Chapter Text
11:37 PM
She was fucked. She knew it, the girl across the table knew it, hell, even the dumbass henchman who brought the girl in probably knew it. It was floating in the air, intoxicatingly so, but considering she was the one with access to a gun, Carmilla found it a tad easier to give off a faux confidence instead of shitting her pants as she looked at her captured.
It also helped that the girl in question was securely handcuffed to the metal chair she sat upon.
The girl was dressed, mockingly in its own right, in all black, save the splash of color dripping out of her balaclava. Her hair was a very light brown with highlights that made it almost confusing to describe, not that Carmilla would bother with that. She had more important things to worry about, namely pumping this chick dry for information and then, well, killing her.
Or so she had hoped.
Because she wasn't allowed to at the current moment, directly rendering her to be so fucked. A text from her mother (Do NOT do anything! I will call you in an hour) put all of her fun evening plans on hold.
For the time being.
But for this hour, Carmilla hung in suspense of that phone call, and by association, discovering the way in which she had majorly screwed up. For if this was truly the girl she needed to catch and she had accomplished such feat without the cops catching on, there would be no reason for her to pull back on the reins of the operation.
Yet here she was. Waiting on a phone call and feeling entirely uncertain of the shitstorm awaiting her.
It was a shame her mother gave her such instructions because she was looking forward to the kill. Hell, she was looking forward to it more than any kill she'd had recently. Carmilla, despite her reputation, wasn't much for murder. Personally, at least. Sure, her job had its fair share of homicide and crime surrounding it, so much so that a criminal justice textbook could define almost all crimes, misdemeanor to felony, based solely on things the gang had done. But then again, this was Los Santos. And that was the gang. She let them do the dirty work while she relaxed in her penthouse just outside the city center or in her unnecessarily large office atop the Maze Bank. From there, the crime looked small.
Like most things, she didn't let it bother her. She even tried, mostly successfully, to not let the text bother her.
What did bother her was the huffing and puffing and frustrated noises emitted from the far side of the room where little Miss Big Mouth was seated. Surprise, surprise, she didn't like being kidnapped and strapped down in a warehouse on the southeast side of the city. Carmilla rolled her eyes, This girl's insolence was to be expected. That's why she had a fucking bandana tied into her mouth.
Yet she was still making noise.
Carmilla wanted so badly to pop a cap in her ass that she had to turn around, count to ten and refocus before addressing the girl.
“Alright, Eagle,” she said, with as much disdain as she could muster. “Let's try this again.” She walked smoothly over to the chair her companion was sitting on. “What do you have to say for yourself?” She roughly jerked the bandana down so it hung loosely around the girl’s neck, freeing her mouth once again.
Carmilla should have known better.
She spit. Right on Carmilla's black motorcycle helmet.
She couldn’t tell if that was an improvement from the hellish screeching the girl was producing before the bandana was added to her wardrobe.
Regardless, Carmilla took another deep breath to try to assuage the urge to pull the knot on the bandana irrevocably tightly around the girl’s neck and watch her fucking face turn blue. Instead she grabbed a napkin off the table and wiped her visor off. The girl’s eyes trailed her as she walked from in front of her to the table then to the trash bin. Her head barely shifted but Carmilla could see her light brown eyes move in tandem with Carmilla’s body.
“I’m not telling you anything,” the girl spoke up strongly, when Carmilla’s back was facing her.
Her lack of fear, and by extension, respect was not only annoying as fuck but also ignorant as all hell. She should be afraid of Carmilla. Hell, she should be fucking terrified of her. For all intents and purposes, she was the worst person you could encounter in Los Santos.
Ask anyone.
On the streets, she was known as the Panther. She coined that name herself and was damn proud of it, living up to its prowess by being agile, quick and smart. She dressed in all black and all of her business vehicles were black, including her favorite mode of transportation, her Lectro. Black was her thing, which made the girl’s attire entirely frustrating from the get-go. Especially since she had a reputation for it, as well as for her crime. After gaining power, few had tried to cross her, one of the exceptions being Eagle, and those who did died.
It was just the cost of business.
Regardless, that wasn’t what she was dealing with today. Maybe life would be easier right now if it was.
She pulled a revolver out from the drawer before her. It was hardly her weapon of choice but she liked the way it sounded when she spun the barrel. She liked even more the sound of a deep, panicked swallow from the girl when the barrel spun.
“Well, buttercup, here’s the deal,” she drawled, turning on the heel of her combat boot to properly face the addressee. “Either you talk and I kill you in the most humane way possible.” She looked down at her revolver and playfully spun the barrel once more, a smirk toying on her lips, though it was masked. “Or you don’t, and I torture the fuck out of you until you talk, and if by the grace of god you die in the process, I’ll use your phone to get the information I need."
Carmilla shrugged dismissively, and turned to face a cabinet behind her. Even though she couldn’t see it, she bet that the girl’s brow was furrowed. The handcuffed girl couldn’t tell what was in the closet, obviously, but Carmilla could tell she was still weighing her options, perhaps trying to figure out what the metal doors contained. Trying also to find if it was something so bad that it wouldn’t be worth the honor of dying without succumbing to the temptation of quitting. “Either way,” she continued, getting the girl’s eyes to flash back to where she stood. “I get the information and you die. Save me the fucking trouble, kid."
“I don't think so.”
God fucking dammit.