Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐙𝐄𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐉𝐄𝐓, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄
ELEANOR
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
'Where the hell am I?'
Sasha, the woman who worked under Zeke, was a little blonde bitch. With her snarky attitude which was much like mine and sinister laughter, the only thing that was keeping me from strangling her pretty little neck was because she gave me her clothes to wear. The room those bastards locked me in had no windows at all, but every now and then, we'd have pit stops in different states around the world. Sasha was probably the only woman on the deck or wherever, it was either Zeke or Sasha who always paid me a visit.
Sasha narrowed her cat-like eyes, leaning forward with her hands over her knees. She was settled on her chair, playing a game on her phone as if to tease me about that being my way out, in front of me but out of reach. 'Are you seriously that stupid that you can't make out where we are?'
'I feel my ears pop every time I swallow so I assume we're on a plane,' I guessed, playing with the cuff on my wrist. Zeke had specifically wanted me restrained to the bed frame, the only piece of furniture on this god horrid cabin. The bathroom was across the door and I had to take a piss with someone else's permission.
'So why'd you ask the question?'
'Small talk,' I murmured, piercing my nail between the keyhole of the cuffs. The jingled with my every movement, the sounds seeming loud even with the cabin pressure around us. The leather chair Sasha was seated upon squelched again when she leaned back, paying attention to her phone.
'What happened after I left?' I dared to ask, knowing there had to be some story that took place after. I ought to know what chaos he started to breed. Sasha lifted her gaze once again, rolling her eyes.
'Your man killed his father a year after you vanished from England,' she established. 'It drove him mad. You know the Stanes, they hate to lose. He lost you and lost his father. So you can see what state he's in.'
'It's been four years,' I said, shaking my head. 'His father aped Tony's designs, developed some sort of a death suit and tried to kill him with it. What has Zeke got to do with any of this?'
'He loved his father,' she stated, tossing her phone on the couch and rising to her full height. She was shorter than I was but more built than me. 'His father bred a boy who won. When you left, he was on the edge—'
I snorted. 'Because he lost me?'
She shrugged. 'More or less.'
'That man ruined my life,' I spat. 'I ran away from my country because of that son of a bitch. He threatened to kill my mother if I took that offer to study in the States. He shot my friend,' I choked, not willing to evoke dreary memories, 'what sort of a sick bastard does that?'
