Page 7 of Wicked Dove
Glancing around the room in panic, nothing seems any different, yet it feels worlds apart. The fallen chairs remain untouched, the scattered cash litters the floor, but the lifeless bodies are gone. It’s the atmosphere, the air around me. It’s thick, suffocating, and I can barely breathe.
“Where. Is. Walker?” I repeat through clenched teeth, but the man standing closest to me doesn’t waver. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, assessing me.
“Miss Blackwood?”
I huff. “Yes, now answer me. Where is Walker?” I hiss, tightening my arms around my middle as a dark sneer curls his lips, filling me with a dread that churns my stomach.
“If you think we’re here to help you, you’re truly mistaken, Miss Blackwood.”
“You can just call me Elodie, you know,” I mutter, hoping to diffuse the air of arrogance coming from him, but if anything, the glint in his eyes deepens with a burning touch of superiority.
“That would imply that this isn’t official business,” he states, dusting away some invisible lint on his lapels.
“Official business?” I repeat, my eyebrows knitting in confusion, and he raises a brow at me.
“You killed a man.”
“I…”
Regret, confusion, fear, and disbelief course through me. Tears threaten to prick the back of my eyelids, but I remember what Walker told me:Don’t admit to anything, and don’t let your emotions get the better of you; otherwise, they’ll know, and once they know, you’re done.
The memory of his words, along with the fact that he’s nowhere to be seen, makes his more familiar saying float to the forefront of my mind.
Power is forged in ruin.
This is a clear example of that. I swallow my emotions and keep my mouth shut, refusing to answer in an effort to boost my invisible strength. Meanwhile, the guy in a brown leather jacket behind the initial jerk smirks.
“Your silence is answer enough.”
Before I get a chance to defend myself, the guy next to him grunts as his nostrils flare. “Fuck all of this nonsense, she confirmed who she is. This needs to go to the interrogation office.”
“Interrogation office. Am I being arrested?” I blurt out, a chill running down my spine. This is definitely going to change my life. Not at all how I intended it to go, but it seems I’m not in control of my future right now.
From here, they would take me to Westmount Police Station. I should know, I’ve seen it a thousand times with my father. I’ve spent enough time sleeping in the waiting area to know the entire place with my eyes closed.
“Someone catch her up to speed, I have no time for this,” the same guy snaps, cutting through my thoughts, still not confirming whether I’m under arrest or not.
Irritation floods my body as I force myself to stand, still using the wall behind me for balance.
“How about we skip the part where you catch me up to speed, someone lends me a jacket, and I go home instead,” I suggest, feeling much bolder than I realize I am inside.
Mr. Brown Jacket scoffs at me in the most condescending way I’ve ever heard, which is impressive considering the number of times I’ve been on the receiving end of condescension.
“You’re not going home, Elodie Blackwood,” he explains slowly to make sure I understand, but it still feels like he’s lying.
“I’m not?”
“But you’re not being arrested either,” the first guy says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not?” I repeat, even more confused.
“It’s worse. Far worse,” the third guy says with a snicker, looking up at the ceiling with a hint of amusement on his face.
The churning in my gut intensifies as I clear my throat, shifting from foot to foot while the air begins to grow colder around me. “What’s worse than being arrested?”
All eyes suddenly turn to me, intensifying the dread in my gut.
“You’re about to find out,” the brown jacket guy states, blurring before me in the blink of an eye, appearing right in front of my face a moment later.
