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Never experience it again.
“Warren.”
“Non-negotiable, Verena.”
Verena.
V for short.
The code name I use to give me some sort of empowerment over my life that’s far from ‘empowering.’
Can’t give power to a fucking puppet.
Yet I enjoy the irony of carrying a name whose rooted meaning revolves around ‘to be feared’ and ‘to respect.’ A shame I can never be in a position to make the rooted meanings a reality.
Not in this lifetime.
“Then let us not delay,” I try to say with a smile, but who the fuck am I kidding? With my resting bitch face, I can only attemptto hide the dooming feeling consuming me with every second that passes.
“Should I prepare a car?”
“No.” That’s a privilege I don’t deserve. “I’ll head there on my own.”
“Very well.”
He’s going to follow my every move, anyway.
“Warren?”
He doesn’t answer.
My next question makes me fear my future. Not around what will be asked of me, but whether I’ll be venturing into this shit fuckery all on my own, or he may potentially continue his employment.
“Will today be…”
Our last together?
“No.”
He sounds so sure, I have to look at him one more time. Drill my cunning eyes into his that enjoy reflecting nothing but a void of emotion.
“No,” he repeats.
“You won’t be allowed to follow me if it’s the Kings’ way.”
Sick fuckers who believe they’re gods in comparison to me. A poor peasant born out of wedlock and tossed.
I know he won’t reply to me, so I stuff my gloves into my training bag and lift it over my shoulder.
“See you at the mansion of hell.”
I’m almost at the door when I barely catch his words.
“You’re mine to protect, V. That’s a promise I’ll keep.”
If only it was that simple.
No one has a say when you’re a sacrificial lamb in a den of carnage.
