VICIOUS

What have I done? (63.)

I have to get out of here. Go back to the penthouse and call Thomas. Or Matthew. Or Drew. Oh, for fucks sake, I'd call anyone, just to get out of here. Coming here was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake.

I slowly get up and raise my hands. ''I don't know what's going on with you, but this is not what I came for,'' I say. ''I'm willing to help you, as long as you help me too.''

He turns around, aiming the gun he's holding my way. I raise my hands higher in the air. His finger pulls the trigger and I duck to the floor. 

''What the fuck!'' I yell. Not only in anger, but also in fear. He's gone crazy. 

His footsteps tell me that he's coming my way. I try to steady my breath. I wasn't prepared for this, except for the dagger I'm carrying with me. 

I crawl to the side of the desk, the side that faces the window. He fires again. With my right hand, I take out the dagger from underneath the pair of sweatpants. I have two options: kill him or try to get out of here. If I choose for the second option, I have to make sure that he's out of bullets. Unfortunately, both options could take a lot of time, before I have him under control. 

''The only way you can help me is by loving me,'' He says. 

It's like I'm part of a badly written love story. Like a badly written enemies to lovers trope. However, love has nothing to do with what the fuck is going on at the moment. He wants me, which is pretty clear, but all of his other bullshit is just him trying to manipulate me by feeling bad for him, simply because I don't want him the way he wants me. I mean, yes, the two of us could be a power couple and yes, I may have fantasized about the world being at my feet if Brandon and I work together. But I realized quickly that it's wrong. He's my enemy after all. 

He was the one who took Ben. He was the one who bombed Vicious twice. The only thing I did to him is taking Louise's life. The rest is his fault.

Brandon pulls the trigger twice, but somehow he manages to miss me every single time. I don't know how many bullets fit into the gun he's holding, but four are already gone. Distract him, make him shoot again. Easy as that. 

I stumble behind his desk, my knees hitting the floor. 

''You can't escape me, Taylor,'' He says. "Ben tried as well. You should've heard him beg and shout. So desperate to get out of here."  

Oh, I assure you, I can. Brandon should stop underestimating me. And he should stop bringing up Ben's death.

"I came here to talk about the future," I say. "And all you can do is bring up the past. I don't know why you keep bringing up Louise and Ben, but they're dead, okay? That's our own fault and I'm not here to talk about them."

And I also don't understand why he lied about Louise, but that's a story for another time.

I sit on my knees behind his desk, his chair in front of me. I grab the chair and throw it in Brandon's direction with all my strength. The bottle of whiskey falls over and the liquid covers the desk. The seat hits Brandon and the gun falls out of his hands. I quickly get up, ready to run away. 

It sucks that I have to go upstairs first to get my stuff. But I have to get my car keys and phone. 

Brandon groans and throws the chair off of his chest. Without looking at me, he gets up. ''Fucking bitch,'' He mumbles and he spits out some blood. 

Here we are. Two figures standing in front of each other, looking like they're about to kill one another. Just because one of them refuses to admit her actual feelings.