Heiress in Distress

•Chapter 34•

•Word count: 2,222 

The satisfying thud that hits my ears as my fist connects with the leather has the punching bag swaying back, followed by the twinkling of the heavy chain that suspends it from the ceiling.

When it comes swinging back to me, I'm quick to welcome it with another uppercut. My chest rises and falls in quick labored breaths.

Armin walks over, his iPad in hand, "It says here that these men have secured themselves minor businesses in the neighboring countries; namely France, Switzerland and Belgium,"

Another punch sends the bag flying haphazardly to the back.

"In order to duck away from all accusative fingers pointing at them, they started their small businesses somewhere near their country of origin, Germany,"

Hands numbed, I lean back to deliver a heel hook kick, suddenly envisioning the punching bag to be something else –someone else.

"You wanna go easy on that thing..." Armin says.

"What did you find in my father's diary?"

Among my father's possessions, we found a journal, dedicated solely to this cause –bringing the traitors in the BND down by exposing them. Armin and I have been busying our hands with digging through my father's office, stumbling into this place, my parents' training facility, by chance. 

Sometimes, curiosity is a blessing.

From the periphery of my vision, I notice his shaking his head and disappearing back into my father's office. I take the chance to move to something different, grabbing my mother's bow and quiver and aiming the first arrow at the target's bullseye.

As per usual, it hits somewhere off the target all together and it brings a new surge of anger. I begin shooting arrows one after the other, all hitting areas around the target but never the bullseye. When I'm out of breath and arrows, I drop the bow to lean forward on my knees to catch my breath.

That's when the presence registers. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

A bead of sweat slides down my jaw and rests on my chin, but I catch it with the back of my hand before it drops. I take another deep breath before standing upright.

I point with my nose to the book in Armin's hands, "What did you find in there?"

His eyes drop to his hands, then to me, to the bow on the ground, the arrow-ridden target and finally back to me, "the book can wait," he says, walking over and placing the book on a nearby table.

He stands before me, cracks his digits and his neck, rolls his shoulders and rubs his palms together.

"Go ahead," he urges.

I blink at him, "What?"

"Go ahead, tell me what's wrong. I'm a great listener,"

I shake my head in frustration and grab the book from the table, flipping through it. My slightly distracted mind catches nothing.

Armin sighs, "You know, there's no use doing what you're doing,"

I shut the book and hold it up for him, "So it holds absolutely no significance to us?"

He points at me, "see? That's exactly what I'm talking about," he walks to the nearest chair and sits down, "You're refusing to address the most crucial matters-"

"There's no such-"

"Let me finish," he says firmly, shutting me up. "Just because you're pretending something doesn't exist doesn't mean it actually doesn't exist. See that hole right there?" he points at the wall behind me and when I turn, sure enough, there's a small hole in the middle. I wonder what brought it there.