Chapter Song - A Beautiful Lie by 30 Seconds To Mars

' Try to let go of the truth, the battles of your youth, cos this is just a game. '

. . . . . . . . . .

Panting heavily, her chest tight and her skin drenched with a cool layer of glistening sweat, Sybil woke abruptly, her small hands trembling, cold fingers wrapped in a fistful of blanket. Her breathing was hollow and rough noises caught in the back of her throat as she reached out blindly for the cup of water she knew to be somewhere on her bedside table. When her shaking fingertips eventually brushed the now warm glass, her body convulsed into a coughing fit and the sound of her rasps was joint with the smashing of a glass and the splashing of water.

"O- On- One, tw- One, two, thr-ee." Her attempt at this studied calming technique carried her from the ceiling view position on her bed to the gleaming, silver appliance kitchen across the hall.

Her panting continued as she limped along the kitchen, gripping the counters for support. As she reached her destination of the final drawer on the row, she took a great shuddering gulp and hit her knuckles against the drawer as she attempted to grip its handle. Pushing her fingers out on the cold metal, sighing in frustration and impatience, she tore open the drawer and began rustling around through the layer of old receipts and take-out menus she found there.

She felt annoyed at herself for clumsily ruffling up all the sheets laid within the small space, but her quick breathing pushed that thought aside in favour of finding the particular piece she so needed. After what seemed a lifetime of fumbling, Sybil pulled out a worn, crumpled sheet of stained paper titled 'What to do during a Panic Attack' in computer font but edited with her own scribbles, and began reciting the instructions.

As she listed them off in her head, she found she knew them off by heart, already quoting the next sentence before her eyes had been able to drift down the page. This thought made her sick with worry and even sicker with anger. It had been a long time since this had last happened, two months maybe? Two whole months since she woken to the distant, but still vivid memory of a gun shot, of blood, of cold eyes...

"One, t-two three, one, two, three."

Steadying her ragged breaths, Sybil tried to block out unwelcome memories by pondering the reason for their return. Though she hardly needed a second to figure it out. In the month since seeing him again, that stupid, Irish bastard of a man, her life had begun to fray. One minute she was on top of her game, the next Grantham was telling her he had heard word that the Servants, fucking Satan's Servants, were onto her, following her, tracking her. Then she was seeing them everywhere. Photographing her jogging, appearing in shops, outside her house!
And how exactly had they achieved this? By hunting down the Lamborghini owners of London of course. She pushed her lips together in frustration as she relived the catching of her key that night in the park. Now she was in the process of being moved, into an even more beautiful apartment she had to admit, but her car, her baby, was gone. She had been taken off of jobs, hidden away, forced to preserve the utter secrecy required for Grantham to continue his rule of the London streets. Urgh, the stupid, little Servant and the stress he had caused her. She was relieved she had become so valuable to Lords and Ladies though, otherwise...

As her tingling chest began to rise in a more natural, welcome manner and her breathing became more manageable, Sybil tried with all her might not to say his name in her head by reading the final, and void of use calming technique on her sheet; 'Call someone, have a chat, engage in conversation.' This tip always made her laugh, alright, laugh in hysteria, but still, it made her laugh. She couldn't imagine calling anyone in this state. What, call her Mum? Yeh, hi Mum, I know we haven't spoken since I, cough cough, won the lottery money and dropped out of university, but I'm having a panic attack and need to engage in conversation. Screw that. Or an old Uni friend? Hey Alexandra, sorry again I cancelled coffee last week, but I can't breath at the moment. Ha! That would only result in medical advice, not the chat she needed. And she sure as hell wasn't about to call any of the Lords and Ladies. She'd rather die of suffocation than reveal any weakness to them.

Nope, no one but herself could help her on these dark, solitary, frightening nights. The nights of utter terror brought back to her by- no, don't think it, don't say his-

"Tom! Tom, fucking, Tom!" Her scream could be heard across the eerie, swaying, fathomless water of the Thames, and by the very person the curse was intended, now stood frozen on her drive...

o o o

The previous hour of the night had found Tom strutting down Regent Street, humming the latest, trashy, pointless rap number one with varying precision and the added bouts of wolf whistles at passing, scantily dressed club goers. The cold air of the late, dark evening felt good on his skin and he revelled in the smoky disguise it offered him. The past month had been his best in Satan's Servants without a doubt. What with redeeming himself by offering information up on Syb- on one of the LL's, he had gotten back on track with Carson as though his past mistake had never happened. And being back on track meant getting recognition, reaping new benefits and gaining a far better outlook on life than could be seen when wandering around the streets with only your fists for company. Yup, selling out precious Sybi- selling her out had been worth it.

It was with this thought, in Tom's attempt to picture his new apartment over a vague image of Sybil, that he found himself pushed up against a wall, palms splayed against the rough stone and for an awful, stomach dipping second, he thought he was being frisked by the police. "What the f-?"

He wasn't sure if he was relieved, on account of the bag of weed and Swiss army knife in his pocket or displeased at the sudden discovery of his attackers identities, when he realised he had just been cornered by Mary and Matthew from Lords and Ladies. He knew them from photos and he assumed they knew him from a description by a certain brunette spy.

Whatever he felt, he knew he was outnumbered, and though he hated to admit it, by two very accomplished individuals. So, realising his wit was the way forward and not an attempt at violence, he complied with Matthew's strong hold against him as Mary edged around him, patting down his pockets. He was angry, annoyed and humiliated to be under their control and tried to regain a little credit for himself when the dark haired Mary knelt down infront of him, checking his trousers for concealments. "Love, while you're down there, how about you-?"

"Don't." Came the single word warning from the unseen Matthew, pressing what Tom could only assume was a knuckle duster into his side, aching against his ribs.

"It's alright Matthew." Mary sighed, gripping Tom's ankles for a brief second, peering up at him with impossibly cold eyes. "I might consider your sordid offer Mr. Branson... but I can't seem to find it." Bitch.

When he had been stripped of his knife, something he hoped he would get back whenever they let him go, he loved his knife, he was spun around to face two of the enemy.

"Regent's ours."

"You're a man of few words aren't y-"

Tom watched, with an over indulged smirk on his face as Matthew took an angered step toward him only to be stopped by a gentle hand to the chest by Mary. Hmm, he wondered if Carson would want to know these two seemed...involved with one another. "Don't test us. Regent Street is Lord and Ladies territory. Know your place, stay on your patch."

Yes, he was under a two to one ratio, but Tom couldn't stop his recently inflated ego getting the better of him. "Fucking hell, give it a rest. I'm simply passing through, it's not my fault you're all pissed because my lot have gotten a little too close to home recently. How is she-" He was glad, for the first time, that they were quick minded; it meant he didn't have to use her name for them to understand and he continued swiftly before he could think of why saying her name was even an issue to him. "-getting on after we started tracking her? Scared?"

This time Matthew did the holding back, Mary sneering over his shoulder. "Scared? Of one of you lot? As if! So what? You tracked Sybil? And? Once she's out of her apartment tomorrow, she'll be back in the game, and we'll all be right behind her when she decides to hit you back ten times harder than you tried to do to her!"

Noise, that's all that came out of Mary's mouth to Tom, noise. Well, it had been pretty coherent up until 'Once she's out of her apartment tomorrow' but then it had all gone to noise, to useless, jumbled noise. "Tomorrow?"

Mary gave a look of disdain and looked him up and down in digust. "Don't go thinking you've learnt important information. And don't bother trying to follow her because you're an idiot if you don't expect our side to be doing just the same-"

"Tomorrow?" He wasn't sure if he had repeated himself out loud, but the exasperated look between the pair infront of him told him he probably had, then again, just his still being there could have caused it. So, snatching out for his knife, creating a cry from both the LL's, Tom, unsure whether it was their reaction or his sudden flurry of complicated thought that brought it on, but he just had to run, fast.

Tomorrow? She- Urgh Sybil for fucks sake- was moving out tomorrow? But hadn't him and his fellow Servants been laughing for almost a week at how shocked Sybil had looked when Anna had been the one to deliver her morning coffee? Shouldn't she have left then? Moved then? Got out of that house then? Why would she have stayed? Was she there now, had they done it yet?

His rush of wild thought brought him to a shrouded, orange sparkling car park, metal bodies glittering from the heavy glow of a nearby graffiti smothered lamppost. And, leaning against the pole of distasteful art, Tom tried to rationalise his thoughts.

Mary had been telling the truth, he was sure of it. If she had been trying to lull his side to an empty house it wouldn't have made sense for her to tell him the Lords and Ladies would be with Sybil when she moved, she would have just said Sybil was alone and left it at that. No, he was sure she had lost her cool for a moment in her anger at him and had told the honest truth; Sybil was in the house. So what was he going to do?

His head was telling him to laugh, laugh at how much better tonight was going to go for his side because the opposition had made a huge mistake. But his heart, he preferred conscience, it couldn't be his heart, was screaming at him to do something, to help! Then it hit him. He shouldn't want to help her, he should want to help his side. He shouldn't care about her getting hurt. But what if his side had already acted? Fuck, he had to help her.

It seemed his body had realised this faster than his mind, as when he cleared his head of delirium he found himself, to his utter surprise, positioned with his back against an old Ford Fiesta, tensing his arm to give a smooth, quick elbow to the glass. He gave a sigh of recognition as he heard the resultant crack; he hadn't done this in a while but he clearly hadn't forgotten how. It was almost as though someone had flicked on the old 'Hotwiring a car switch' in his brain as he found himself, a few minutes later, cursing and hissing as he intuitively pressed a pair of freshly cut wires together causing hot, fizzling sparks to buzz in the silence of the night.

He didn't look around for people walking by, he wasn't an idiot; if you walked into a carpark and saw a guy looking shifty you'd be suspicious, see a guy casually rooting around in his car, no problem. Infact, he'd once managed to steal a huge Samsung television by just picking it up in the store and carrying it out to his car, clear as you like. Thinking about it, as he clambered into the Fiestas driver seat, he was certain one of the store assistants had run out to him to help him get the damned thing in the boot of the car. No wonder a few months later he was stealing for Satan's Servants.

Satan's Servants. The thought of his gang sent a shiver down his spine, reminding him of why he shouldn't be speeding through late night London, forcing the Fiesta to heights it had never reached before, grinding the gearstick as he flew around corners, twisting his arms waywardly to turn the steering wheel to his will. It was because of them that this journey was so difficult to make, because of them that he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, because of them that this daring drive could be considered betrayal. It was because of her however, the girl he had sworn to avoid, that he had to drive on.

He couldn't tell you how he'd managed it without police speeding after him or killing a night wandering cat or hitting a few proverbial dustbins, but suddenly he saw the Thames, and her godforsaken, still inhabited apartment. Why? Why was she still there? Why was it anything to do with this woman was so difficult? Yeah, difficult was certainly the word stamping itself on his subconscious as he tore out of the Fiesta and ran full pelt toward the spotlight lit apartment. Difficult again because he didn't want to climb the security gate and catch his new Hugo Boss jea- Damn.

As he lept to the floor from the high railings, he squeezed his eyes shut with a flinch at the loud thump he made on the concrete. He couldn't care less if one of the neighbours saw him, or a passer by, because to them he would just be a burglar, someone else's problem. It was Thomas, John and Will he was afraid of being spotted by, because they would either believe him to be wanting a place in the plan, or of the truth, acting traitorously. He wasn't sure which was worse.

But finally accepting he had managed a perfect, unspotted entry, Tom made toward the metal stairs to the apartment. That was, until, he heard a shout which stopped him dead in his tracks, his shiny shoes grinding the slabs.

"Tom! Tom, fucking, Tom!"

His heart beating wildly, Tom shouted back.

o o o

"Sybil!"

Whipping her head around so fast she heard a sickening click in her neck, Sybil froze, her ears straining against the sound of the Thames lazily seeping in through an open window. She tried to convince herself she hadn't heard anything, that the comedown of her panic attack had brought on some odd hallucination, but the stealthy, vigilant gang member within her told her otherwise. So, taking a few hard, deep breaths, tightening her silk nightgown, she padded across her living room, stopping only to pick up a certain book from one of her many bookcases. Though this particular book didn't contain pages, infact the only way you could associate the object within with a written text was its loaded magazine.

Holding the small, black pistol downward at her marble floor, the pulse in her fingertips lazily massaging the trigger, Sybil edged close to her door, cool sweat still clinging to her paler than milk skin, where she heard the clanging of hurried footsteps on the spiral staircase up to her apartment. As per usual, she felt a pump of adrenaline run through her veins as she considered the danger of what could come as she opened the door.

"Sybil?"

No. No. No way. It couldn't be. He wouldn't. No. That voice. That accent. No.

Loosening one hand from its steady hold on her weapon, Sybil, who was suddenly shaking so hard with fury it was a feat just to stand straight, ran her hands down the door, flicking her fingers in practiced patterns to clink open each lock. When she finally released them all she didn't even wait to collect herself before tearing open the door.

"You! You? I swear to God, get- out- of- my- sight!"

"No- Syb- Are they here? Did they-? Are you-? Why did you shout my na-? Whoa! Don't shoot me for fucks sake!"

Two pairs of eyes widened. Tom's in shock at the gun now aimed at his heart, Sybil's own in her consuming anger at the stuttering mess of a man infront of her.

"You told- You told them- My car- Now I have to- Why are you here? No don't speak, I- Screw it, I'm gonna shoo-"

Sybil screamed as Tom struck out, managing to knock the gun out of her hand, tumble into the room and smash the door shut behind him in one quick movement. When she found herself able to comprehend her predicament, safe to say, she was not happy. Staring up at what she expected to be the white canvas of her ceiling, she recoiled in rage as she saw, through a veil of her wildy splayed hair, a pair of ice blue eyes staring down at her. And in the movement it took to shake the dark locks from her face, she realised with a bout of fury that Tom was in actual fact, straddling her, bearing down on her wrists spread either side of her face with his sweating palms covering her tattoo, his legs angled to press on her knees, restraining her, hard.

"Get- off- me- now!" She screeched, trying, and failing to wrestle from his grasp. "You fuck up my life then have the nerve to come- But I won't let this go! No I-"

"Listen! No, listen! Fucking hell you stupid woman!" Sybil stilled her attempts to tear free, paralysed in shock at the tearing roar Tom's voice had reached and the tightened grip he held over her. "Your house is about to be burned down. Now I don't know about you, but to die in a ball of flames really isn't the ideal way to go."

Both their chests rose and fell in quick, desperate heaves as they tried to catch their breath from the rough encounter. "Burned down? Wha-?"

"Look, I can't explain right now. But the long and short of it; three of my lot are planning to send your side a message tonight by torching this place. Don't look at me like that." She was glad he had noticed the disgust contorting her features. "We thought you had gone, we're not animals!"

"You could have fooled me!" She protested, resuming her struggle against Tom's hold. But once again, under his full masculine weight, her efforts were futile. So, trying desperately to make sense of all he had just said, she continued slowly, trying to keep her voice calm. "So what- what you're saying is- This place is going to be set alight, tonight?"

"In any minute, yes."

"You fuckers." She sighed, her head falling back against the floor, her body surrendering its struggle completely. She believed him. Completely. There was no doubt in her mind the SS were capable of such a stupid act. It was so obscene, so outrageous.

"Cheers." Tom half laughed as he loosened his grip on her wrists, rising on his knees a little to lessen his weight. "I'm gonna let you up, alright? But Sybil, if you even think for one moment of calling back up I'll have you down on the floor again before you can scream wanker. Do you understand?"

She hated this, hated it; being under the control of one of Satan's Servants. Especially the particular one that had so recently messed with her life. But he was also the one, that for some reason, had decided to save it tonight. Yes, how strange. She didn't want to bring this up right now, but found she couldn't help it. "Tom? Why are you helping me?"

She waited with unexpected, soft intakes of air, finding it extraordinary that she was suddenly so calm; pinned down on the floor, a gun not three feet from her, the threat of a fiery death seconds away.

"I- I just- I can't have your death on my conscience. Well, not a death like this anyway."

Swallowing hard, Sybil gasped that she needed to be let up, to which Tom astoundingly complied, before she felt her eyes prick with stinging tears. For goodness sake, why did this man have the ability to keep mind fucking her? One minute he was ruining her livelihood, then he was telling her she's minutes from death and then he finishes off by making her cry from the stress of it all. Well, at least thats what she tried to convince herself she was crying for, she couldn't admit they were a product of irony from his words.

"What do we do?" She was finally able to murmur, her voice unnaturally steady as she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling momentarily exhausted. "Actually, you can go. I'll grab some stuff and be gone as quick as. You've done enough." She hoped her last comment would cut as well as compliment, she was in no mood for forgiveness, not now.

Dragging herself to her feet, not looking at Tom who she heard push up from the floor, Sybil ran to her room and began flying around the virtually empty space, avoiding the puddle of water and diamond sprinkles of glass. She was pleased, for the first time, that she was moving out, as the majority of her things: clothes, books, photographs... were packed and gone. The furniture that remained behind, the furniture that was about to be ridiculously torched, all belonged to Grantham who Sybil imagined, with a smirk, could replace a million times over.

Tearing off her dressing gown, slipping into a pair of Diesel jeans, navy blazer and her favourite boots, Sybil dragged her small suitcase containing the last of her clothing, phones and laptop from her room, giving the white space one last look. She felt virtually nothing a leaving her home, it was her fourth place since joining the gang so she had learnt not to become sentimental about such things. Though she did feel a small bout of fatigue with the realisation she couldn't collapse onto the king size bed and drift into dream.

Back in the kitchen she meant to lean the case handle on the counter but she stumbled over her boots and let it drop to the floor with a clatter in surprise when Tom emerged in front of her. "Why are you still here? Hoping to join in?"

"Actually, I wanted to see if you were- Yeah, I, I might, yes. I'll have to if they see me here. And I want to. They're my guys Sybil, just like the Lords and Ladies are yours." His voice was sincere and Sybil could not help but puff a little smile through her nose at his honesty.

"Well be my guest. But once I'm out of the building don't doubt that I'll call for my lot to- What was that?" She wasn't sure why she asked the question when it was obvious to both her and Tom that the sound was the excitable laughing of his raucous gang fellows. She held her breath, trying ignore the stirring fight reaction in her stomach, desperately trying to tune it into flight. There was no way she could go against three of the enemy, well four, but somehow she didn't find herself including Tom. "This is all your fault you know, you sold me out."

"You would have done the same."

Yes, she supposed she would have. Smirking with this loyal thought, she fluttered her eyelashes at Tom, just to mess with him before they parted; it seemed the done thing between them now. Then she murmured with sarcastic force. "Shut up and get out of the house."

"Funny, we were just about to say the same to you. Oh Tom? What a surprise."

Please Review ^^

This was all meant to be one chapter, but then Tom pinned Sybil to the ground and I was like guys, now I have to turn this into a two part piece! How annoying ;-) Anyway, the reviews from last chapter stunned me! So fabulous! And I've already made a plan for almost 8 more chapters if you all seem to remain interested! Thank you again! Till next Monday...