Page 50 of All Saints Day
All of us gave her backup, but it was Q who would actually be doing the interrogating. Bad Cop—and Worse Cop; though only the evening would show who was playing whom.
Louise took a seat across from Frank in the center of the circular room. She sat with her legs crossed easily—arms draped over the back of her wooden folding chair as she watched Frank appraisingly.
Beside Louise, Quentin stoops to lean on the back of his chair, staring down at Frank. Frank sits bound to a wooden chair with duct tape across his shoulders and elbows, his feet on the floor with his ankles still shackled together and his hands cuffed behind him at the wrists.
“Hello Frank,” Louise begins, cool and even.
The cold smirk that crosses his face lets me know Louise isn’t talking to Frank—we’re in the room with Rook right now.
“Come on, Dollface—are you really gonna mistake me for that pathetic pussy?” He shrugs, playing at a hurt expression. “After we had so much fun together too.” He bats his lashes at Louise in a clear attempt to bait her, but she’s not having it.
“Ah yes, the one man I might want to see less than Francis Stone,” she tuts, the very portrait of calm disinterest before she presses on. “Do you know why you’re here, Rook?”
Rook’s smirk spreads into an icy, manic grin. His sharp canine teeth glitter in the light; those dark blue eyes alight with malice, and all I can think is that he really is a beast—that he always has been, lurking just beneath the surface.
“The fault in our stars?” he offers with a dramatic flourish before following it up with a crude, “Can’t live without my fat knot stretching that perfect little pussy when you go into heat?”
Quentin strikes like lithe lightning, moving from the back of the chair to Rook in the blink of an eye—a loud crack snapping through the room as Tin-tin whips a blistering backhand across Rook’s mouth.
“Hoo-eee!” Rook hoots, spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor, still reeling from the force of the blow—a small split in his bottom lip. “Please, Mother, may I have another!?” he giggles gleefully, eyes glittering up at Quentin.
Tin-tin’s eyes flit to the strengthening erection in Rook’s dress slacks and grits his teeth, deciding against another blow.
“Watch your mouth. You’re running thin on everyone’s patience,” he seethes, chartreuse eyes slitted with disgust.
Before Rook can say something horrible, Louise stands from her chair—the black slacks she borrowed from Dennis pegged above her ankles, one of my tank tops paired with one of Caz’s black v-necks billowing beneath one of Quentin’s oversized black cashmere sweaters. She crosses her arms over her chest, running her hands up and down the soft fabric on her upper arms—butshe doesn’t tremble or avert her gaze as she takes a step toward Rook and Quentin.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she answers coldly, looking down her nose at the captive Rook. “You and Susan couldn’t help but flap your fucking jaws when you thought that you had me as your caged bird,” Louise continues icily, pacing in a tight circle around Rook’s chair. “You’re here because the Windmill is planning on releasing a modified version of the Zeitnot into the public, and we need information to stay ahead of that curve.”
Rook’s head lolls back as he lets out a villainous laugh.
“Please, you think they deign to tell theirmuscleabout this kind of shit, Dollface?”
Crack!
Another blistering open-handed slap from Quentin hits so hard that Rook’s chair rocks up and onto two legs before it slams all four back onto the wooden floor.
“Ee-Yow!” Rook shakes his head—blinking his eyes back into focus as he recovers. “To what do I owe the pleasure this time—I’m co-operating, aren’t I Mom?” Rook works his jaw open and closed.
“I don’t care for your fucking tone,” Quentin leers, reminding Rook who holds the power in this exchange.
“If you really are as disconnected as you claim,” Louise continues on as if nothing has happened, rounding behind Rook, slowing to a stop as she comes face to face with the back of his head. “Then you’re still useful as a bargaining chip.”
“Oh yeah, what makes you say that?” Rook scoffs.
Louise leans in, her face alongside Rook’s—her lips against the shell of his ear, just below the bonding bite I caught sight of the other night.
Rook jolts upright—his face frozen as Louise begins to speak, low and menacing.
“I don’t know why yet, but you’re important to Susan and the other higher-ups—maybe you don’t know yourself, or maybe part of you knows and you’re just withholding.”
She stands up, continuing her orbit around Rook—his posture softening ever so slightly as she comes back into view, her pace slowing to a stop as she rejoins Quentin.
“The only question is, will you cooperate?” Louise purrs, leaning down so that her face is level with Rook’s. “Will you help us help you—all of you—Rook, Frank, Francis?” She lowers her eyes to the beast’s mouth, his lips parted as he drifts toward her on the magnetic current of fated mates. “Or will you force us to do things the hard way?”
“I’d like to have you hard right here, Dollface—maybe have the Brit or the techno twink for dessert,” he snarls back—his raven feather lashes fluttering almost against his cheekbones, Frank’s lips only a breath away from Louise’s.
“You know what—I don’t think you could handle me,” Louise threatens, planting one of each of her hands on Frank’s knees—steadying herself with their faces nearly touching.
