"Burnt bridges are a rare sight."

The drive to where my father said he would be didn't take as long as expected. Maybe, it was due to the fact Antonio had the audacity to point another gun at my head while driving or speeding down empty roads. Even with the quick rearview mirror glances, Anontio would look there right away as if he knew someone was looking at him. At this point, the only impression he is leaving is that he's probably not human. He's got my every move figured out as if he's seen it before.

He's got everyone on the palm of his hand to control and use. Now, he's got me as a driver in his precious car. Antonio pulled the handbrake upon approaching the cabin. He glared as he loaded his gun. 

"He's here." He opened the door for me and walked out. 

His keys rattled against the door. Upon opening the door it almost broke into a million pieces. 

A small, fickle candle lit up the smallest area of the room. Nothing was visible besides the bloodied bodies with stab wounds sprawled across the floor. Injuries mainly towards their eyes, throat and between the ribcage. My dad told me about those vulnerable parts after mother died.

If anyone tried to hurt me or the ones we love, those parts would immediately immobilise a person if they were attacked in those areas. You'd have about five minutes to move, probably, as fast as you could before stumbling upon another enemy waiting to kill.

If what Antonio said is true, my father must've been here. These wounds are calculated, and precise. Not one of them indicated a sign of being done by an amateurs. Only my dad would be able to do that, it's hard to not notice the techniques you were taught when they are on display. 

"He escaped." Antonio said, "ten men against one." 

What Antonio didn't know, wouldn't kill him. My father was an ex-militant. He had his connections. 

Antonio parted one of the men's hair, which revealed a gunshot wound in his head. A chair which had toppled over, had half-way through cuts and half of the rope remained on the wooden floors. 

"He managed to disarm them." 

He pinned me to the wall and pressed the gun to my head, "you know where he is." 

I pushed him away from me and headed up the stairs. He doesn't get to treat me like a disposable toy when I've failed to give him in the answers he needs. 

"Francis will realise we were gone." I muttered, "I don't know where he is." 

Not one person stopped, recognised or shot their guns as the speedometer increased much more than the speed limit. The horns blared. The pain subsided, as the sign to Michigan private park shone from the headlights. 

Droplets of rain ran down my fingers. 

He handed a dress from the trunk of the car. 

"Once I set sight on your dad, he's dead. So are you." He locked his arm with mine as we headed inside. 

"I'll kill you and your dad too." I muttered. 

A message pinged from dad's burner phone. It's short, sweet and simple. The place is yours, love you. 

Antonio mentioned how Francis tracks everyone's belongings and gifts from him. He thought I would be stupid enough to accept anything from Francis. From the last couple of days, it's given the realisation that no one can be trusted here. 

Regardless, luck is temporarily on my side as Francis hasn't confiscated my items yet. Not that I'd ever let him touch my stuff. My personal belongings aren't tracked, nor is anyone else's. That's why everyone who rebels tries to get a phone first. One phone call changes everything for better or worse. 

My red velvet dress swirled from the harsh wind. The golden heels clicked against the white marble floor. Antonio's arm was locked with mine. 

Working with the enemy might be the biggest mistake I make. 

Everyone turned to us, as if we were eye candy for them, needless to say, everyone knew Antonio was the talk of the underground. A suitable candidate for thier daughters until they look into who he was related to. Then they backed away like little sheep. 

Antonio gulped as he led me to the VIP room. 

"A quick memo. We're a couple. We're going to need a room upstairs." He whispered in my ear as the receptionist stared at us. 

I held his hand and laughed, "We'll need a room for two please. One bed. Thank you." 

His green eyes never wavered from me. 

The receptionist handed a key, "Room 212. If you need anything, let us know." 

Antonio led me to Room 212 and put a do not disturb sign on it. One of the cleaners were in Room 17, and we entered without knocking. The door closed and Antonio pointed a gun at the cleaner. 

"Make a sound, and you are dead." I said. 

"Search the place. This is the room." Antonio said. 

A tuxedo hung on the railing, the pockets were empty. The bedsheets, under the floor, carpets, paintings and everything else was completely empty. 

The lights flickered. We locked the door. 

Something glinted underneath the wardrobe. A USB stick. 

"Found it." I said as he snatched it away from me and plugged it into his laptop. 

Then silence. 

Antonio looked back and forth at me and the USB. 

"Francis asked for this?" he said.

He showed me a photo of my mother, "She was set up." 

"By who?" I asked. 

"By my father." 

Knock.

The door thumped from someone banging against it. 

Antonio shot the maid. 

I opened the balcony door, and climbed the ladder to the next floor. He joined me. 

"We've been made." He muttered.