[A/N: this chapter is not Beta read. I'm looking for a new Beta reader so
if your interested please e-mail me at FLAPPERgirl7@hotmail.com. Thank
you.]
Sark turned his back to her and turned the pot down to a simmer and continued to prepare dinner.
"I've worked with Sloane for nearly 3 years now. Being his gofer and serving his every need." He said through clenched teeth as he began to chop lettuce vigoursley. Sydney thought it best if she stood back while he had the knife in his hand.
"15 years ago my father died in a plane crash. He was the pilot. They searched through the debris as they searched for a reason for the crash. They ruled out mechanical failure." Sark stopped and put the knife down. He closed his eyes, took a steady breath in and slowly breathed out. He had never spoken these words to another person. Nobody knew what Sark knew. Sydney curiously looked at him, why was he telling her about his father's death? What did this have to do with Sark kidnapping her? Sark turned to her and she saw how tired he was. A soft tint of purple was present under his eyes. His lop sided mouth appeared emotionless, and his eyes were cold. This sent shivers up Sydney's spine
"Sloane had men on that plane. They were acting as civilians. Transporting some type of bullshit, I don't know. The plane was shot down by on of Sloane's enemies and it crashed into the Pacific Ocean." His eyes glistened but no tear dare fall." I never saw my father again because of Sloane and his greed."
"What does any of this have to do with me?" she blurted out, taking a step forward. She had hardly spoken a word through out his story. She contained her sighs and yawns as long as she could so not to piss him off.
Sark was a ticking time bomb to Sydney. She never knew when he might go off.
Sark was taken back by this sudden outburst. It was time; it was time to say it. He returned his attention to the simmering pot in front of him and turned it off.
"Since my father's death I wanted vengeance. Your mother recruited me like you were by Sloane. I stumbled onto information about Sloane's men on my father's plane," he paused for a moment, sighing in the memory of it all. "Irina turned herself to you and I was able to join Sloane. I was right where I wanted to be," He smirked as he reached up and pulled down two midnight blue plates.
"I believe you know the saying, Miss Bristow. Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer? That was my plan. I learned everything about Sloane; from what assassins he has assisted to how he likes his coffee in the morning. Then I learned about the prophecy and your part in it. " He finished serving himself and walked to the living room. Carrying his plate in one hand and his red wine in the other. Sydney followed, she remained standing as he sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
HE was acting so casual about everything. As if he had just read it out of a book. Sydney didn't know whether to feel sympathetic or disgusted with him.
"I've toiled with Sloane's plans. He fucked with my life so I've fucked with his. I have the one thing he wants, the one thing he needs," He took his fork and began to eat what looked like chicken alfredo.
"So .wait a minute. This whole thing, "she said gesturing with her hands, making an invisible circle, "is about revenging your father's death?
"Yes," he lied. It wasn't completely about his father death but also about her. Sark was no way near confessing that part of his plans to her, "Sloane has ruined my life, as well as yours. As long as you're live, Sloane's plan will not fall through."
"What plan is this?" Sydney asked wrapped her arms around her. She felt a cold breeze blow against the back of her neck that sent goose bumps down her back. Sark sighed and looked into Sydney's eyes. For a moment Sydney became frightened. She wasn't looking into Sark's eyes, his haunting blue eyes. These eyes were different: they showed concern. They showed sympathy; traits Sydney was unaware Sark possessed until now.
She shifted uncomfortably in the spot she stood.
"You need to be dead by New Years Eve this year," he told her, his voice tender and soft.
Sydney knew many people who wanted her dead, but this threat seemed different. Instead of being of help to the prophecy, she needed to be finished off so not to meddle with it. She took a deep breath in and flanked back at Sark who was watching her intently. She took her attention away from him and to the window where it was softly snowing outside.
"How do you know I won't kill you? Why don't you keep me locked in a room," she said, holding herself tighter. Sark returned his attention to his food.
"I just saved your life and your accusing me of locking you in a room like some slave? Quite frankly, I'm shocked Miss Bristow. " He said in a sarcastic voice, Sydney did not crack a smile but remained stern faced. "I know you Sydney, better then you know yourself in fact. If you don't feel threatened, you won't take action. Plus, if wanted you dead I could've killed you hours ago easily. " Sydney had to admit, Sark was right. If she felt any sort of threat or felt she was in danger, she would pounce.
Damn him.
It was hard to feel tense or stressed in the scenic setting she was in. The silence of the snow falling comforted her in ways another human could never could.
"Ear something." He said, gesturing towards the kitchen "must have been hours since you've last eaten."
Sark was, again, right.
Sydney had no idea when the last time she had had something to eat. It had seemed like a week since the party in Cuba. She turned and walked into the kitchen. Sark had made chicken alfredo and salad. Sydney served herself and poured herself a glass of wine. She was hesitant at first, but walked out into the living room and joined Sark. Sitting in the armchair, she sat her plate on her lap but didn't eat.
"Why aren't you eating?" Sark asked, halfway finished with his plate.
"It's just a bit weird, isn't it?" Sydney asked, glancing up at him momentarily but looking down at her plate again. "Two people who have tried to kill each other numerous of times are now eating dinner together."
Sark smiled at this and raised his glass to her, "Cheers!" he said and finished off his wine.
-
In London, there was a pub. This pub was a very smoky pub with neon beer advertisements on the wall. They blinked a few times but continued to dimly illuminate the room. There were only 6 people in the bar, which was the normal crowd to the bartender. Two men sat at the bar; with beers in there hands they watched the news absentmindedly. They didn't understand a word the newscaster was saying. They just needed something to keep their minds of their troubles.
A man in a dark suit stepped through the door and made a beeline to the bar. He ordered a Manhattan as he sat down next to one of the men. As the bartender busied himself with the order, the man in the suited gazed up to the T.V.
"Lovely night, isn't Dean?" he spoke; his voice was tired yet livid at the same time.
"How did you find me Sloane?" Dean spoke back, his eyes not moving from the small T.V.
"I have my ways," Sloane replied as his drink was served. He nodded thanks to the bartender and watched as he vanished behind a door. He held his drink as he continued to talk, "Where is he?"
"You think your going to get an answer out of me that easily?" he scoffed, taking another swig of his beer.
"Dean, there are three possibilities. He's either in your New York loft, your Brazilian beach house, or your Swedish cottage. I just need you to make my job easier." Sloane said coolly, still not touching his drink.
"Fuck off," he mumbled as he finished off his drink. Sloane sighed in return and brought the drink in his hands to his lips, taking a small sip. He let the drink sit on his tongue, soaking in the taste, and swallowed.
"We have your wife, Dean," Sloane said, slipping his handgun out of his pocket and jabbing it into Dean's side. He didn't flinch in return. "If you don't cooperate with me you both will die."
"And if I do, we'll die anyway. Correct?" Dean muttered, holding his empty mug in his hand.
"We have your daughter as well." This pushed a button, Sloane watched as his eyes widened.
"Chelsea? H-how did you find her?" His voice shook with fear.
"Your wife can be very chatty once she has a fun to her head." He snarled, "I'm losing my patience, Dean. Now tell me, where is Sark?"
"My cottage . I-in the Swiss Alps," he said, trying to keep his cool but his hands shook violently.
"Now, was that so hard?" Sloane spoke in a mocking tone, slapping Dean on the back. "Your daughter and wife shall live," Sloane stood up and straightened his suit. His gun was still held in his hand.
He raised the gun quickly and shot the man in the back of the head. Sloane watched people quickly run out, cursing him in slurred words. Sloane reached into his pocket and pulled out a few pounds and threw them on the table before walking out.
Sark turned his back to her and turned the pot down to a simmer and continued to prepare dinner.
"I've worked with Sloane for nearly 3 years now. Being his gofer and serving his every need." He said through clenched teeth as he began to chop lettuce vigoursley. Sydney thought it best if she stood back while he had the knife in his hand.
"15 years ago my father died in a plane crash. He was the pilot. They searched through the debris as they searched for a reason for the crash. They ruled out mechanical failure." Sark stopped and put the knife down. He closed his eyes, took a steady breath in and slowly breathed out. He had never spoken these words to another person. Nobody knew what Sark knew. Sydney curiously looked at him, why was he telling her about his father's death? What did this have to do with Sark kidnapping her? Sark turned to her and she saw how tired he was. A soft tint of purple was present under his eyes. His lop sided mouth appeared emotionless, and his eyes were cold. This sent shivers up Sydney's spine
"Sloane had men on that plane. They were acting as civilians. Transporting some type of bullshit, I don't know. The plane was shot down by on of Sloane's enemies and it crashed into the Pacific Ocean." His eyes glistened but no tear dare fall." I never saw my father again because of Sloane and his greed."
"What does any of this have to do with me?" she blurted out, taking a step forward. She had hardly spoken a word through out his story. She contained her sighs and yawns as long as she could so not to piss him off.
Sark was a ticking time bomb to Sydney. She never knew when he might go off.
Sark was taken back by this sudden outburst. It was time; it was time to say it. He returned his attention to the simmering pot in front of him and turned it off.
"Since my father's death I wanted vengeance. Your mother recruited me like you were by Sloane. I stumbled onto information about Sloane's men on my father's plane," he paused for a moment, sighing in the memory of it all. "Irina turned herself to you and I was able to join Sloane. I was right where I wanted to be," He smirked as he reached up and pulled down two midnight blue plates.
"I believe you know the saying, Miss Bristow. Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer? That was my plan. I learned everything about Sloane; from what assassins he has assisted to how he likes his coffee in the morning. Then I learned about the prophecy and your part in it. " He finished serving himself and walked to the living room. Carrying his plate in one hand and his red wine in the other. Sydney followed, she remained standing as he sat down on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
HE was acting so casual about everything. As if he had just read it out of a book. Sydney didn't know whether to feel sympathetic or disgusted with him.
"I've toiled with Sloane's plans. He fucked with my life so I've fucked with his. I have the one thing he wants, the one thing he needs," He took his fork and began to eat what looked like chicken alfredo.
"So .wait a minute. This whole thing, "she said gesturing with her hands, making an invisible circle, "is about revenging your father's death?
"Yes," he lied. It wasn't completely about his father death but also about her. Sark was no way near confessing that part of his plans to her, "Sloane has ruined my life, as well as yours. As long as you're live, Sloane's plan will not fall through."
"What plan is this?" Sydney asked wrapped her arms around her. She felt a cold breeze blow against the back of her neck that sent goose bumps down her back. Sark sighed and looked into Sydney's eyes. For a moment Sydney became frightened. She wasn't looking into Sark's eyes, his haunting blue eyes. These eyes were different: they showed concern. They showed sympathy; traits Sydney was unaware Sark possessed until now.
She shifted uncomfortably in the spot she stood.
"You need to be dead by New Years Eve this year," he told her, his voice tender and soft.
Sydney knew many people who wanted her dead, but this threat seemed different. Instead of being of help to the prophecy, she needed to be finished off so not to meddle with it. She took a deep breath in and flanked back at Sark who was watching her intently. She took her attention away from him and to the window where it was softly snowing outside.
"How do you know I won't kill you? Why don't you keep me locked in a room," she said, holding herself tighter. Sark returned his attention to his food.
"I just saved your life and your accusing me of locking you in a room like some slave? Quite frankly, I'm shocked Miss Bristow. " He said in a sarcastic voice, Sydney did not crack a smile but remained stern faced. "I know you Sydney, better then you know yourself in fact. If you don't feel threatened, you won't take action. Plus, if wanted you dead I could've killed you hours ago easily. " Sydney had to admit, Sark was right. If she felt any sort of threat or felt she was in danger, she would pounce.
Damn him.
It was hard to feel tense or stressed in the scenic setting she was in. The silence of the snow falling comforted her in ways another human could never could.
"Ear something." He said, gesturing towards the kitchen "must have been hours since you've last eaten."
Sark was, again, right.
Sydney had no idea when the last time she had had something to eat. It had seemed like a week since the party in Cuba. She turned and walked into the kitchen. Sark had made chicken alfredo and salad. Sydney served herself and poured herself a glass of wine. She was hesitant at first, but walked out into the living room and joined Sark. Sitting in the armchair, she sat her plate on her lap but didn't eat.
"Why aren't you eating?" Sark asked, halfway finished with his plate.
"It's just a bit weird, isn't it?" Sydney asked, glancing up at him momentarily but looking down at her plate again. "Two people who have tried to kill each other numerous of times are now eating dinner together."
Sark smiled at this and raised his glass to her, "Cheers!" he said and finished off his wine.
-
In London, there was a pub. This pub was a very smoky pub with neon beer advertisements on the wall. They blinked a few times but continued to dimly illuminate the room. There were only 6 people in the bar, which was the normal crowd to the bartender. Two men sat at the bar; with beers in there hands they watched the news absentmindedly. They didn't understand a word the newscaster was saying. They just needed something to keep their minds of their troubles.
A man in a dark suit stepped through the door and made a beeline to the bar. He ordered a Manhattan as he sat down next to one of the men. As the bartender busied himself with the order, the man in the suited gazed up to the T.V.
"Lovely night, isn't Dean?" he spoke; his voice was tired yet livid at the same time.
"How did you find me Sloane?" Dean spoke back, his eyes not moving from the small T.V.
"I have my ways," Sloane replied as his drink was served. He nodded thanks to the bartender and watched as he vanished behind a door. He held his drink as he continued to talk, "Where is he?"
"You think your going to get an answer out of me that easily?" he scoffed, taking another swig of his beer.
"Dean, there are three possibilities. He's either in your New York loft, your Brazilian beach house, or your Swedish cottage. I just need you to make my job easier." Sloane said coolly, still not touching his drink.
"Fuck off," he mumbled as he finished off his drink. Sloane sighed in return and brought the drink in his hands to his lips, taking a small sip. He let the drink sit on his tongue, soaking in the taste, and swallowed.
"We have your wife, Dean," Sloane said, slipping his handgun out of his pocket and jabbing it into Dean's side. He didn't flinch in return. "If you don't cooperate with me you both will die."
"And if I do, we'll die anyway. Correct?" Dean muttered, holding his empty mug in his hand.
"We have your daughter as well." This pushed a button, Sloane watched as his eyes widened.
"Chelsea? H-how did you find her?" His voice shook with fear.
"Your wife can be very chatty once she has a fun to her head." He snarled, "I'm losing my patience, Dean. Now tell me, where is Sark?"
"My cottage . I-in the Swiss Alps," he said, trying to keep his cool but his hands shook violently.
"Now, was that so hard?" Sloane spoke in a mocking tone, slapping Dean on the back. "Your daughter and wife shall live," Sloane stood up and straightened his suit. His gun was still held in his hand.
He raised the gun quickly and shot the man in the back of the head. Sloane watched people quickly run out, cursing him in slurred words. Sloane reached into his pocket and pulled out a few pounds and threw them on the table before walking out.