MoboReader> Adventure > Damsel[ed] No Rescue Required

   Chapter 16

Damsel[ed] No Rescue Required By m i c h e l l e p a k Characters: 11059

Updated: 2017-12-12 12:04


Gatsby.

It turns out villain politics are much more complicated than I thought.

I find this all out, of course, immobilized on the floor of Owl“s lair. She and Rose banter, the two stand just on the edge of my vision, shadowy figures in my peripherals. Rose grips her glowing bat, the red light plunging the room into a hellish glow that just illuminates the wicked gleam in Owl“s eye.

"I seized your territory," says Owl. "You serve me, now. I think “henchman“ is a very befitting title."

"Watch what you say, woman," growls Rose, slapping the inside of her hand with the blunt of her bat. "You don“t understand how little power you have. You can rally an army, but people follow your ideas, not you." She leans in. "If I murdered you right here and now, very few people would notice your absence."

"Is that so?" Owl arches an eyebrow. "You ought to watch what you say. More people I know have gone missing than I can count."

I roll on my side. The knelt henchmen aren“t looking at me, they“re watching the scene. I hook my claws under my roped wrists. It“s pretty uncomfortable, my fingers and arms aching from the effort. The hacking takes a while, the fibers pretty thick. I squirm, but no one seems to notice.

Rose throws back her head, her long blonde hair cascading down her neck. She looks rather young, maybe even in her twenties. Owl looks pretty youthful too, all bright eyes and smooth skin, which she shouldn“t. She“s the head of an evil organization, and technically, Angel“s mother.

If fairy-tales taught me anything, it“s that evil people are ugly. Sallow skin, sunken in eyes, voices like knives scraping cutlery. But the people here--these horrible people that experiment on children and destroy lives--are beautiful.

"Is that a threat?" Rose asks, but my eyes are on Owl. Draped in white, a dove as her companion instead of a raven, she looks like the very opposite of Maleficent.

Owl shrugs. "If you make it so. Know your place, Rose."

I prop myself on my elbow. Strands of rope unravel on my claws, the knots pulled tighter around my burning wrists. I clench my jaw, staring up at the ceiling. This place is unsettling. The office is too bland, the people too pretty, and the scent of blood in the air like a damnation to death itself. I just want to leave. I“m tired of being a playing piece in everyone“s game. And frankly, being a prisoner sucks.

I slash again, hacking through the the ropes after several awkward tries. My heart flutters. I tug my wrists out and the restraints fall away. Grinning, I mentally punch my fist into the air. The other villains haven“t even noticed me. The door, though guarded, is in sight. I can make it if I move fast enough.

Owl points her chin to the ceiling and says something I don“t quite catch. Her dove coos, the trapped thing still watching me. I shudder under its beady little gaze. Rose seethes, her face redder than a cardinal“s feathers. "You!" the blonde woman shrieks. I curl my knees to my chest, sure no one is watching me, and rip up the ropes around my ankles. No movement from the henchmen, not a twitch.

The woman swings her bat, the movement so unexpected Owl barely scrambles out of range in time. Just watching the two adrenalizes me. The knelt henchmen spring to their feet in a clumsy attent

ll has it, they“ll shoot me in the back or the leg or the head or something.

I hurl myself at the hooded person. They aim off to the side, firing a warning shot. I grab at their gun and we roll. Over and over, over and over. I squeeze my hand on its muzzle, slashing to get it away from them.

And then it fires again. I don“t realize it, not at first, because of my shot hearing. But then I do. I do because of the blood spewing from the side of my face and the burst of stars in front of my eyes. I can“t even scream. I just drop, clutching my hands over the groove where the bullet carved out part of my cheek.

The pain, Lord, it“s like Chuck Norris & Company slapped me in the face. Owl and her henchmen trot over, chuckling at me. "Help," I squeak. I don“t know what to do. The blood is running faster, and the pain consumes me, raging and hot. I don“t want to die. I can“t see Heaven if I“m dead. Owl looks down at me for a long moment, as if contemplating whether she should let me bleed to death. "Please," I add, and her eyes light up with a cold gleam. She smirks and swoops down, plucking me off the ground with all the grace and strength of a ballerina. It“s awful.

My hearing phases in and out, tears of pain welling in my eyes.

"Silly boy," Owl says. "My organization created you. You belong to me."

I“m trembling now. I want say something witty, something smart, but I can“t. A chunk of my face is missing. The thought of that alone sends any sassy comebacks crawling back to where they came from. I just shoot her a glare, my cupped hands filling with my own blood.

She whisks me through the garage, ordering her henchmen to find something to do as she drapes me over her arms like a sheet of fabric. I“m getting dizzy. I need help. "No," I say, my voice hollow. "I don“t belong to anyone. Y-You can hold me here, but I“m not your property. I didn“t ask you to turn me into a flipping cat." It hurts to speak at all. My heart aches. "I want to go home. Ma“am, please let me go home."

"I will not." There is no remorse in her voice, not a twinge. "You will learn to appreciate me," she adds softly, and in the deep recesses of my mind I realize she“s quoting Jabba the Hutt.

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