~Every story needs a snitch; mine just happens to live on my couch.~
The kid told Troy.
It's been almost 5 days since the incident with Quinn. 5 days of thorough preparation for next week's mission, 5 days of attempting not to lose my sanity with the creature Troy had entrusted me with. 5 days of tolerating Xavier.
I had never seen anyone so messy and borderline irritating. Glad this house wasn't a one room apartment, I couldn't imagine sharing a room with someone like Xavier. I would've never imagined sharing a house with anyone in fact.
Barely 2 days after threatening Xavier about that one piece of information between us, Troy called and had a whole fit. He sounded so thoroughly disappointed that after the call I walked straight down to the living room—the creature's new den— and threw a punch in the snitches face.
He screamed so loud, probably experiencing a broken nose for the very first time and it was barely even satisfying, earnestly I thought he deserved more.
Just one slip up I made and the whole hood had to know how Heterox almost murdered a Quinn and nearly sabotaged a mission before it was even handed to me.
For someone who acted so chill all the time, what he had done was highly 'unchill'. If I had hated Xavier before, I absolutely scorned and loathed him now.
After that, I dug deeper into the Quinns.
Julian Theodore Maximilian Quinn happened to be twin of Juliette Theodora Emilian Quinn, popularly known as Juliette and Julian. They were names belonging to the only children of Alexander Quinn.
Some long ass rhyming elegant as shit names.
Obnoxiously long names for obnoxiously spoiled brats. The twins were incredibly privileged which now explained the reason Julian had continuously spammed "do you know who my father is?" while picking a pointless fight with me at the bar three days ago.
Yes, Julian Theodore I now know who your father is.
After the whole fit, Troy and I had an extensive conversation, he filled in the rest, explaining that the Quinns were also one of the biggest undercover drug dealers in LA, the hood had in fact done business with them a few years back. Luckily, I hadn't been a well known assassin then and even till now the Quinns wouldn't be able to recognize me.
Despite all that, Troy wasn't convinced that politics, influencing and even undercover drug dealing too could fetch you all that money. It felt personal—more personal than he was willing to admit.
The twins attended Stourton high; a playground for the rich, the elites, and the elite brained—precisely a school for the rich to oppress the poor.
I had heard tales of Stourton high, very disturbing tales.
But why would Alexander take his kids to a school that was not just for the rich but for the poor too, where they could live and associate with peasants when he had all that money, Troy had said.
As a matter of fact, they could oppress the rich oppressing the poor.
Troy concluded whatever the Quinns were hiding, it had something to do with Stourton—which was why I feigning as a high-school student was the perfect cover for the job.
At high-school, all students ever sought for were endless scandals occupying their excessively fuck giving minds.
These scandals I would use to my great advantage.
Rumors will fly, secrets will be revealed, dramas will play out.
Eventually one - maybe most - of them would be regarding the Quinns luxurious lives.
True or not, it would eventually lead to clues that'd ease my mission.
But as I had suspected, Troy did want me to expose a deeply buried secret hidden beneath the lavish facade of the Quinn family. His hatred for them was clear. He was pouring resources into this mission, desperate for a reason to dismantle them. This was personal for him, and the payout was too big to mess up.
"Maann, for a crib so lit it's boring as shit." The specimen wide spread across my carpet suddenly groaned. Eventually, I had installed lockable glass doors to the alcohol shelf and Xavier has been miserable ever since.
A sober Xavier was a sad Xavier—and a less unreasonable Xavier.
I barely detached my gaze from the book in my palms, flicking to the next page.
"Yo, Zayn?"
My lips twitched.
"Dude?"
My jaw clenched involuntarily.
"Zayn Kingsto—"
"What is it, Xavier?" I snapped, pinching the bridge of my nose, eyes fluttering shut.
"You got a PlayStation?"
"No."
"An Xbox then?"
"No."
"What do you even do for like fun, Man? "
"There's a bookshelf and a TV in front of you." I flipped the page.
"You ain't even signed up for Netflix yet," he muttered like that was a personal insult as he picked at the band-aid on the bridge of his nose.
"The bookshelf," I replied curtly, lifting my gaze to meet Xavier who had now adjusted to a sitting position and was staring at me like I just dropped out of the sky.
"Wait--hold up. You read for fun?" He dipped his head down to sight the cover. "Wuthering Heights? Dude, that's like ancient torture. Not even Harry Potter. Not even a trashy crime novel? " He threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable."
I gently placed a checkered bookmark in between the pages, now entirely at loss for the mood to read. Incredibly certain Heathcliff would incinerate him.
"Bro, what kinda normal man—nah, what kind of human don't own a damn console?"
He questioned with disbelief, stressing every word and shaking his head.
"Consider me an abnormal woman."
"That totally explains it. Always knew something was sus with you."
I leaned back onto the couch with a sigh.
"Training sessions begin tomorrow."
He lifted a thickly arched brow. "Training? I don't need no training."
I let out another deep breath, snapping my book shut. "Troy wishes for me to train you. Think of it as a privilege and no it is not an option."
The lazy fucker let out something between a protested whine and a groan. It wasn't like it sounded even the least bit pleasant to me. If anything, I should be the one groaning and whining.
"Well, at least I get to tell everyone back at the hood I got the Heterox to train me." He shrugged.
"Right," I muttered, now scrolling through my phone.
"Anyway," I hear him get up, dusting his pants. I lifted my gaze for a brief second, accessing how he was still cladded in PJ's by 3 in the afternoon. "I got shit to do."
I found humour in that. The boy who had spent 5 days, lunging around and doing absolutely nothing suddenly had shit to do.
Xavier disappeared out the door.
✧∘˚˳°｡☆∘˚˳°｡☆∘˚˳°｡✧
The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the quiet house. I stood planted in the doorway, arms crossed, expression more sour than usual. It was just 6 a.m in the morning. I had been up for hours, already working through my morning routine, while Xavier was still buried 6 feet deep in his bed, dead to the world.
I glanced at the clock, my patience worn thin.
"Xavier," I called, voice sharp. "Get up."
No response.
I waited a beat, letting the silence hang for a moment longer before walking over to his bed.
I grabbed the corner of the blanket and yanked it off with one quick motion, leaving him exposed to the cold morning air. I regret doing that. Not only did I expose Xavier to the cold air, I exposed him to my eyes.
Which were currently burning and searing in pain from the horrid sight I just revealed to myself.
The lazy hunk of flesh—and skin, lots and lots of skin groaned, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head. "Five more minutes," he grumbled, voice muffled and thick with sleep.
I grabbed the pillow, tossed it across the room then averted my permanently scarred gaze. "You will not be getting five more seconds." I threw the blanket over his body without looking, still horrified.
I looked at him again, gaze unwavering as I watched his eyes crack open, glaring at me with the kind of irritation only someone who slept till noon could muster. "What the hell, man?" He grumbled, rubbing at his face as he adjusted to the light streaming through the window.
"I told you. We're training now. You wanted to be a part of this, so get up. I do not have the time to baby you."
Xavier sat up, looking like a zombie, hair a mess and face still half asleep. He rubbed his eyes again. "It's too early for this shit," he muttered, clearly not a fan of this 6.am wake up call.
"I don't care," I said fatly. "You're not going to last if you do not get your shit together. Now, on your feet, before I throw you out the window."
Xavier stared at me for a long moment, probably trying to decide whether to argue, vaporize me or just go back to sleep. My unblinking gaze made it clear neither was an option.
Finally, with a grunt of frustration, Xavier swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half dazed, still glaring at me like the world was conspiring against him.
"You a real asshole, you know that?"
"Regular information. Get moving. The real world doesn't wait for you to wake up. And heavens, put on some clothes for goodness sake. No one wants to see that."
"You'd be surprised," he responded with a cheeky drawl. Yes I will. Very much.
Groggily, Xavier slowly very slowly tugged on some briefs and flannel pants - the exact same one he wore yesterday - threw on a shirt lying across the floor then looked back at me.
"Follow me," I said, leaving the room, his heavy footsteps thudded after.
"Where even is this training room anyway?"
I didn't respond, walking down to the far end of the living room. I pulled back the heavy cream rug - Xavier's resting place - and revealed a metal trap door.
With a creak, it swung open, exposing a narrow ladder that led to the dimly lit basement below.
I gestured for Xavier to walk down but all he did was stare at me with wide eyes as if all the lethargy had suddenly left him.
"Uh-uh. Nah. I've seen enough horror movies to know how this goes. Trap door, creepy basement, never see daylight again? Hard pass. I's sleepy but I ain't that sleepy." Like if I wanted to murder him, I wouldn't have done that the moment he stepped into my house and touched my alcohol.
I pinched in between my brows, let out a long breath then slowly began descending down the stairs first. "After me or I will pull you down. What's a few broken bones?" I glanced up at him, "for you that is."
Fortunately, the kid wasn't that big of a coward and began following me down after, muttering something about how he had no clue this was here when he had been resting here for ages.
Reaching the leveled cold ground, I stretched an arm to the wall, pressing my fingers to a switch. The light flickered on with a click.
White walls framed the space, sterile and impeccable. Weapons lined the racks--guns, blades, steel sharpened for one purpose. A sparring ring waited in the center. behind the glaass partition, targets stood ready to be shredded, holograms waiting to bleed light into violence. the air smelled like gunpowder and hummed of machinery.
"Woah, Dude," Xavier gawked with a shocked breath, spinning around, eyes wide and sparkling with amazement, like a 6 year old taken to Disneyland for the very first time. "All this under some carpet?"
"Alright, kid," I walked further into the room. "We shall begin with the basics. Let's see if you can even handle the fundamentals."
Xavier stretched his neck, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Basics? I've been training my whole life."
I barely looked at him, reaching for a pair of black gloves. "Apparently not enough." I moved towards a storage locker in the wall and yanked it open, revealing rows of combat gears neatly arranged.
I grabbed a fitted training vest and a pair of tactical gloves, tossed them at Xavier. "Put these on."
Xavier barely caught them, fumbling with the gear that clearly seemed unfamiliar to him.
"How do I uhh…?"
Shutting the locker with a clang, I strode over, exhaled sharply. "You're useless." Without waiting for permission, I adjusted the straps, tightening them securely across his torso. "If this isn't tight enough, the recoil from a simple punch will send you flying." Undoubtedly.
Xavier winced. "This vest's tighter than my middle school jeans, and those were skinny jeans." I knelt, tapping his ankles. "Foot up."
He complied, lifting his legs as I adjusted his boots. "You do this for all your recruits?" He teased, a cocky smirk I could feel dancing on his lips.
I don't get recruits. But I don't tell him that. "No," I said flatly, snapping the buckle with enough force to make him hiss. "Most recruits figure it out—or wash out." I stood, towering over him. "You don't have that luxury."
Xavier tugged at his vest, testing the fit. "You know, for someone who acts like he hates my guts, you sure are hands on."
My gaze sharpened. "If you die, that's on me. If you survive, it's because I didn't waste my time." Although I'm certain I already am. I folded my hands, accessing his stiff tightened figure. His muscles needed loosening. "Stop talking. Start moving. ten laps."
The kid blinked. Around this giant-ass room? Bro, I don't even do ten steps to the fridge."
"Run."
Xavier groaned, already regretting waking up this morning, waking up at all in fact. "You sure you ain't tryna kill me?"
"Wouldn't be much of a loss."
With a reluctant sigh, the kid took off running, each step louder than necessary, like he was trying to make me feel guilty. I watched for a moment, arms still crossed, before moving towards the weapon rack to prepare the next stage of training.
After 3 laps, he doubled over before me, panting and breathless. My brows knitted.
"Alternative idea." He managed to straighten up, rubbing off a sheen of sweat. "Twenty jumping jacks. I'm built for vertical movement--well, it depends...
"No."
"What about five?"
"Still no."
Xavier groaned and began running again. I could already tell today was going to be a terribly long day. For both of us.
Indubitably longer for me.