The Ghost and the Shadow

Chapter 58 - No Deal

I gradually wake up, my surroundings slowly coming into focus. I find myself lying on the cold, hard floor, they could've at least given me a pillow or something.

Come to think of it, they never gave Valeria anything either. When Shadow Company took control, she was at least given a bed. It's ironic how we, the ones labelled as ruthless, are the ones who show compassion.

After lying there for a while, I summon the strength to sit up, my back finding support against the wall. My wrists ache from the tightness of the zip ties, cutting into my skin, and the knife wounds on my body throb relentlessly, as if they're engulfed in flames. I can already sense the impending infection.

Outside the small room, I hear footsteps passing by, accompanied by laughter and voices engaged in conversation. Lost in my thoughts, I fix my gaze on the ceiling.

Suddenly, the door unlocks and swings open. I expect to see Ghost, but it's one of Alejandro's men. He pays me no heed, carelessly placing a plate of food on the ground, nudging it towards me with his shoe and leaving a trail of dust. The lingering resentment among Los Vaqueros is evident.

"Thanks for that," I yell after him as the door slams shut, punctuating it with a muttered, "Asshole."

I turn my attention to the plate of food, wondering what I'm even looking at – some mix of meat and beans with a slice of bread. I'd rather endure the mess hall's watery and rubbery eggs than touch whatever stands before me.

After pushing the plate of dust-covered food to the corner opposite me, I get up stretching my legs and pacing up and down in the confines of the small room.

Eyeing the boarded-up window, I try to think of ways I can escape through it. I've tried pushing the wood out and threw all my weight into it, but its solid wood bolted into the walls. I consider kicking it, but I know it won't work and I'll only end up hurting myself.

I squint through the door lock, thinking of ways to unlock it. I could break the plate and try using a sharp edge to pick the lock, but I'm not too sure it'll actually work. Or I could go for the less classy move—smash the plate over the next person's head who enters the room. It's not the most brilliant plan, but it might buy me some time to grab a weapon.

After hours of not seeing or hearing from anyone, I slump onto the floor, pulling my knees close and resting my head on my arms. How did I end up in this mess? Sure, Graves could've handled it better, but I dropped the ball too – I got too wrapped up in other things when I should've been trying to think of solutions.

When the door unlocks again, my reflexes kick in and I jump to my feet, ready to use the plate on whoever enters. The plan halts when Pixie's familiar curls come into view, and her sympathetic expression stops me in my tracks.

I stand there awkwardly, plate in hand, as she glances down at it, piecing together my intentions. With a soft sigh, she extends her hand, silently asking for the plate. I pass it over, retreating to the wall and settling back down.

After she disposes of the plate, she crouches down in front of me and reaches around, pulling out her knife. She swiftly cuts through the zip ties around my wrists, providing a welcome release from the painful constriction. The fresh cuts sting, and I rub my fingers over it for relief, not even caring if it gets infected, "Thank you, my friend," I murmur, and she nods in acknowledgement.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly, "Do you need anything, or do you need to use the restroom?"

I shake my head, "No, I'm fine, thanks, Pix."

Her face carries a tinge of sadness, and she looks away from me, her eyes focused on the ground.

"Where's everyone, it's been awfully quiet?" I ask.