𝐍𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘, 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 - kiara carrera²

𝒙𝒍𝒊. 𝒓𝒂𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍

"I DON'T SEE SHIT."

Tatum Quinn could not lift a single part of her body. Paralysed by all the drugs in her system, she weighed down and slumped on the wheelchair pushed by her charming mother. She had a choice. She could've became all she ever wanted to be. She could've became the exact monster her father raised her to be.

But she said no. She said no because all though every part of her ached to do terrible things, to tear people apart limb by limb, she now knew the difference between right and wrong. And all though it made her feel better than she ever had, she knew murder was wrong.

She said no because she knew Kiara Carrera wouldn't be able to take her back if she said yes. She wouldn't be able to take her back if she completely lost her mind this time.

Saying no landed her here. Until she agreed to become Carla Limbrey's personal assassin, she would become her very own rag doll. Pushed around on wheels, unable to fight back, unable to move, unable to run. Drugged until she seized, losing any contact she had with her muscles, losing any contact she had with her organs, losing any contact she had with her bones. Her mind and her body were so distant they refused to connect anymore.

In only a night, Tatum Quinn had turned into the one thing nobody would've ever expected her to be. Somebody's doll.

But her friends did see her. From behind the bushes, they all seen her. John B, JJ, Pope, Kie, Cameron, Sarah - they were all there, and they were all shocked into silence.

The second Kiara Carrera laid eyes on her girlfriend, she jumped forwards because, even wounded, Kie would do whatever it took to bring her girl home, with her, where she belonged.

John B yanked her back by her good arm before she could do anything stupid, though his face told all the others he wanted to do exactly what she was about to.

Usually, if a distant noise was heard, Tatum's eyes and head would snap towards it straight away, completely distracting her from whatever task she was doing at the moment. However, at the sound of the rustling bushes, she stayed. Her head didn't so much as nod. She could not move.

"You sure this is the right spot?" asked Rafe, a shovel in his hand as the construction workers tore down the grave below them.

"It's there," Limbrey assured him confidently, her frail, old hands resting on her daughter's wheelchair to keep her upright without her crutch. "The garment will be in the cross, and the cross will be at the foot of the tree."

"All right, well, whatever we find, I get my cut," said Renfield, his only focus being the fortune coming out of it. He didn't care for his half-sister's illness, he didn't care if she'd die - all he wanted was the money.

"The actual garment," she pressed on, almost feeling the life in her body again at the thought of the magical healing fabric. "You understand the significance."

"I do, Carla. Completely."

"One touch of it, and I'll healed, and this long nightmare will be over."

"Your lips to God's ears."

Tatum watched the two of them talk, the only parts of her body able to move being those gunmetal blue orbs of hers. Though she couldn't speak, though she couldn't stand, she could still understand. It wasn't a thing she had ever really been good at, but at this time, it was the only thing she could do.

The previous night, she fell asleep to the sickly flowing of drugs through a tube in her arm, to the sweats and the shakes as her own body couldn't process all the crap forcing itself into it, to the story of how Carla Limbrey fell sick.