Happy Wednesday guys! Its that time again for an update.
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Huge Mega thanks to cjgwilliams for her fabulous beat-ing skills and ever probing questions, you rock, even when you are battling with lungs that refuse to behave!
And, thanks to FFN finally getting their act together so I can read all your lovely reviews for the last chapter.
So, on to the next ... enjoy!
Chapter 28.
Four tapped wearily at the keyboard on his beat up wooden desk that had provided a work space for numerous detectives before him throughout their careers. He looked down at the wad of paper under one corner and wondered if he could pester his captain again for a new desk… or at least one that didn't stand with a wobble or the need of assistance. He'd been previously told the budget wouldn't allow it. Maybe he could offer to buy it himself now his personal funds had skyrocketed?
"Hey, Eaton."
Four lifted his head to see Neil from the post room weave between the desks, a large manila envelope in one hand, whilst the other controlled the mail trolley in front of him. "You have some personal mail. Trying to escape someone?"
The man laughed as he neared Four. He was short, slim built, and looked like a good gust of wind would knock him over. He'd tried a couple of times to join the police ranks but failed on several levels. Now he was resigned to working in the post room for the C.P.D. and was somewhat settled in his job.
Four smirked back to the man, thinking he was lucky no one in the department, aside from his partner, was aware who his present girlfriend was, and for the time being, he wanted to keep it that way.
"You know how it is, I'm sure," Four bantered goodheartedly, his eyes light with mirth.
"Not me," Neil returned. "I'm a happily married man."
"Well, married at least," Four joked.
He took the envelope from Neil, idly thinking he should stop by his apartment and pick up his mail or better yet, change his address with the post office.
Neil perched himself on the corner of Four's desk, an amused grin on his face. Four flashed him a look of slight irritation, annoyed that the man hadn't moved on after their brief conversation and seemed intent on watching Four's face as he opened the letter. He clearly was choosing, or was too dense to understand, he wasn't welcome anymore.
Four turned his attention back to his mail and looked at the hand-written address on the envelope. He didn't recognize the writing, and there was no return address, but it had a Chicago postmark.
He turned the letter over and pinched the clasp together before running his finger under the edge to open it, his hand reaching inside in one fluid motion.
His fingertips registered the photographs before his mind did, gliding easily over the glossy paper, and he pulled his hand from them quickly.
Four felt the hairs on his arms stand, and he instinctively tipped the envelope, dropping four 8x10 prints face down onto his desk. He reached down to his bottom drawer, quickly opening it and pulling a pair of latex gloves out of the box he kept there.
"Four?" Jason asked, concerned as he slowly stood from his chair behind the desk at a right angle from Four's. He recognized the moment Four became suspicious of his delivery. The tell-tale motions of his body becoming tense and his jaw locking speaking volumes to Jason.
When Four didn't answer, Jason crossed the small space that separated their work areas to investigate as well.
Four snapped the gloves into place and looked up when Jason came to stand by his side, staring at the face-down images quizzically.
"What?" Neil asked, his face eager and his eyes swinging between Four and Jason.
The two detectives didn't answer him, their eyes intent on the white backs of the photo paper. Four slowly reached out and pulled the first one free, turning it over and placing it back on his desk.
It was a glossy print of Tris, her eyes vibrant and expressive, a bright smile on her face. It looked like a professional portrait, maybe taken for The Prior Group to use in brochures and on their website.
Neil whistled at the photo. "Hot babe," he smiled, nudging Jason with his elbow, his eyebrows wriggling comically. At the disapproving looks from Four and Jason, his grin slipped quickly.
Four reached again and turned the next photo over. Another picture of Tris, but this time, it was more candid, and the image looked like it was a surveillance photo. She was sitting at a small table, obviously an outdoor café, drinking a cup of coffee. Her clothing was business style which Four took to mean it was snapped during a break from her office.
The third photo was recent, and Four recalled the time and place immediately. It showed the two of them at Navy Pier, her arms were around Four's neck, his around her waist, and they were laughing at something. The disturbing thing about this photograph, other than it was clearly taken in a public place without their knowledge, was the crosshairs that had been added to the image around Four's head.
Someone had been watching them that evening, and neither of them realized. That thought made him sick to his stomach.
The last picture was the most disturbing. Upon first glance, he could have sworn it was snapped at the crime scene they visited a few weeks ago regarding the recent murder at the Prior home, but Four noticed the subtle differences as he studied it. The green of the walls was brighter, the starkness of the red blood against the pale skin was more horrifying, and the unconscious form of a younger version of his girlfriend was all too real.
Across the bottom of the glossy print was scrawled the word Soon, just as it had been written on the wall of the dining room of Tris's old home.
"Oh, fuck!" Jason breathed out.
Four couldn't tear his eyes from the last picture. As horrific as it was, he was hypnotized by it. The angle of her half naked body and the obvious gunshot wound to her side brought home to him how sick this bastard really was. When she joked about knowing how it felt to be shot, she wasn't kidding, and his heart ached again for what she had been through at such a young age.
Jason rushed back to his desk and retrieved an evidence bag, quickly scrawling the time and date on the label section and Four's name.
"Do we put this in with the new murder or the old murders?" Jason asked as he returned to Four's desk.
Four couldn't answer his partner, as his mind was working overtime with thoughts on how to keep his stubborn girlfriend safe until he hunted down and caught this psycho.
He knew if he voiced this wish to her it would be met by her demand that he stop trying to protect her. But how could he not with the evidence of what had happened to her in the past so vivid in front of him? He wanted this to be over for her, for her and for him. He feared their relationship wouldn't be able to progress to anything deeper until she could lay her demons to rest. And while her parents' killer was still out there, she was still haunted by what had happened.
Not that she would ever be able to forget her degradation and suffering at the hands of this sick bastard, he saw it ever time he covered her body with his. She gave herself freely to him, withholding nothing of her sensuality and sexual nature, but she also held a part of herself back, almost as if readying herself to flee if the need arose. He wanted nothing more than that feeling, that look in her eye, to be gone.
He wanted her to know how much she meant to him, abused past or not. He wanted to prove their relationship, his love for her, was something that would never falter. He needed her to know he would be there for her through everything; every memory she suffered through, he would be the one to hold her, to chase away the nightmares and her demons.
"Four," Jason probed, seeing his friend and partner losing himself to his inner thoughts.
"Is he all right?" Neil asked, standing from his position and studying Four intently.
"He'll be fine," Jason said quickly, flashing a look at the mailman. "Thanks, Neil."
Neil nodded once, taking that as his dismissal and collected his trolley before moving off, looking back over his shoulder once before disappearing from their view.
Jason pulled on a pair of gloves and reached for the photos, stopping when Four's hand clasped his arm tightly.
"I need a copy of those," he said, his voice emotionless and his face expressionless.
"Four," Jason started, ready to try and talk his friend out of whatever he was thinking, but after one cold look from Four, he nodded once and picked the pictures up before heading for the copier.
Four sat for a few more minutes before he stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair in one fluid movement.
He passed by Jason at the copier just as his partner was finishing. Jason pressed the copies into Four's waiting hand.
"I've gotta go," Four said simply.
"I'll process these and make the report," Jason offered, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep him in the building.
"Thanks," Four said, then turned swiftly and left, one thought on his mind: He needed to see Tris.
…
Four breezed through the reception area of The Prior Group's building, by-passing the long desk and heading straight for the bank of elevators, waving at building's receptionists as he passed them.
His infuriating fear of confined spaces seemed secondary to his need to see Tris and he rode the elevator almost in a trance, his panic at the need to get to her outweighing his claustrophobia. In no time at all, he stepped out onto the top floor and realized he had been in the elevator and remained unaffected. He smiled at that thought.
The foyer here was smaller, though still large, and several people were in various places around the area. Some were seated on the plush couches waiting for an appointment with one of the Prior's, a few workers intent on their business, and the ever present receptionist sat behind the expensive glass desk.
"Good afternoon, Detective Eaton," she smiled to him, and Four nodded back, forgetting her name and shrugging it off as he ended down the corridor which led to Tris's high-class office.
Lauren was at her desk, her eyes lowered as she worked on something, and George's desk was surprisingly empty.
"Hey, Lauren," Four greeted. "Is she busy?"
Lauren smiled at the rugged man who Tris cared for more than she realized.
"She's always busy," she answered lightly, "but I'm sure she'll take a break for you. Want me to announce you?"
Four moved toward the door, tossing over his shoulder. "Thanks, I'll announce myself," he grinned.
He paused with his hand on the brass door knob, looking at two guards now stationed outside her office. "Full alert at all times," he said, his voice low, and the two nodded in understanding before he entered the office.
The soft, gentle sound of classical music greeted him, and he paused by the door, observing her as she worked. Her laptop was open on the desk, off-center, and Tris was busy writing something on a large notepad, her hand moving gracefully as it danced over the paper.
"Are you here for business or pleasure?" she asked, though she didn't look up, and Four could hear the smile in her voice.
"Oh, I'll take pleasure any time of the day," he grinned back, moving further into her office and closer to her, feeling the tense nerves inside of him soothe when he observed she was safe and well.
Tris chuckled low in her throat as he walked across the room, shaking her head slightly. "And they say I have a one-track mind," she said as she finished her sentence, placing her pen down on the pad and leaning back in her large chair.
Four stopped in front of her desk, a lop-sided grin on his face as she pushed her chair from the desk slightly, her legs crossed demurely. Four couldn't stop his eyes from wandering to the length of thigh she was showing him, and when his gaze finally returned to her face, he found she was smirking at him. He moved toward her, his eyes not leaving hers as he practically stalked around the furniture which separated them, and Tris rolled her chair back a little further.
Four came to a stop in front of her, placing his hands on the arm-rests, and leaning down into her before gently brushing his lips against hers.
Tris sighed at the feel of his lips, thinking she would never tire of the way he kissed her, the way she felt it throughout her body, and the way something so simple made her tingle everywhere. Four's hands found her wrists, and he tugged on them, raising her from the chair, their lips never separating.
Her hands rose to slide under his jacket, and she pushed it from his shoulders. Without a word, Four let it drop to the floor. Her fingers wound into his hair as their kiss intensified, and Four's hands rested on her hips. He maneuvered her body, turning her from her standing position in front of the chair until she was pressed against the edge of her desk.
The movement caused the old burgundy, leather desk pad under the paper Tris had been writing on to move slightly, and Four glanced down at the sound.
He pulled away from Tris when something white caught his eye, something hiding under the desk pad.
"What?" she asked, looking down as well to see what had turned Four's attention from her.
Four stepped back, his imagination running wild at what could be lurking, hoping it wasn't something like what he had received in the mail earlier.
He moved her aside without answering her, needing to be the first to see whatever it was, just in case. He gingerly lifted the old desk pad, half dreading what he would see.
"Four?" Tris asked again, concern now in her voice.
Four looked down at the white paper, moving the pad completely. What he saw was the last thing he expected.
It was a picture drawn in crayon by a child. A mom, a dad, a boy, and a little girl, all standing next to a large house, the childish figures smiling and holding hands. A big, fat, yellow sun shone in the sky, and a tree and flowers completed the picture. Across the top was written in a childish scrawl, I love you, Daddy, and under the figures was written, Mommy, Daddy, Caleb, Beatrice. The paper had been laminated and secured to the desk with, he assumed, glue.
Four turned to the woman beside him. "Very talented," he said with a smile.
"Oh, be quiet. I was seven years old," she returned, playfully slapping her hand against his shoulder.
"Why do you have it on your desk?" he asked, moving the pad aside so the picture was on full view.
"The picture kinda came with it," Tris replied, pulling Four over to her and pushing him down in the large desk chair, settling herself sideways in his lap.
Four looked at the large desk and then to her, her fingers weaving into a space between the buttons of his shirt, realization suddenly dawning on him.
"Please don't tell me that was your father's desk?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.
"Of course it was my father's desk," she answered looking at him.
"Shit, Tris. We had sex on that desk," he moaned, disbelief in his voice.
"And…?"
"And… I feel like I disrespected your father somehow," he told her.
"Oh please, it's not like he never had my mother sprawled out on that desk," she teased.
"Tris!"
"What! My parents were very sensual people, Four. Where do you think I get it from? It's highly probable I was conceived on that desk," she informed him with a cheeky grin.
Four looked at her disbelieving, and at her nod, he shook his head.
"Come on, Tobias," she purred, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "Don't go all shy on me now."
Four grinned, liking the way she said his name, as his hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid higher and under the material of her shirt dress, gliding easily against her smooth skin.
Tris returned his smile before closing the space between them to capture his lips with hers, immediately demanding more from him than a sweet kiss.
They were lost in their passionate kiss, Tris's hands in Four's hair again and his hand leaving her thigh to lift higher and mold against her breast. Tris squirmed in his lap as he caressed her through the silk of her dress at the same time her intercom buzzed to life.
Tris tore her lips from Four's, looking accusingly at her complicated desk telephone, knowing Lauren's voice would be on the other end of that hail.
"Ignore it," she said harshly, turning back to Four again and pulling him back in for another searing kiss.
It rang again, and this time, Lauren didn't wait for an answer. "Ms. Prior, Mr. Bertini has arrived for your appointment."
Tris moved away from Four again. "Shit, I forgot about him."
"Tell him to come back tomorrow," Four said, his voice gruff with lust as he popped opened a button on Tris's dress to get more access to her skin.
"I can't," Tris answered her own voice regretful as she pushed Four away from her.
"Tris," Four groaned, ignoring her and settling his lips against her neck.
"Mmmm," Tris sank back against him against, his lips teasing the tender flesh of her neck.
"Shall I make coffee?" Lauren's voice filled the room again.
"Fuck," Tris hissed out, pushing Four away from her and moving from his lap before he could entice her into a compromising position with an important potential client waiting outside her office.
She hit the button on her intercom. "Yes, Lauren. Thank you." She knew her voice was harsh, but she was now horny, and instead of doing something about that with Four, she would have to sit through a boring meeting with a pompous middle-aged man.
She turned back to Four to watch as he picked his jacket from the floor. "I guess we'll finish this at home," he smirked to her.
She only nodded, and when he took a step toward, she held out her hand, keeping him an arms-length away.
"Keep your distance, Buddy, or I won't be responsible of my actions."
Four laughed at that. Her hair was a little wild, and her lips were swollen and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but he respected her need to work.
"I'll just get going then," he said, rounding the desk and heading for the door.
"Four," she called, her voice low but stopping him anyway. She hurried over to the door leading to her Uncle's office, which had at one time been her father's. "You need to leave by Uncle Mason's office."
Four's eyebrows rose. "You ashamed of me?"
"Of course not, but I …"
"Don't worry, babe," he grinned. "I know. It's hard being a woman in a man's world, right?"
"Something like that," Tris smiled back, glad he understood.
"I'll see you when you get home," he returned, daring to lean in and draw her back into a kiss. He opened the connecting door and slipped into the other office, and before she closed the door behind him, he said, "You might want to button your dress, Blondie."
And then he was gone.
Tris quickly refastened the button on her dress as she walked back to her desk. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightened up her desk, casting a wistful smile to the picture she had drawn a lifetime ago before covering it again, and settled into her chair just as Lauren knocked on the door.
"Mr. Bertini, I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Tris said gracefully as Lauren showed the middle-aged, stout man into her office. His brown hair was thinning, Tris thought, and his eyes were beady and looked a little small for his head.
It seemed he tried to over-compensate for his lack of good looks with a superior air and an impeccable taste in clothes. His suit was tailored and exquisite, his shoes expensive.
"Will Mr. Prior be long?" the arrogant man asked, looking skeptically at the small frame of the young woman in front of him as he cross the room.
"There seems to be some misunderstanding," Tris smiled sweetly, her eyes swinging to the younger man who settled into the chair next to Mr. Bertini. "I will be leading the meeting today."
"I'm sorry," Mr. Bertini said with a smile and a tone that said he was anything but. "I was led to believe that I would be dealing with one of the Priors."
"And you are," Tris returned through clenched teeth, though her smile never slipped. "Beatrice Prior."
Mr. Bertini laughed condescendingly. "I'm sorry, dearie, but I don't deal with underlings. I only deal with the bosses."
"I am one of the bosses," Tris told him, "and whether you deal with me or one of my uncles, your proposal will still cross my desk, and I still have a say in the outcome. So you can either pitch to me or rearrange to meet with one of my uncles, but I will assure you if you refuse this meeting, they will look less favorable on a second one."
"I will not be spoken to like that from you, young lady," Mr. Bertini ground out, standing from the chair, his face turning a shade of red.
Tris settled back in her large chair. "And I will not have my time wasted by you, Mr. Bertini. The name on the door says Beatrice Prior. Vice President and CEO. My Uncle Mason is a very busy man as is my Uncle Henry, and I am a very busy woman so you can make your choice."
The younger man grinned to her, finally stepping into the conversation. "I'm sure my father did not mean to disregard you, Miss Prior. I'm sure he will be happy to discuss our business with such a strong, dominant woman."
Mr. Bertini looked with shock at his son, but as the younger man settled into his chair, so he slowly returned to his seat.
…
Tris stormed through the wide front door of the mansion a few hours later, her mood darkened by her meeting with the arrogant Mr. Bertini and his son, Anthony.
The elder Bertini had taken every opportunity to belittle her, complaining at her lack of age and experience, despite the fact she had been working for The Prior Group for the last three years. She took pride in her work and though she may lack in years, her experiences and success usually preceded her.
She knew her job, she did it well, and it was the pompous asses like Bertini, who found it hard to deal with women in the first place, never mind those who were maybe 30 years younger than him that made her job difficult. She was grateful his son Anthony had joined the meeting because if not, she might have needed to call Amar for clean up after she was forced to take the meeting to a whole different level.
The card Anthony Bertini pressed into her hand at the end of their meeting, assuring her his cell number was on the reserve, was tossed in the trash as soon as he exited her office. There was a time that crisp white card would have been placed somewhere safe, to be used when she was feeling particularly lonely and didn't feel like trawling the clubs looking for someone to play with.
Tris smiled when she admitted to herself those days were over.
She knew Four was home, his presence in the house surging through her as she felt the now familiar pricking at her senses whenever he was close, as though the cells in his body were calling out to hers, demanding they find their mate in the other's body.
She looked up the marble staircase, knowing she should take her bags up to her room, but wanting to find Four as soon as possible so he could pull her from her black mood. The need to see Four won, and she stopped one of housekeeping workers, a woman nearing 50 who had worked for The Dauntless for as long as Tris could remember.
"Carmen, would you mind taking these to my room, please?" she asked pleasantly, not usually one to ask such tasks from the housekeeping team.
"Of course, Miss Tris," the Hispanic woman smiled, eager to assist the woman she'd watched grow from a bubbly young girl to the spirited woman before her.
"Thank you," Tris smiled, handing her briefcase and laptop bag over before slipping out of the light blazer she had worn to the office.
She immediately headed down the long hallway to her right, her instincts taking over as she honed in on Four.
She again wondered if this almost symbiotic state between the two of them was something born from their abilities to bend and control the molecules around them. But, to be truthful, she didn't really care what it was, she just knew she had been lost before she found Four.
She moved through the house, letting her instincts guide her, trusting they knew where Four currently was even if she didn't. She exited through the double glass doors which opened onto the back terrace, her eyes roaming the vast expanse of the estate behind the building.
She turned left, walking along the marble terrace while searching the area. Electricity seemed to course through her as she passed a window, and she stopped, moving closer to the open frame, her mind registering male voices coming from within.
"I can't believe this sick bastard has the balls to do something to provoke us like this," Caleb was saying, and Tris inched closer to the glass, intrigued by what they were discussing.
"The man killed an innocent girl just to get our attention," Zeke reasoned, and Tris stiffened slightly, now knowing they were talking about her parents' killer.
"He's not a man, he doesn't even come close," Four hissed.
"Judging from this photo, I think Uncle Mason needs to step up protection on you, too, Four," Caleb said, and Tris felt Four bristle with irritation at that suggestion.
Tris didn't dare glance through the window, in fact she was amazed Four hadn't realized she was there, but she didn't need to look. She could almost feel the tension in the room; it was throbbing like a heartbeat.
"I don't need protection," Four growled back.
Tris heard some rustling and then Caleb, "This tells me you do."
"All these photos tell us is there is someone out there who wants to finish what he started eight years ago," Four shot back. "And I'd go to hell before I let that happen."
"Maybe Tris shouldn't go on anymore missions," Zeke speculated.
"She's our best agent," Caleb returned, then added quickly. "Just don't tell her I said that. Uncle Mason will never intentionally keep her back."
"Not even to keep her safe?" Four responded, his voice portraying his astonishment.
"And Tris won't have it either," Caleb concluded, and Tris nodded, agreeing with her brother. They couldn't hold her back even if they tried, and her uncle understood that.
She could sense Four's agitation bubbling, threatening to explode, and there was more rustling, as if paper was being moved. A warm breeze played with strands of her hair, lifting then from her face briefly as she listened in from outside, hating herself for eavesdropping but not moving none-the-less.
"Look at this," he said, his voice rising, "look what he did to her when he had her last. You want that to happen again?"
"I know what he did," Caleb hollered back. "I saw it with my own eyes. I don't need some picture to remind me."
Tris balked from where she stood by the window, feeling the blood rush from her face, her head becoming light and woozy and bile began to rise in her throat. They had a picture! A picture taken of her from the time she was held in her own house by a psycho? She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling nauseous. She didn't remember him taken any photographs, but there were times when she been unconscious and could only speculate what had happened during them.
She didn't know what made her feel worse: the fact he took pictures of her which she knew nothing about, or the fact he still had those images. For a moment, she wondered if he looked at them often, her mind filling with all the possibilities of what could be captured in those pictures, and she shuddered, suddenly overwhelmed by the seriousness of the situation. He really was out there and could be lurking anywhere. She leaned against the warm limestone brick of the house, taking several deep breaths as she listened to the guys talking in the room.
"This can't happen again," Four was saying. "I refuse to let anything happen to her, and trust me, I can be just as stubborn as she is."
"You don't need to tell me that," Caleb returned, his voice rising with each word. "You think I want to watch her go through all that shit again?"
"Hey, guys," Zeke interrupted them. "Yelling at each other isn't going to achieve anything."
There was silence in the room for a moment, and Tris slid gracefully to the marble surface of the terrace beside the window, mindless that her silk of her dress was catching against the rough brick.
"I think it's best we don't tell her you got these pictures in the mail," Caleb said, his voice lowering to a normal tone. "The less she knows, the better."
"Do you think that's wise?" Zeke questioned. "Surely she would be able to better protect herself if she knew everything that was going on."
"No, Caleb's right," Four answered. "If she is still intent on going out on missions, thinking this guy is out there, stalking her, would only distract her, and that's when the shit hits the fan."
Tris was shocked! Shocked they would keep something this important from her. Admittedly, she didn't know everything that was happening, but she knew it involved her, Four, and the monster who killed her parents. Over the years, she tried hard not to think about what he did to her, and instead focused on what he did to her parents, as it seemed the only way to stay sane in this fucked up messed.
"Well, I think you're both wrong on this, but I will respect your wishes," Zeke said, and Tris could detect the uneasiness in his voice.
"I'll show these pictures to Uncle Mason," Caleb offered, and there was a slight sound of papers being gathered together.
"The originals are with the C.P.D.," Four informed him. "Since they are connected to an ongoing homicide case, I had no choice."
"Okay," Caleb returned, and Tris heard movement and then a door opening and closing.
"I'm gonna say it again, Four. I don't think keeping this from Tris is wise," Zeke said. "She has an innate ability to know when things are out of balance, and you are gonna be on edge. She'll know something is wrong."
Four sighed deeply. "I hear what you're saying, Zeke, and I understand. I just want… I just need…"
"You want to keep her safe," Zeke replied softly, "I get that, Four, but Tris is hardly the girl you can place on a pedestal and expect her to stay there. She's been alone for a long time, not physically alone, because, let's face it, living here, that's not gonna happen. And her grandfather, uncles, and Caleb would never let that happen, either, but in here," and Tris imagined him placing his hand over his heart, "in here, she's been alone for the last eight years. He didn't only take her parents, he took a part of her, too, and she been searching for something to fill that hole within her."
Zeke paused before continuing, and Tris strained her ears, interested in hearing whatever Zeke would say next. "She's found that in you, Four, and she won't just sit by and let you take care of her, or allow the slightest chance that you could be taken from her. She's a fighter, and she will fight to her last breath for you; for the both of you."
"I don't want her to have to fight," Four returned, his voice low, but his emotions open for all to hear. "I want her to be free from all this, to not have those memories locked inside her."
"That's not gonna happen. You can't magic away what happened. If it was that easy, it would have been done years ago."
There was silence for a moment.
"But I think she will be free. You both will find this man, together, and then he will be gone, and you will grow old together, sitting here in matching rockers with a multitude of little Divergents running around."
"I'll hold you to that," Four sniffled, and Tris lifted a hand to her face, surprised to feel tears running down her face, too.
Zeke's words resounded in her heart, and she knew what he was saying was true. She only wished, no, hoped, that what he said would come to pass.
She rubbed at her wet cheeks with her fingers, wiping the tears away, the tender moment passing as her anger built again.
They intended to keep this from her, treating her like a simpering woman who couldn't defend herself.
That pissed her off.
…
