FALLEN ANGEL ➵ DARYL DIXON [1] ✓

Chapter Forty-Seven: Tantamount Gold

Chapter 47

All that's left is a little sip of the cold amber whiskey, Lance titling his chin up to get the last droplet of flavour on his taste buds. He meets eyes with The Governor as he sets the round, wide glass down with a bang, his offer still buzzing around his head like an angry nest of disturbed hornets. One of Lance's eyes is suddenly covered by a dark shadow casting over, mirroring The Governor's eye patch he has strapped on.

"If I gave you Kendra, how would I know you'll keep your word? That you'll stop?" Lance asks, the last thing he'd be doing and letting The Governor rule over him. But he wants to challenge him, wrestle him down to the mud to see what he can get out of him.

The Governor leans in, Lance not looking at him dead in his only eye.

"You can have anything you want," he says, his voice croaky and deep. "I told you, I don't care about you. You think about it."

Lance shakes his head slightly, knowing that this isn't an option. He couldn't just hand Kendra over like she was nothing more of his sick plan. Lance knows if he did give Kendra over, betray her, betray everyone, he would (without a doubt) kill her instantly for what she did to him.

Kendra is his friend. And friends don't go behind each others backs.

When Lance doesn't reply, The Governor speaks.

"Two days."

Lance's blood runs cold.

"Two days, Lance. Go home and think about it. I'll be here at noon."

How is this happening? How did he get here?

The Governor gives a small nod, and strides over to the door. He opens it, a strong gust of wind rattling and making a wind chime ring out it's melody inside the cabin. He's holding the door open for Lance. What a lick ass.

He sighs, getting up and walking past the man that smells of gore. The sun kissed sky looks elegant, the anthesis of what Lance is feeling inside. How long was he even in that damn cabin?

"About time," Kenny huffs, heaving himself up of the ground, tapping Daryl on his shoulder who has just sparked a light with Martinez.

Lance doesn't reply. In fact, no one replies, Martinez giving a quick nod to Daryl, his way of saying goodbye, and hopping into the truck again. Henri smiles and waves over to Daryl, him returning the smile, but not as big and luscious.

The two different groups goes in different directions, The Governor's to the left, and Lance's to the right, driving down the road and Daryl chucking out his smoke out of the window he has just screwed down, not bothering with it anymore.

Daryl looks out of the back window, looking up to see one tiny sparkling silver star beside an equally silver cresent moon. If Kendra was with him, she'd make an impressive poem out of this. He knows her too well. When she writes her heart out, when the pen is going over one hundred miles an hour, he can't help but to gaze in awe. Now, he gives his hidden fears over to his favourite time of day: the ending.

But somehow, as his aqua eyes squint, he knows this isn't the ending. Far from it.

🔸🔸🔸

When Kenny pulls up the drive, all Lance wants to do is sleep. But him and sleep has fallen out; distant old friends. And it'll be a while before they can forgive eachother.

When Kenny is inside, he parks the mint jeep around the back, Fava still awake with a piece of blank white paper.

Daryl yawns and stretches, throwing and forcing himself out of the vehicle to see what Fava is up to while the other two men head inside to catch some sleep. Daryl taps gently on her pale shoulder with one of his arrows, Fava tensing up and suddenly holding on tightly to her wrist.