to spin out of control. I can’t feel the other guy slide into me, so he must have been fast enough to hold onto something. The car continues to spin, and with this bag on my head making me disoriented, I have a strong urge to vomit.

The car eventually stops, straightens up, and then slowly starts driving again like nothing ever happened. Both men have remained completely silent the entire time and weren’t even fazed by what happened, which can only mean they did it on purpose. I now realise it was probably an evasion tactic. Getting me spun around so I have no idea what direction we’re now going from my car, so I have no way of retracing my steps. I might get lucky and hear something familiar that is specific to one singular location, but that’s now unlikely because they’ve turned on the radio and turned the music up high to drown out any outside noise. On the bright side, the song playing is Ta Koritsia Ine Atakta by Anna Vissi, so I’m not complaining. Not the song I thought I might die to.

I don’t bother counting how long we’ve been driving; it would just be a waste of time. So instead, I focus on keeping my breath even and my senses alert. I don’t know who these men are or what they want, and given recent events, them knowing my alias doesn’t bring me comfort. Do they want to kill me or hire me? Work with me or silence me? I could drive myself mad just thinking over the possible outcomes, so it’s best to just sit back and play this by ear but remain vigilant.

Eventually, the car comes to a stop, and I hear the man beside me open the car door and step out. I sense him reach inside and grab me by the wrist with a hand that is in desperate need of some exfoliation and moisturiser. Blugh. Nobody should be touching anybody with crusty hands like that. Shouldn’t he be busy hosting Tales From The Crypt with those dry-ass hands?

With his guidance, I slide out of the car and hear him shut the door behind me. I can hear the sound of waves and can smell the distinct smell of the ocean. I can even hear the sound of people frolicking about. It sounds like we’re at the beach, but which, I can’t be sure. The man guides me past the car, where I can feel the heat of the engine against my bare legs as we pass it while my shoes sink into what is definitely sand. After a few feet, we come to a stop, and he removes the satchel from my head and steps back. My eyes adjust and I immediately suppress a gulp when I register the man standing in front of me.