Chapter Text
Pride leads to destruction, and arrogance to downfall.
- Proverbs 16:18
“That John sure does have a hard-on for you. Maybe you should just fuck and get it over with.”
Sharky’s words bounce around her head as she crouches low behind a crumbling wall of an outpost – Christ, now of all fucking times? Ever since that wacky pyromaniac had said it, it had stuck with her, repeating over and over like a mantra. At first, she’d brushed it off, but Adelaide only reinforced the idea.
Fuck. Talk about being cut from the same cloth.
Suddenly, Boomer growls low, alerting Rook to a nearby Peggie. His shadow is cast long in the low setting sun; she can see its exact movements from her position. Before the Peggie even has time to scratch his balls, she springs up from her hiding position, grabbing the cultist’s neck from behind. The joint snaps in relative ease, and he doesn’t even cry out. Rook surveys the area for any movement, the other dead Peggies clumsily propped up out of any direct line of sight. Maybe that was the last one, she thinks. Stealth had always been her forte.
“Come,” she murmurs to Boomer, and they make their way to the house only mere feet away. Tentatively, Rook pushes open a door. A vast, empty room greets her. It’s rustic and could be cosy had it not belonged to the Seeds. Boomer trots off to investigate elsewhere, leaving Rook to explore on her own.
She can scarcely believe that she has managed to take over John’s ranch. Single-handedly (if one wasn’t to count Boomer), and it feels good. She had hit him where it hurt, a big fuck-you to the youngest brother, which would surely help the Resistance’s morale. They can even use this place as a safe house, she thinks idly as she walks around what she assumes is the lounge, carelessly running her hands over the fur of stuffed animals and wooden ornaments. The place is clean, Rook notes, peering at a vase on the mantelpiece. There are no flowers in it, which is a shame. Next to it, there is a small frame holding a picture of the Seed family. Rook curls her lip at the sight of them.
“You will all meet God soon enough,” she whispers, voice dripping venom.
“As will you,” a dangerous voice says behind her.
Rook swings round but is hit in the head with something hard, and everything goes black.
***
Upon awakening, Rook finds herself in what can only be described as a cell. There is a single cot against a wall and the lone lightbulb dangling from the leaking ceiling barely casts enough light to illuminate the other sparse features of the room. Rook looks around slowly, her vision blurred, only just making out a broad figure sat on a chair in front of her.
“Ah! You’re awake.”
Rook jolts forward, first instinct to attack, but finds herself yanked back against cold concrete. Her wrists are bound by iron shackles, and there’s no hope in hell that she can escape on her own from this one.
“I feared that you wouldn’t wake for some time,” John says coolly, pacing in front of her. He tsks, shaking his head. “It’s rude, you know, to enter someone’s home uninvited.” He looms close to her, their noses centimetres apart. “Very rude.”
“Fuck you,” she croaks.
Their eyes meet, blue and blue, yet John’s eyes hold no warmth. He is attractive, sure, she thinks, but his sadistic persona takes away from that.
His face expressionless, he barks a hollow laugh. “I have to say, I consider myself fortunate to catch you. Much like a snake, you’re sly, slippery… and much like a snake, you’re dangerous and a threat.”
John unsheathes a pocket knife, running his index finger lightly across the blade.
“You could always let me walk away,” Rook tells him, taking a stab in the dark that he might just let her do just that. “I walk away, and your brother’s precious Project goes ahead, no interference.”
John snorts incredulously. “Do you think me an idiot? You and your friends were offered that at the very start. Joseph would have let you go, no damage done. Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone.” He smirks and whets the knife against some sort of block, brow furrowed in concentration.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t torturing people, you sadistic fuck,” she spits. “How could we just let that go, as part of the law enforcement? Simply overlook the damage you’ve all wrought?” She pauses as he ignores her. This makes her temper flare all the more. “You’ve no idea how much I enjoyed killing those Peggie fucks, dragging it out until they begged for their life to be ended. It seems acceptable in return for what you have done, no?”
“Shut your filthy mouth, sinner,” John growls, holstering the knife, “before I shut it for you.”
Rook’s eyes dance. It is dangerous, stupid even, to wind him up like this – yet she can’t help herself. Like a child about to relish disobeying a parent’s orders, she smiles. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
John’s gaze darkens. He considers her for a moment, before lunging at her and holding the knife against her throat. She swallows hard but holds his gaze. Insolently, one might say, yet she is determined. He won’t break her. No one will break her.
“If it weren’t for my brother’s orders, I would slit your throat open right now,” he hisses. She notices that he smells faintly of herbs and sandalwood. “How I’d love to see your sins spill from you onto this very floor…” He inhales deeply through his nose and closes his eyes, as if composing himself. Eyes snapping open, John pushes the blade into the deputy’s skin, the point only just piercing taught flesh, a pearl of blood bubbling to the surface. It stings, but Rook remains defiant. Her face gives nothing away, and that’s what riles him the most. He wants her to react. This woman, this godless heathen, has stormed her way into Hope County with her orders and her ideals, thriving to be a pinnacle of hope to those lost from the Flock. She is resilient, stubborn and cold. She is everything that he is, and for some reason, it is both appealing and frustrating. A grown woman in her 20s, yet insists on acting like a fucking child.
The deputy inhales sharply, her chest pushing out. Is she aroused by this?
“Rumour has it that you’re hard for me, John Seed,” she whispers into the whorls of his ear. Her breath tickles him and he pulls away instantly. His lip curls.
“You won’t be able to fuck your way out of this,” he snaps. He wipes the knife on his jeans, smearing them with blood.
Rook scowls at the floor. She knows John won’t be easy to break. Hell, he’s even more stubborn than her, and that is saying something. Of course she knows a quick fuck won’t get her out of this mess – far from it – but it is time for a different tactic. Hard-headedness may have got her everything up until now, but she knows it won’t work this time. To get out of it, she needs to bargain.
“You sure? I’m in no position to put up a fight.”
This sends John silent for a few short seconds. “Fucking stupid,” he snarls and turns his back on her. He goes to leave the cell, but, of course, she calls him back.
“Think about it, John,” Rook explains slowly. “You’ve got me here, at your disposal. You could do literally anything you so desire. You could torture me – and I know how fun that is for you – or, we could come to a… beneficial arrangement.”
With a withering look, John walks out of the cell wordlessly, slamming the door behind him.