Mine

Tate - 6

The drive home was silent and I can feel Ian playing the nights events over and over in his mind as I stare out the window. When Ian and I are finally back at the Morgue, he stops at my place before heading home.

We head inside the tall building, it’s walls beckoning me home. Ian follows me in and as I throw my keys onto the counter I notice a small, black box sitting there. I ignore it as Ian rounds the corner of the island and rummages for two whiskey glasses in the cabinet behind him.

“Shit.”

I take a seat at the bar, watching him as he pours my drink, and then a double for himself.

“Shit.” He breathes again.

“Were we supposed to know about a warehouse?” I ask, sipping the amber liquid.

Ian throws his back, wincing as he puts the glass into the dishwasher.

“Not that I know of. What’s that?” He asks, gesturing towards the box.

“No clue. Probably from Hiram."

“Alright man, well I’ll take care of getting someone to get our shipments tomorrow. We have to be where Hiram wants us, you know that.” He says, clapping me on the shoulder as he heads out.

We can’t really talk in here. The Order is always listening. Always watching and everything we own is from them.

I lock the heavy door behind him, breathing out heavily. Tonight may have been a huge mistake, but nonetheless, to some degree, I own that girl now. A terrifying thought pulses through me.

What if she’s not mine? What if Hiram kills her by morning.

It would be my fault if so. I can’t stop him though. What am I going to do? Run over there without Ian and do what? Confirm all his suspicions? My gun seethes against my skin in the waistband of my trousers.

I pull it out, empty the chamber, and throw it onto the coffee table. It’s useless against anyone in The Order. They would kill me for even thinking of it.

I sigh, thrusting my hands through my hair. The ice in my drink clicks as it melts into the amber liquid that surrounds it, making it ombre from clear to its own darkest tones. The black box sits next to it.

I pick it up and stare at it as I undress on my way to my room. It’s heavy, made from quality material with a single red ribbon tied neatly in a bow on top.

I grasp one end of the tail between my finger and thumb and give it a light tug. It comes undone willingly. That sends excitement up my spine. I love when I’m in charge.

I flip the lid of the box and to my surprise, upon a silk pillow sits nothing but a single matte black playing card. The details in a glassy black contrast the silken matte texture smartly.

I don’t dare pick it up just yet, taking in the details. It matches me as if that’s not crazy to say. It’s me in a playing card. Simple. Smart. Defined and classy.

I lift it from its resting place on the pillow and notice the suit, an eight of hearts. The main center heart is bigger than the rest. Rays like sunshine jutting out around it as the smaller hearts seem to step back, allowing the center one its moment to shine.

The card is heavy and sturdy, unlike that of the flimsy regular plastic cards. It's clear someone took the time to create this with much care and attention to the details.

I smile and place it back into the box before heading into my bathroom to shower.