Chapter 15 - Raphael's point of view
The secret message stood out as clear as day to me. However to Amora, not so much. She looked at the note, scrunching her pointed nose in concentration at what was written.
“Golf and Charlie are part of the phonetic alphabet and they literally just stand out for the letters g and c. C, in this context means cameras and after golf, it says ‘on both special occasions’, which just means gadgets and guns. Anyway, where is the spare bedroom?” I asked, lifting, what others would say, was a heavy suitcase.
“Of course. Follow me.” She tore her eyes away from the encoded message, walking up the grand staircase, taking a turn and stopping at an ivory -coloured door.
“This is your room. It is right next to mine so if you need anything you can always ask.” She took a small step back, gesturing towards the door. I pressed my free hand onto the doorknob, turning it to find a large room themes black, grey and white. I smiled and walked in, resting the suitcase on the large king-sized bed. The room screamed extravagance and money.
“This will do just fine. Thank you.” She nodded and was about to move away when I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “Amora, could you come in for a second?” She nodded.
“Where is your husband?” She froze, tears filling her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before continuing.
“I am not married and as for their father, he left the day I found out I was pregnant.” A few tears fell down her face. “I should go and prepare some food for the two of us.” I nodded; what son of a bitch could leave such a strong woman? Clearly a weak fucker.
After ten minutes, I left my room, walking down quietly. Low crying could be heard, and as I moved to her, the clearer the tear drops were against her ethereal complexion. The divine light blue orbs were drowned by the consistent flooding, one that seemed to have no end.
Cries broke out of her, as her body shook with an uncontrollable force. I moved forward, embracing her tightly. Her arms were snaked around my chest as I had mine around her shoulders and middle. We stayed that way for a long time, her crying slowly ceasing. We stayed in each other’s arms for a few minutes, before she withdrew, her eyes, without a doubt, were glued to my chest, where there was now a large wetness that stuck to me.
“I am sorry Raphe.” Her nickname was perfect from that pretty mouth of hers.
“Don’t worry Amora, it’s ok.” She smiled, my stomach rumbling. I laughed nervously. “That’s the war cry to attack some food.” She burst out laughing, heading into the kitchen to collect the food and move it into the living room, along with two glasses and some soft drinks. The rest of the afternoon was spent blissfully, small jokes forming a cord of trust between us.
Zachariah’s point of view
The mansion had gone under full lockdown. Begrudgingly, I left Isabelle in the panic room alone, but with the situation at hand, I had to shift my attention to Logan’s orders. My back-up came; or as I fondly call them, my personal little army. I turned to face them: seriousness heavily sewn into my features.
“Right, the security of the mansion has been compromised. You will all stand guard outside and inform me of any suspicious activity that transpires. Clear so far?”
“Yes sir.” They chanted, stamping their left foot with their right hand on their heart, a Dalian military tradition. I stood close to them all, eyeing them carefully.
“I know you are all the best soldiers out of every other country on this planet, but to bring you to Earth, no fuck-ups. Clear?”
“Yes sir.” They all chanted in unison, repeating the same set of actions from earlier.
“Excellent. Move out.” I watched them all jog out, embedding bullets into their large guns, turning the safety off, ready to fire. Using the iPad, I checked the CCTV, seeing the soldiers file out like tiny ants, dangerous ones at that. Dalian military was incredibly hard to get into.
Five minutes later, the rookie from earlier, John, called out to me, sweat dense on his brow.
“Sir, the panic room has been broken into,” he began. I looked into the camera; the vague outline of a man visible. You’ve got to be shitting me. I ran out, grabbing whichever weapon came to hand. I was confronted with three rogues in black, large machetes resting on the ground. I moved my head to both sides, popping noises coming from my neck. This was going to be a barrel of fun…
Isabelle’s point of view
With every passing second, the panic room began to feel more like a prison. With no one here, my anxiety soared, and I did every little thing possible to push it down.
A sweet smell met my nose, slowing my senses down as everything became hazy. I tried to rack my brain for any good thing that has happened to me, yet I quickly ran out of options, trying to bring something up.
A sudden movement reached my comatose form, my flow of thoughts abruptly disrupted, as it dawned on me that I had company.
“Zach, is that you?” No reply, but audible breathing. “Zach please come out; this is not funny anymore.” Out of the shadows, a fuzzy shadow of a man walked out. Though he resembled Zach, he smelt nothing like him. Instead of Zach’s forest, masculine scent, this man’s scent was more superficial.
I moved away from him, cornering myself, with the stranger further blocking my escape. My head pounded in pain, making my vision blurrier. It felt like the life was being sucked out of my body, as I was propelled forward due to my poor balance, straight into the arms of danger.
Lucian’s point of view
She tripped forward, embracing me. I brought her up, steering her to the sofa, not wanting any other woman in my arms other than my wife. She sat down, her body rocking backwards and forth. I forked my hands through my hair, pissed with the situation. I placed both hands onto her shoulders, stabilising her, glad that the chloroform was working, and I could soon get out of here.
“Who are youuu?” I’m not very surprised that she cannot recognise me, but one thing I was pleased about was the fact she was close to her sister, at least that’ll help my first love. “Tell mee, or I’ll screaam.” I stayed quiet, wanting to see what she will do. She opened her mouth, and I pressed a handkerchief against her mouth, her eyes struggling to stay open. I huffed, counting to five, glad that she finally closed her eyes.
I removed the handkerchief, sitting down for a short while, when out of nowhere, bile was thrown onto my top. I looked at her, anger threatening to tip over the ledge. She, however, fell against the sofa, a hand on her stomach, her other limbs carelessly thrown. My men marked my cue to leave, and I sighed, hating what I was doing, but was compelled to.