𝟎𝟔𝟎.             𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

lady - hear me tonight ──── modjo

☀︎ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯

𝖨 𝖣𝖮𝖭'𝖳 𝖪𝖭𝖮𝖶 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖨 𝖠𝖬．𝖧𝖮𝖶 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖫𝖣 𝖨 𝖯𝖮𝖲𝖲𝖨𝖡𝖫𝖸 𝖪𝖭𝖮𝖶 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖨 𝖠𝖬？All I know is that I'm in Barbados, and I'm currently being driven away from my friends and through one of those horror-movie type gates that lead to the big, ridiculously expensive house.

On the way here, I just stared at endless fields of grass. To say I'm in Barbados, it looks pretty bland to me.

I've since calmed down after being snatched away, and instead of fighting as I know I'm being taken by my will regardless of how hard I fight, I've chosen to embrace whatever crap I'm being pulled into. I've chosen to believe that I won't be dying, not today anyway. If I managed to survive on an island for the past thirty days, I can survive whatever this is.

The only thing that's bothering me is that I have no idea why somebody's taken me, or who has taken me. It's not Ward, that much I know, but that doesn't ease my anxiety. Somebody has a vendetta, that's why I've been taken.

I just hope my friends can figure out something fast. I so don't to be trapped on another island. I just want to go back home.

Upon arriving at the home that looks larger than Ward Cameron's── shocking, I know── I'm yanked out of the vehicle pretty harshly by one of the guards who drove me here. Whoever wants me must be paranoid as fuck because they have a lot of security in one place. 

With a tight grip on my arm, I'm pulled to the front door. Large white pillars stand above my head as I'm forced up the steps that lead right to the double front doors. I try to ignore the fact that there's about a dozen guards by this door, but it's pretty hard when they all have guns.

Yeah, I hope my friends stay far away. I can figure out a way to get out of here myself. I'm resourceful as I've learnt over the last thirty-one days, I'll be fine.

The door swings open without being knocked on, and a woman stands before me. She wears a maid uniform so I can guess what her role is. Once in her presence, my arm is released, and I feel like I can breathe now that blood is rushing back into my arm.

The maid steps up behind me, pushing me forward and away from the door. She shuts the door behind us, and then I follow after her even though I should try and bolt.

People with giant guns, B. You can't just escape.

I walk across expensive marble floors, stepping past valuable artefacts. I feel as if I'm in some kind of library with how protected certain pieces of furniture are. I don't belong here, not with the way I'm dressed in a cut up piece of cloth for a t-shirt and wet shorts. I look horrendous, and I look so out of place in this awfully shiny home.

"Take her upstairs." I snap my head away from the polished walls and glossy floors, looking to the maid who is talking to another guard. Take me where? "The Orinoco Room."

The what room?

I'm grabbed again. "Can people just stop grabbing me," I exhale, tugging for freedom but the guard doesn't budge. I'm forced up the stairs, my arm feeling numb again as I'm dragged into the Orinoco room. I don't know what room this is or why I need to be in it, but I can't exactly fight.

Men with guns, B. Men with guns!

The moment I'm inside, I turn and look at the guard who has finally freed me. "Why am I here? Who are you working for?"

He ignores my questioning, not that I thought he'd actually answer me. "Dinner at eight," he tells, voice gruff. He then looks me up and down, observing me. "I'd clean up."

My mouth gapes. "You──" The door slams in my face. "Dick," I mumble.

I know the door is locked so I don't try the handle, I just turn away from the heavy wooden door to stare at the space I'm currently in. Once again, I'm trapped in a room that I don't belong in. The room is a bedroom dotted in expensive pieces of furniture, similar to downstairs. My eyes find the four-poster bed that looks just about perfect to lay on, but I refuse to succumb to this treatment I'm receiving. A single wardrobe is pressed against the wall, and I can see four dresses hanging inside. I so don't wanna know why. Dozens of artwork adorn the walls, and because I'm an artist myself, I can't help myself, I have to look at the array of colours that decorate the otherwise bland wall.

I then step into the bathroom that's off to one side, and my eyes widen. There's no shower, just a large, baby blue Victorian bathtub, but I annoyingly want to run the hot water and lay in it. I want to feel hot water again. I've missed it. Although, aren't they afraid that I might try and drown myself?

Sitting on the bathtub edge is a bowl with something orange and sticky inside. Beside the bowl is a wooden spatula and... wax strips. "Like fuck," I exclaim, stepping over to the bowl and realising these bastards who have kidnapped me want me to wax!

I feel sick to my stomach.

What the fuck is this? Am I being auctioned off? Why do I need soft skin and not a single hair on my body? What have I been pulled into? Who are these perverts that I will be trying to kill later on?

It's a good thing they didn't give me a razor. I would, if I could, attack somebody with one because this is sick and twisted.

I've never waxed in my seventeen years of life. I've never had to. It's kind of a Kook thing. I've always stuck to razors, and while I've had a lot of accidents with said razors, I can't imagine waxing feels any fucking better.

I can't wax. I shouldn't wax. But I will be having a bath just so I can wash my hair with the array of shampoos and conditioners. I can wash my body with the lovely smelling soaps and body lotions. Yeah, I will be taking a bath, especially since I have several hours until this dinner I'm supposed to be at.

Who wants to have dinner with me? Why have I only been kidnapped to have a dinner with some stranger? This is so strange.

I step out of the bathroom, heading over to the wardrobe which, as I mentioned earlier, holds four identical dresses. A post-it note is stuck to the hanger which reads, Pick your size. "What the fuck," I exhale, scrunching the post-it note in my hand.

They want me waxed and dressed to impress.

Whoever kidnapped me is an absolute pervert, and when I meet them, I ain't gonna be some kind of pawn. I'm gonna be a bitch because I will not let anyone bid on me, thank you very much.

That sick feeling remains, clawing at the inside of my stomach as I stare at the four identical dresses, already knowing which size would fit me, and already knowing that the dress will absolutely suit my body. I hate that.

I fall onto the bed behind me, peering out the window and spotting several guards walking back and forth with giant guns. If I don't comply, will I be shot on the spot?

I'm kind of willing to see if that will be the case.

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𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖪𝖭𝖮𝖶 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖲𝖢𝖤𝖭𝖤 𝖨𝖭 𝖬𝖮𝖵𝖨𝖤𝖲 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖦𝖨𝖱𝖫 𝖶𝖠𝖫𝖪𝖲 𝖣𝖮𝖶𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖲 𝖨𝖭 𝖠 𝖡𝖤𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖥𝖴𝖫 𝖣𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖲？Yeah, well imagine that, but instead of walking to my date at the bottom of said stairs, I'm heading towards my kidnapper who may be auctioning me off because, yes, I've thought of the worst case scenario.

Forget being kidnapped, I don't care about that. I want to know if I'm being sold like some animal.

I'm also following the maid down the stairs who came to collect me at eight on the dot, so that fantasy of walking towards my date at the bottom of the stairs is further crushed by the woman before me.

The only part of this "fantasy", if you will, is that the dress I'm wearing is moulded to my body perfectly. I feel pretty. Scratch that, I feel and look fucking ethereal in this dress. After spending a month on an island in the same clothes, I've never felt better to have changed from those wet clothes. God knows what'll happen to them but I won't miss them.

I never knew red could suit me so well, but it is JJ's favourite colour on me for a reason. I wish he could see me in this, but unfortunately he isn't my date. My kidnapper slash the pervert who wants me dressed in this is who I will be meeting in this beautiful fabric. Satin, soft to touch, burgundy red fabric that feels incredible against my skin which, yes, I chose to wax.

It fucking hurt. Like, a lot, but I decided to enjoy all the luxuries here because I will never feel this way again once I arrive back home.

The dress is low cut with a slit running up one leg. Again, I wish JJ could see me in this because it's safe to say he'd have some kind of reaction── a heart attack perhaps. I nearly fainted when I looked in the mirror myself, especially since I look so different after being on that island. My skin is slightly burnt from the amount of sun I've been exposed to and I feel thinner as I haven't eaten nearly enough food over the month. I almost didn't recognise myself before or after I put this dress on, but with the dress on, I do feel just a bit more powerful, I can't explain it.

Who knew being kidnapped could have its perks?

Well, while the waxing was bad, it's nothing compared to being forced to wear these tight, unreliable heels that I absolutely cannot walk in. I wore heels when I went to Midsummers with Sarah, and I was itching every single second to remove them. I hate heels.

Hell, I think it's safe to say that when I get married, I will be wearing my battered Converses under my dress.

I step into the foyer, and the maid walks away from me. She doesn't say a word, just leaves me to my own devices. I mean, the door is right there, but I know I won't get anywhere.

Men with guns, B. Men with guns.

I look away from the door, peering into the dining room to find a man with his back to me. He's tall, much taller than anyone else that I've seen so far. He wears a suit, his head shaved, and it appears he's pouring himself a drink.

Is this his house? Did this bastard kidnap me?

He doesn't seem to be old, not that I can truly tell that from looking at his back.

I clear my throat, braving it. "Excuse me?"

He can't have a gun, right? I mean he's──

The man turns, looking over his shoulder at me, and his cold clashes with my warmth just like that night at the Boneyard all those weeks ago when I tried to read those eyes and hurt behind them. Instinctively, I take a single step backwards, shocked to see him after all this time. I'm more surprised to find that we're under the same roof. How has that happened?

I shake my head, blowing out a frustrated breath. "Are you kidding me? Why is it always you?" Instead of stepping back like I should, I move forward. "Of course you and Ward are behind this shit."

Did he have me kidnapped? If so, why the fuck?

"What are you talking about?" He steps to me, and we meet in the middle. "You trying to weasel in on my deal? Is that what's going on?"

I don't get to say another word or yell another word as somebody new speaks up from the other side of the room, bringing our attention away from each other. "I wondered if your little reunion would cause sparks, you know."

Is this some kind of joke?

He has a Caribbean accent. I think. I'm not sure. Whatever. I don't recognise him. Why would I though?

"Who are you?" Rafe and I ask, and I have to restrain from saying jinx because he isn't my friend and I'm not joking around. I hate him. I wouldn't mind seeing his head on a stick.

He stole the gold and the cross from us. He killed Peterkin. He had my brother shoved in prison. He and his daddy can go to Hell.

"Me?" Yes, you, asshole. "My name is Carlos Singh," he tells, but that name doesn't ring a bell. I wish it would. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cameron."

I scoff. "Is it?" I utter under my breath because, yes, I'm just a bitch.

"And Miss. Routledge." His attention turns to me, and I hate how he knows my name. I don't want him knowing my name. He's looking at me like he knows who I am. Why? "I do apologise for the rough tactics in bringing you here."

I shake my head. "No. It's fine. I love being manhandled," I comment, smiling innocent.

Carlos Singh── that's his name, I think── drops his head, obviously not expecting me to speak and say that. I can feel Rafe's eyes on me as he glares at me, and I find that the hatred is mutual.

"Please, come sit," Singh tells us, and we obey, following him into another room that adjoins the dining room.

I barge ahead, wanting to get ahead of Rafe as I'm still being salty. I sit down first, furthest away from Singh as I don't trust this guy, not one bit. Rafe takes the seat beside me, and I find that we are too close for my liking.

Ignoring the closeness to Rafe, I turn my gaze to Singh who is sitting across from us. "Why are we here?" I ask, my voice toneless.

Whatever joke he's playing, it isn't funny.

"Well, Miss. Routledge." There's something about him saying my name that has my skin crawling. He says it like he's said it before, if that makes sense, and I hate it. I also hate being referred to as 'miss' like I'm old enough to be referred to by a title. I'm seventeen, not ancient. "Mr. Cameron," he continues. "We share certain interests, you know."

No, I don't know.

"Is this not about the cross?" Now it's my turn to glare at him, and if looks could kill, it's safe to say that Rafe would be burning right now. If he did burn, I'd jump in his ashes, laughing hysterically, whilst wearing this dress.

Perhaps I'm the psycho.

"It is," Singh replies, clicking his fingers. "Technically, it is about the cross, but it's also about something much, much bigger than the cross."

What could possibly be bigger than the cross?

"Well, if you listen, you'll find out." I snap my head over to Rafe, continuing to glare at him as he stares ahead at Singh.

Did I say that out loud?

"Yes. You did."

"Bastard." I know I said that out loud for sure.

"Thanks," he replies.

Singh rises from his chair, ignoring our pathetic bickering, and instead stepping towards a photo that's hung on the wall. From here, I can't quite make out what he's looking at, and I don't really care. I just try and listen as he continues to speak.

"By orders of magnitude, the completion of a grand quest." He sighs, still observing the photo on the wall. "You see, the story goes that four hundred and fifty years ago, a Spanish soldier came out of the Orinoco Basin with a few gold beads. And when they asked the Spanish solider, "Where the beads came from," the Spanish solider replied that he got them from a peaceful Indigenous tribe who lived in a city of gold." Singh turns away from the picture, looking to us as he says, "El Dorado."

I raise a brow. "And?"

Rafe looks over at me. "Do you ever just listen?"

"No," I jab, wishing I could punch that damn face of his.

Singh clears his throat, answering my earlier question before Rafe had the audacity to open his mouth. "And for the next four hundred and fifty years, people tried to find that gold, you know. They tried. Conquistadors, knights, captains of ships, tribes, entire nations."

He picks up a knife, and if he's going to attack, I'm absolutely shoving Rafe in front. I ain't being stabbed, not now, not ever.

Ignoring the fact he has a knife, I continue to listen to him. "All fighting each other in a race for the end of the rainbow. Thousands of lives laid on the pyre of gold fever. And it falls to me, you know." He's said you know a lot, and the truth is, I don't know, no.

"It falls to me to complete the task," he continues, boring me with each passing second. "To bring full circle a quest that has gone on for almost five hundred years. Perhaps the greatest quest in the history of the western hemisphere, you know."

I still don't know, no.

He chuckles, lifting the knife and pointing it at me and then at Rafe. "You two are going to play a part in that."

Rafe and I playing a part like we're in some kind of play? No.

He sits himself back down, his eyes finding mine. "What about you, Miss. Routledge? Are you interested in history?"

Does he know who my father was? If he did, he'd know that our family was always interested in history, more my brother and father than me, but I shared some interest. However, there's a fat chance he knew my father as he, you know, died months ago.

I shake my head. "I'm more of a future person." That is true. As I've said before, I'd rather find out about my future before ever going back to the past that, sadly, cannot be changed.

Singh hums. "Really?"

Why is he questioning me?

I don't know how to respond. I just stare at him strangely, genuinely trying to figure out if I've met this man before as he clearly seems to have all these answers and assumptions about me.

Rafe groans, and for one shining moment, I genuinely forgot he was here. He's just so... infuriating even when he just sits there, and I wish he'd bite his tongue but that's not who Rafe is. "I didn't listen to a word you said, okay?"

"Well, that's just rude," I comment because my mouth loves to speak before my mind catches up.

"Shut up," he snaps, but that's not enough to keep me quiet. "How much you gonna keep philosophizing?" he asks, his patience lost which I can understand. This guy can talk forever, but I refuse to agree with Rafe on something.

Singh just laughs. "You are direct, aren't you, Mr. Cameron?"

A painful silence stretches between the two men. My eyes flicker from Rafe to Singh as they stare at one another. Okay, this dick-measuring contest will have to wait. I have things I need to be doing that don't involve being under this roof anymore, so I decide to break this silence.

"What do you need from me?" I'm willing to be useful and helpful if it means getting out of here and away from Rafe fucking Cameron.

Singh turns his head to me, looking away from Rafe. "I've come to believe that you and your friends are in possession of something that can help me get what I want."

I scrunch my face up, a little confused. "What?"

"An old manuscript," he tells. "A diary, actually."

I feel my stomach plummet as he mentions the diary I obviously know about. Denmark's diary── the one Pope was given by Mr. Sunn. How could he possibly know about that? I don't want to know how he knows, and I certainly won't be telling him what I know.

I'm going to lie.

Deny, deny, deny is JJ's philosophy for a reason.

"I don't know anything about a diary," I say, lying through my teeth.

"But how else could you have learned that the cross was on the Royal Merchant?"

"We're just..." I shrug one shoulder. "...extremely intelligent." Rafe scoffs beside me, and I smile politely, knowing I can't answer that freaking question. "Look, I want to help you, but I can't."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that, you know."

"No, I don't know," I snap, growing more and more agitated by the second.

"I don't believe you," Singh simply says, continuing to look at me, and because I refuse to be afraid, I stare right back at him. "You and your friend here couldn't have found the cross without it."

Rafe and I look at one another, disgusted by that statement. "We're not friends," we both say, and I'm relieved to know we're on the same page about something.

"We can't all be friends, you know."

Yes, that I know. I could never be friends with Rafe Cameron, not in any lifetime, that's for certain.

Rafe rises to his feet, no longer looking at me but instead at Singh. "Look, this is ridiculous. Okay? I'm out."

I watch with complete fascination as he steps away from us, heading right for the door, but a guard steps in front of him, stopping him. I hide my grin behind my hand, loving that he isn't immune to everybody, especially not a guard with a massive gun that could, and would, kill him.

"Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Cameron?" I hate this guy, maybe more than Rafe and that's a bold claim to make. "Do I look like a fool to you?"

Rafe doesn't answer, knowing the answer.

He instead shrugs his shoulders, stepping away from the guard and looking back at Singh who has also risen from his chair. Am I supposed to make a big scene and stand up too?

"You have the cross." He stole it from us, actually, but whatever. "She and her friends had the cross at one point." I rear my head back. She? I have a fucking name. "So one of you has the diary. And if you really don't know, then I suggest you convince your friend to tell me."

As if I'm going to tell him of all people, and if he refers to him as my friend one more time, I will have to resort to a kind punch.

"Once I have the diary... you'll be free to leave." The sick bastard smiles at Rafe and I, and I feel sick for a whole new reason.

Later on, after a very awkward meal that involved the most expensive foods I've ever seen in my life, Rafe and I are brought back to the bedroom I was forced into earlier. I cannot, in good conscience, be in the same space as Rafe. Unless he wants a bloodbath in here, he might wanna put us in separate rooms.

This place has a lot of rooms. Surely we don't have to share.

"Enjoy the grounds during your stay," he says, standing at the doorway as Rafe and I stand side by side in the bedroom. "I must warn you, though, I'm not a man of infinite patience. You have one day."

I look up at Rafe, he looks down at me.

Yeah, I wanna get out of here too, but I refuse to confide in you, bastard.

"Go to the window for a little demonstration."

The door is closed and locked behind us, but Rafe thinks he's better than everybody else so he, of course, tries to just open the door like it'll open for him and only him.

"How can we enjoy the grounds if he locks the door?" I ask, stepping away from the door and over to the window like instructed.

"Would you just shut up?"

I peer down, finding Jimmy Portis to be standing outside. I then feel a presence behind me, and I don't have to turn my head to know who is consuming the space behind me. I stand and stare at the scene before me, my body tense as Rafe's front brushes against my back so he can see what's happening down below.

We watch Jimmy Portis── the pilot who I stupidly saved── get dragged by two guards with huge firearms. We then spot Singh who looks up at our window, staring at us for a short moment before he pulls out his own gun, stepping away from our view, but I know what he's going to do.

I knew what he was going to do before I heard the shot fire. I don't flinch, what would be the point? I swallow, my body feeling as if it's on fire as I continue to stare at the window that's bolted shut so we obviously can't escape.

"This diary." His voice is behind me, but I don't turn to look at him. He, on the other hand, doesn't like that I'm ignoring him, so he grabs my shoulders, jerking my body around to face his. "Hey, no bullshit." I stare into his eyes, cold meeting warmth, and I feel like I'm back on that beach. I feel ill. "Don't bullshit me. Okay? Do you have it, Brooke?"

I could tell him, but what would be the fun in that?

I shrug his hands off me. "No."

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❀ soph speaks

well, brooke & rafe have unfortunately seen each other again

at least they can agree on one thing . . . they aren't friends :)

i always found it a little odd why singh wanted kiara to dress up. she looked beautiful, don't get me wrong, but he was like a grown man and she was a literal teenager. always felt weird, and it felt odd writing about brooke being so dressed up for a complete stranger, but she rolled with it.

my girl's a badass, and i do wish jj could see her in the dress... maybe i'll let him

hope you enjoyed reading!!