Kingsman: The Devil's Gamble

Chapter Ten

Of course, the war against Balor was all I could even think clearly about. It's been running through my head ever since I first got involved in it two years ago. Balor Devlin is the baddest, most dangerous monster I've ever had the displeasure of encountering, and he somehow succeeded in getting in my head. I mean, he's only in my head because I know what he's capable of. He's capable of plenty of awful things, most of them being large-scale.

He wants to instill fear wherever he walks.

But in all of his attempts to draw out the fear that I have against him, he has failed multiple times. I'll admit it. I'll admit the fact that I am scared to death of Balor and what he's capable of doing. He's the most dangerous person I've ever come face-to-face with, but I'm not going to show my fear toward him. That would only amplify the fact that he's winning this fight.

That is definitely not going to happen! Not on my watch!

Meanwhile, Whiskey and I had finally arrived at our suite, and it surely did not disappoint. Our suite was so spacious that it could possibly fit a small family. A small, rich family, that is. All the amenities—all the items that were inside this very suite—most likely cost more than me and my twin's births combined! It seems like only rich, aristocratic assholes could afford staying here for an ungodly amount of time.

And lucky for Whiskey and I, we're able to stay here until we have to flee dastardly Balor again.

"You're sure you were able to pay for us to stay here?" I asked. "I mean, it's so huge and grand and—and wonderful."

Whiskey chuckled. "Yes, sugar. I'm absolutely sure. You wanna know how I'm absolutely sure? Well, I'm the one who put my card into the thinga-ma-bob to pay for it!"

"Thinga-ma-bob?" I questioned incredulously.

"Yeah. The thingy that reads the credit cards—that thingy—oh! Never mind!" Whiskey answered.

I laughed as I flopped onto a big sectional couch that was made out of brown leather. Surprisingly, it was very comfy. So comfy that I most likely could fall asleep on it.

"Whiskey, you gotta check this couch out! It's so comfy," I said out loud.

One of Whiskey's eyebrows arched upward. "Really?"

"You would think that leather would be kinda sticky and not very comfortable, but it is, Whiskey!" I claimed. "It's almost like sleepin' on a cloud. A white, fluffy-as-fuck cloud."

"Fluffy-as-fuck cloud? That's a new one," he said. "I'll have to keep that one in mind."

I shrugged. "Well, I told the truth, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You did—and I'm proud of you for that," he answered. "Honesty is the best policy. And I'd much rather you be honest with me than not. Then, we won't get ourselves in a bigger shithole than we're in right now."

"Glad we recognize the same thing," I said depressingly.

"Recognize what?" Whiskey asked.

I sighed. "That we're in a huge shithole."

"Well, it's the truth," he said. "We're in a big shithole. Have been for a while now, and if we don't get out soon, then we're pretty much fucked."

I nodded solemnly. "I know," I responded simply.

He gently held my face within his hands, looking deep into my eyes as per usual. "But don't you worry, Rocky. We'll get through it. We're gonna win this war."

I smiled just slightly. I had just the slightest hope that we'd win, but in this dark era where Whiskey and I are on the run, I've lost some of the hope I used to have. I guess that's the way people think. They hold out as much hope as they can in the beginning, and once the dark of the tunnel starts to collapse onto them, they think there's no hope in sight.