Olivia Sparks

[Violence, which could trigger emotional distress, is found in this chapter. Certain scenes are graphic and could be upsetting to some. Proceed with caution. Discretion is advised.]

Wyatt coughed. Right before their very eyes were their colonel—the country's prince—busily pecking his wife in front of everyone, treating the rest as if they were as invisible as the still air that filled the warehouse.

He made sure his cough was loud enough to remind Maxen and Olivia why they were in the warehouse that afternoon. 

Earlier, he had to rush back to the base upon receiving a message from Maxen. Little did he know they would be abducting a man who was already inside a prison.

Imman Han. Forty-five years old. He was Eli's uncle; younger brother of his deceased father. According to their background report, he was doing business in England up until his incarceration and returned home after serving time in jail. 

The warden informed Maxen and Wyatt that the man they were looking for was convicted for s.e.x.u.a.l assault and battery as they waited for Imman to be escorted inside the warden's office.

If it was up to Wyatt, the tools they gathered that day would just tickle the asshole. To him, that man deserved to be skewered and roasted alive.

Finally, the two lovers peeled apart. Maxen smiled, looking down to face Olivia. Her grip in his hand was so tight she might snap his fingers, but whatever nervousness she felt, it didn't show on her face, and he was proud of her valiance.

"We gave him a sedative earlier, just to calm him down." Olivia saw Maxen's jaw tick, rolling his tongue over his teeth. She thought they must have done some questioning earlier and Maxen didn't like what he heard for him to resort to sedation instead of killing the man.

They walked until they reached a table full of guns in different sizes, plus other weapons that Olivia wasn't familiar with which she assumed to be stuff used for torturing a person. 

Her eyes lingered on one weapon that stood out amongst the rest. "That one is cute," she pointed at the Hello Kitty pistol on the table.

"I knew you'd pick this one. This was Maya's old pistol."

"Maya's into guns?"

Maxen nodded his head. "She got it from our dad. They like to go hunting. And she left this in the armory when she moved on to bigger ones."

"Oooh, that's nice. One man's trash is another man's treasure." Olivia's eyes beamed, patting Maxen twice on the cheek. Olivia c.o.c.ked her head to the direction of the table, cueing Maxen to prepare the proper bullets to load in the pistol.

While Maxen was busy, Olivia pivoted in her spot and walked closer to the man who was tied on the cross.

She stood in front of him and forced herself to look into his face but couldn't bring herself to keep her focus steady for more than a split second, so she stared at the farthest corner of the warehouse to compose herself.

She reprimanded herself in her thoughts. The last thing she wanted him to see was her trembling with fear because if he did, he would surely feed on her fear, and she would end up losing the fight that she needed to finish victoriously. 

Steeling her spine, Olivia straightened her back and squared her shoulders, reminding herself that there's no other way for her but to face the monster that terrorized her at night. She had to give the monster that haunted her for years a face.

The smell of piss started to sting in her nose. It revolted Olivia, so she took four steps back and maintained a good distance from Imman.

"Hello," she greeted, but the man tied to St. Andrew's cross didn't lift his head to face her. "Imman Han," she called the man's name, her tone was cold and biting, it made Imman shiver in his post.

"I didn't do anything. I swear," Imman Kang cried, saliva spitting out as he swore on his life, training his eyes on the floor, ignoring Olivia's presence. 

"I haven't introduced myself yet. How would you know if you haven't done something on me?" Olivia tilted her head to the side.

"I know you. I've watched you, but I didn't touch you. I swear! Ask your parents. They saw the medical reports. I haven't touched a single of your hair."

"Parents?" Olivia's brows furrowed. Was talking about Auntie Martha and Henry?

"Yes! Your parents visited me in prison. Rona and Henry."

Olivia scrunched her nose at the tiny detail she just unearthed. So the Headmistress wasn't just a part-time lover, but was also co-parenting her with Henry? 

How fcking sweet.

She decided to put that piece of information at the back burner, simmering along with Olivia's pot full of questions that only those two could answer.

"Look at me," she demanded, yet the man was adamant, shaking his head in a no. "If you didn't touch me… what have you done all those times?"

Her c.h.e.s.t heaved heavily as she braced herself for the things she would be hearing. 

She started to calm down upon feeling Maxen's warmth radiate behind her where he was standing. It was enough to offer her just the right amount of refuge.

"7273," Maxen called Imman through his prison number, sticking it to the latter that he no longer had a name but a number attached to his face. "7273, what did I tell you earlier? Looks like you need a reminder." Maxen's voice was calm, yet the underlying tone to his words was enough to break Imman's resolve.

Imman lifted his head, meeting Olivia's gaze, but instead of looking remorseful, a sly grin painted his face which didn't go unnoticed with everyone in the room. "You're more beautiful now, Livi. Remember how you used to sit on my l.a.p every time I visit you?"

Olivia scoffed. If he thought a trip down to memory lane would rattle her, he was wrong. She'd been haunted for a very long time, and the last thing she wanted to happen was to miss her chance of getting payback for the trauma she had to endure all these years.

Olivia felt her cramp intensify with the sheer anger that she had to hold in. "I'm not here for chitchat, 7273," Olivia trailed off. She held her palm up, receiving the Hello Kitty pistol from Maxen. "I'm here to get answers for my questions, questions which you refuse to answer."

"I already told you I didn't touch you."

"And that's not the answer to my question." She aimed the gun to Imman's direction, wincing at the weight of the pistol. She looked up to face Maxen who was doing his best not to kill the man himself. "Baby, I have a really bad aim." She pouted.

She felt Maxen's hands crawl on the length of her arms, stopping by her hands to grip the gun with her. "Where do you want to shoot? Here?" He aimed the pistol on Imman's heart.

"Nope."

"Here?" He aimed the pistol on Imman's head.

"No. I don't want to blow his brain's out. That's messy."

Maxen and Olivia kept the pistol c.o.c.ked on Imman's head as they conversed. The cold steel that kissed Imman's forehead made his forehead sweat in pellets. "Please, just shoot me. Just kill me, one clean bullet to the head."

Ignoring the monster's pleas, Maxen continued to give a Pistol 101 crash course to his wife. "Here, take a few steps back so when you shoot him, his blood won't splatter to you.

"Aren't we too far?" Olivia asked when it looked as if they were in a firing range with the vast distance they had from Imman Han.

"It's okay, you have me. Just aim, then I'll help you keep your stance so you won't miss."

"PLEEEEEASE! JUST KILL ME!" Imman cried when Olivia accidentally pulled the trigger, the bullet grazing a portion of the cross—wood ch.i.p.s flying in different directions.

"I can't hear him. We need to get closer," Oliva mumbled, closing in the gap between her and the monster that haunted her for years. "I'm going to ask you again, and your freedom would depend on it," she calmly said.

It convinced Imman that he only needed to come clean, so he bobbed his head and agreed.

"Thanks for your cooperation, 7273. Hmm, my question is still the same. If you didn't touch me… what have you done all those times?"

"I know I couldn't touch you because if I did, your father would surely have me killed. So I just watched you… and touched myself."

Olivia raised a single brow. "Which hand did you use?"

"My right hand!"

Bang!

Imman's wails bounced on the high walls of the warehouse. The smell of iron wafted in the air as he mourned his hand that was pierced with a bullet.