Page 72 of Equilibrium
Okay, we were back to one-word answers, and I thought I was the one with the personality that resembled a walking bipolar disorder. His much-longer legs were eating the ground while I struggled to keep up with him. I wasn’t sure if he was pissed off at me or if this was just his general mood when he couldn’t get everything he wanted, but I’d be happy to poke the bear a little bit more.
I kind of liked seeing him all riled up and angry. It did something to me. If you told me a few years back that the whole possessive demeanor would almost rock my panties off, I wouldn’t believe you.
“So, where is it?” I asked again as we finally reached our room. He opened the door with his elbow, not even sparing me a glance. Unlike before, the room was illuminated now and on top of the rumpled bed was a black, square suitcase, with their insignia on top of it.
“What is this?”
He dropped my bags next to the wardrobe before he turned back to me. “It’s for you.”
“Me?” See, I could also do one-word sentences. “What’s in it?”
I loved gifts, especially when they came in this kind of suitcase. I had an idea what was inside, but since he resorted to the Neanderthal kind of speech, I wanted to pull more out of him. I basically spilled all my beans earlier, but I had to admit—he looked cute pouting like he was now.
“Open it up.” I didn’t want to seem too eager, but if my assumption was right, I am about to be met with some weapons. Sue me if I wanted to be giddy about it. “Just open it, Ophelia.”
“Someone’s impatient.”
“I’m not impatient. I just... I just want you to like it, okay?”
“So, are you gonna continue sulking like a five-year-old child if I don’t like it?”
“I’m not sulking.”Hah, men.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He started grunting and muttering about women, and never really understanding us, and him not being a five-year-old child or sulking or pouting, but I tuned him out and focused on the leathery surface of the suitcase. The three-headed beast on the top with their name looked beautiful—scary, but beautiful. I dragged my hand over the cool surface, tingles racing over my hand, my body, and the excitement I hadn’t felt in so long, awoke inside of me.
I pressed my fingers against the metal handle on the front and located the zipper on the side. The sound of it being opened ricocheted in the otherwise quiet room, and when I lifted the lid, I bit down on my tongue. I was close to squealing like a high school girl during a Justin Bieber concert.
One side of the compartment held different types of guns, arraying from a Ruger-57 to a Glock 22, all of them in a sleek black color, neatly arranged one next to another. But my eyes drifted to the other side where my true love when it came to weapons stood. A set of throwing knives was tied together in one corner, their dark silver skin shining underneath the light. I picked them up first, feeling their body, their weight in my hand. This was better than Christmas.
I looked down, still holding the throwing knives in my hand, my eyes wandering over the different types of knives and daggers all for my choosing.
“Do you like it?”
“Do I like it?” I looked up at him, dragging my eyes away from one of the best gifts. “I think me saying that I like it would be the understatement of the year. I fucking love it. I just... I lost my knives in the church and this... I have no words, Storm.”
A satisfied look passed over his face, quickly replaced by pride and something akin to wonder as I kept looking between the knives and him. I was going to bring the Glock with me, but knives were always my weapon of choice.
Guns always felt impersonal to me. The knowledge that I had to get close in order to use my knives, that I had to look them in the eyes was always thrilling for me. I hated myself for the innocent lives I took over the years, but the other ones, the ones that truly didn’t deserve to live, I didn’t mind.
I lived for the fact that I was the last thing they would ever see before descending into Hell. Some of them were rapists, some were abusers, some traffickers. Some failed to fulfill their promises, hurting other people in the process, and the assignments where I got to be the executioner, where I got to take away from them just like they took away from other people, were my favorite assignments.
“I know you prefer knives, but,” he approached me slowly, “having a gun with you will give me peace of mind, especially with where we’re going.”
“Where are we going? You said that you knew where Sam was, but you still didn’t tell me where that is.”
“We own several, um, clubs.” He scratched his chin, avoiding my eyes when it dawned on me.
“Strip clubs?”
“Yes. Strip clubs.”
Did he think I would be angry because they owned strip clubs?
“Are the girls working there because they want to work there, or?”
“Babe.” He looked at me as if I suddenly grew three heads.
