Met Your Match

When Adelaide woke up, her head ached worse than she'd ever felt. It took her a few minutes to even be able to see clearly. When she finally could, she realized that she was in a lavish bedroom. The four-poster bed was draped in satin deep purple sheets and a textured purple comforter. The walls were painted a neutral grey with purple accents. Looking down at herself, she realized that she was wearing a pair of grey short shorts and a white tank top. The clothes she'd had on before were nowhere to be seen. Looking around, she got up to investigate the room a little more. The walk-in closet was filled with clothes that someone had taken from her house mixed in with a lot of things she'd never seen before. All of her shoes were neatly lined on a rack on the wall. Other personal items of hers were strewn around the room, including the photo of her little sister that she always kept on her nightstand. She moved to the dresser across the room and saw her pistol laying unloaded on top of it. The ammunition was lined neatly beside it. Her large knife was also there, and they both looked like they'd been freshly polished.

She noticed that there was a note on the back of the door and ripped it off.

"I'm sorry I got carried away. I hope you can forgive me. Join me downstairs when you're ready. -J"

It was written in the same perfect script as the postcards had been. Crumpling the note, she threw it at a wall and ventured back into the closet to change. She strapped on her gun and knife and made her way downstairs.

She found him in the dining room sitting at the head of a giant table. He was shuffling a newspaper around and sipping a cup of coffee. He didn't notice her at first and she stood there watching him. She couldn't believe how... normal he looked. People had said he'd changed after Harley had passed away. As she stood there looking at him, she had to wonder how exactly he'd changed.

She cleared her throat a moment later, letting him know she was there. His eyes shot up to her and he covered his face with the smile on his hand. 

"Morning, dollface. Sit," he said, motioning toward a chair directly to his left. She moved towards him but took a chair a few down from him instead of the one beside him. He shot her a mock frown and pushed his newspaper aside.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, and she could see him staring into her soul.

"Nothing, pet. See, I've made a decision. Instead of killing you -although I really do want to, you can be sure of that-, you're going to work for me," he said, and she was instantly shaking her head.

"No. Not going to happen. You might as well kill me," she said, and she could see his eyes change into something similar to rage.

"No! You don't have an option here!" he screamed at her, pounding both of his fists on the table. His coffee mug tipped over with the force and he shot up out of the chair. "You don't have an option!" he screamed again, moving towards her. If she was ever going to be afraid of him, it would've been right then. He really was a bit of an animal when it came down to it.

"And if I did, what exactly is it that I would be doing?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

"Whatever the fuck I tell you. Or I'll bash that pretty little brain in. You might be strong. You might be fast. You might heal. But a bat to the noggin for long enough would do anyone in," he said, his voice deadly quiet again. He composed himself and sat back down, offering her a smile.

"I'm not a stripper," she told him, knowing that that's where most of his "pets" had ended up in the past.

"Oh, I've got much bigger plans for you, kitten. Much bigger," he said, cackling.

"And if I still refuse?" she asked, and his eyes flashed again.

"You don't have the option to refuse," he said, spitting the last word like it burnt his tongue. "You either do it or I rip you apart one limb at a time," he said, smiling like someone would if they'd just completed a successful business deal.

"So what? I'm just gonna be one of your goons?" she asked, and he shook his head dramatically.

"No. They're nothings. I get them off the street and they're disposable. I don't give a shit about a-one of 'em. You, though, you're special, little one. You're gonna be the muscle and the brains!" he yelled the last part excitedly, like it was supposed to mean something to her. 

"I don't get it," she said, and he shot her an annoyed look.

"You're not supposed to!" he yelled, cackling. "Now, I hope you're ready. We're going to for a ride!"