A Few Hundred Poppies

24. Samar & I

My blood running cold, I gingerly raised my arms as instructed, exchanging a terrified look with West. Romeo's dashboard had started to ping manically with messages from Doc, but viewing them was out of the question now.

We stepped out of the car on shaky legs. The two black-clad men pointing the guns at our heads had pale skin and monolidded eyes, and their accent was glaringly Asian when they commanded us to move forward.

I noticed West's strides becoming steadier with each step while mine turned more rickety. Inching closer to me, he interlaced his fingers with mine, whispering, "Don't worry, they won't dream of hurting us, they're- they're my mother's men."

I gripped West's hand with fierce force, glad that the men holding us hostage didn't mind. Although it was evident by the conviction in his voice that he knew what he was talking about, West's words had little impact on the chemical reactions raging on inside my head - how I didn't vomit then was a mystery.

As we were forced across the deserted deck inside, a somewhat gratifying blast of warm air hit us. Among the multitudes of black-clad men and women milling about, nobody spared us a second glance. The inside dripped with grandeur, a noteworthy trio of gorgeous chandeliers glinting overhead. The two of us were harshly shoved into a cabin whose walls were littered with computer screens.

The man in front of us wore a prim police uniform that sagged in places because of his frail health. His grim gaze shifted from West to me, and my jaw fell slack with betrayal. "Mr. Fuller?" I muttered, my voice faltering at the sight of our neighbour. I was incredulous - this very man had visited my house every other day and reassured me that Ma would be okay...what a fucked up little world.

The man wordlessly motioned for us to follow him. The gun nudging at my neck, I shakily walked behind him with West beside me, a horrible feeling gnawing at my insides. This time, we were led to a large hall, and you know what, I guess even Benedict Cumberbatch's centaur doppleganger in the flesh wouldn't have surprised me as much as the guy in the room.

"Hello, son," a rasp voiced lady, her slender figure dressed in a gorgeous purple dress, said with an unsettling monotonousness as we walked in, making West glare at her with all his might.

I, on the other hand, was far beyond hurt to glare. "What the actual fuck?" I whispered, shaking my head with sheer disbelief. "Doc?"

Dr. Amiruddin was quick to cover up the paleness of his cheeks. He adjusted his cufflinks like he often did when anxious, visibly holding back a sigh as he stepped forward. "Do you know the girl, doctor?" West's mother now fixed Doc with a challenging look, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of her ruby red lips. Doc nodded affirmatively.

"She's the Professor's daughter, ma'am," he said, the hint of hesitation in his voice disappearing with each word he spoke.

"And do you hold any affection for your 'best friend's daughter?" the lady quipped, looking very amused by the situation. When Doc laughed uneasily, denying any affiliation with yours truly, she produced a shiny silver gun from the folds of her dress and tossed it to him. Doc caught it in his palms, slipping forward awkwardly. "Prove it."

I could sense West tense up beside me as much as myself, but the action was too swift for me to react. Doc stared at the carpeted floor of the ship for a split second before raising the gun, aiming it at me and firing a silenced bullet.

"Shit," I gasped, incredulous, a searing pain shooting across my arm. I looked to the wound in complete horror to realise that the bullet had grazed my skin and cherry red droplets of blood were rising up.

"What the hell, Omma?!" West yelled, shell-shocked, rushing sideways to me.

"You can call me Miss Huang, remember?" West's mother gave us both a tight-lipped smile as I stared speechless at Doc, who shrugged innocently before returning the gun to the mafia lady. "Shuan, lock them up, my son West shall be dealt with later."