A/N: Vote for Daily updates *insert flexing arm*

I wait anxiously in the van with Gareth, Falco and Nixon. When I look down at my watch and notice it's already past noon, I grab for my back and start ravaging for my pills.

I've been taking these since I can remember. Recommended by both Father and Mother for my condition. I'm still not exactly sure what that condition is. Father hints at bad memory. Mother promised to tell me when I turn eighteen.

I accidentally shot her before she got the opportunity. 

Father doesn't need to know it was me.

"Do you really think Blake will do it?" Gareth asks.

I look over at the dark man and wonder if he's scars mean he's been loyal a lot or a traitor a lot. Subconsciously, I pocket the idea of Gareth stabbing me in the back when he has the opportunity. As a reflex really, I glance at his son. Falco will grow to be a strong member. He'll have to know loyalty before then.

"Blake knows that if he doesn't kill Amber, then Owen, Myra and anyone he loves will die. I even have reports on his mother's location. Blake saving Amber means losing whatever he has left. And I'll just kill my cousin myself in anyway," I explain.

They stay quiet.

I shake out my head when I feel the usual ticking sound. Wondering what could be causing that noise, I glance furiously around the van. There's a feather hanging from the review mirror. I immediately target it as a suspect.

Tik-tik-tik.

When the ticking doesn't stop, I reach out and rip the feather off of it's string. Betrayed, I chuck the feather out of the window. I'm about to pull out my gin and shoot the feather, but two shots echo from Isabella and I look up in alarm.

Next time, I silently promise the feather.

The ticking goes away.

Half a minute later, I spot Blake come running through the shrubs towards the van. I don't miss the red in his eyes as he jumps in the passenger seat.

"Did you do it?" I ask.

"Yes," Blake whispers.

"Proof?" I ask, because I'm not stupid.

"I knew you'd ask that," Blake breathes before taking out his phone and showing me a picture.

I squint my eyes, but the picture is clear enough to see. There, in the living room is a body sprawled on the floor. There's blood coming from the back of the person's head. I recognize the split-open scull to know this isn't fake. 

But what I smile at, is the familiar blonde hair of the person.

Amber Marigold is finally dead.

When we get back home, I head for the kitchen to get a bottle of champagne. Blake runs up to where his new room is and shuts the door. I really don't like the guilt he's feeling. He should be following my orders happily. 

At least I know he's loyal.

I finally find the champagne and turn back to Gareth, Falco and Nixon that's facing me. "You boys want a glass or what?" I smirk.

"What are we celebrating?" Nixon asks.

A feint ticking starts at the back of my head again. It's soft enough not to be too annoying. Still, I glare at Nixon's unkempt beard and wonder if it's the cause of the ticking. 

"My engagement to Nessie the Loch Ness monster," I say in dead pan.

Nixon frowns, "What-"

"Oh, for fucksake, Nixon. We're celebrating my cousin's death. Do you have to be as dimwitted as you look? Go fucking shave or something before I smash this bottle across your giant head," I snap.

Nixon leaves without further question.

"We should maybe go..." Gareth says cautiously.

The ticking gets louder.

"Why? Don't you want a glass of champagne? It's probably worth more than your car. Don't you want to celebrate your leader's victory?" I snarl.

"If your idea of victory is killing an eighteen-year-old, then-"

"Sush, Falco," Gareth quiets.

Father and son both look back at me cautiously. Good, they should. They should be scared. They should shit their pants at the idea of upsetting me.

The ticking gets even louder and I pull at my hair - freeing it from it's tight bun. "Can everyone just keep quiet!" I yell when everything is just too loud right now.

"We didn't say anything..." Gareth says.

"I wasn't talking to you!" I shout. Father and son take a step back. They're dark eyes scanning me for something I don't know. "Just leave. I'll have my own fucking party," I order.

They do so without question.

When I know I'm completely alone, the ticking goes a little quieter again. I grab myself a champagne glass and bring both the bottle and the glass to my elevated desk in the foyer. When I'm comfortable in my chair, I pour champagne into my glass, set the bottle on the table and lean back.

This is probably my favorite place in the whole world. Here I feel safe. Here I feel powerful.

I look down at the foyer. To the spot that used to have Owen's blood. The maids probably cleaned it up. I take a sip of the champagne. That's too bad.  I take another sip - testing the quality of the champagne.

It's not worth it's price.

The ticking gets louder.

Tik-tik-tik.

I look back across the foyer and notice how empty it is. Good, I like it empty. People are too loud. People make too much noise. I can live in a word where everyone is dead. Maybe then the ticking would stop. Maybe then I can truly be happy. Happy and powerful.

Too bad father doesn't approve of my plans. 

We have the resources. We have the bombs and missiles and codes to other missiles. If we wanted to, we could wipe out the whole world. We're Sterling. Weapons gang. We can do anything. Of course Father doesn't think my plan is wise. Leaving only our country in one piece. 

The less people you have to rule, the less people there are to appose you. It's just logic for fucksake.

I know the South has similar plans. I've spoken to one of their leaders once. Over the phone, but he still made an interesting offer. Too bad father doesn't approve of the South.

I guess he's right. They did appose Sterling and that's not acceptable.

"Jane?" I hear my father's voice. I look to my left - to where the sound came from, but he's not there. "Jane?" I hear again and when I look to my right, father is right by the steps to my desk. His dark-grey hair is as neat as ever. His suit clean. His beard trimmed. The only difference is his stormy blue eyes threatening to drown me. 

"Yes?" I ask quietly and take a sip of my champagne.

"What did you do?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"What did you do?"

"NOTHING!" I yell back.

Father goes quiet. I watch the deep-set wrinkles on his forehead deepen further, his huge fists bundle up and he starts to shake. The ticking continues. I need to take my pills. I need to take. I need. I. Pills. Where are my pills? Frantic, I start looking in my bag for my pills.

"Did you order Blake Bowmen to kill Amber Marigold?" he asks so quietly, it's deafening.

"Yes," I answer once I've got my pills. I use the champagne to swallow it down. 

"Did he succeed?" Father asks with the same unbearably quiet voice.

"Yes," I whisper.

"I should shoot you right now," Father says.

I don't respond. Everything is quiet. Even the ticking takes a pause. 

When I can't bare the suspense, father sighs. It sounds painful. Like he's restraining himself. "But you don't kill family with your own hands or your own order. Be wise to remember that next time," Father says. I've never seen him wear the expression he has. Anger, sadness, guilt. These aren't common emotions for my father. It's usually just wit, charm and seriousness. 

Without saying anything further, father leaves the room. 

I'm alone again. Finally alone again. 

I take a sip of the champagne. Killing Amber was the right choice, I tell myself. She would've just gotten in the way. I need to marry Xavier to gain more control and she was going to stop that from happening. I've seen the way my fiance looks at my wretched cousin.

The ticking gets louder.

She was always so full of herself. Nobody saw one wrong bone in her body. She could sentence a man to die and he'd still love her. 

I sentence someone to die and everyone's upset. Like, seriously? People need to relax. It's just murder. It's not like I cut in a Starbucks line? 

The ticking becomes even louder.

I made the right choice.

Tik-tik.

I don't regret it.

Tik-tik-tik-tik.

I'm powerful.

Tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik.

I'm normal.

Tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik.

I'm fine.

Tiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktiktik.

"SHUT UP!" I yell. I target the champagne as the culprit for the noise and chuck my glass across the room. Not satisfied, I have the bottle following. Glass shatters across the floor and bubbly liquid bursts into the air. With everything still too loud, I push everything off of my desk and kick at the heavy thing. My knee hurts from the hard kick, but I don't mind it. I actually like it. With one more kick, the desk goes tumbling down the steps and breaks when it hits the floor.

Out of breath, I stand on the top of the stairs. On top of the world.

"I'm in control," I breathe. "I'm in control," I repeat.

The ticking stops.

Hey goldies!!!!

So this is just a little chapter into Jane's mind. Boring, yeah. Short, I know. But the rest of the chapters should be better. I just wanted y'all to get a feel for what's going on in our current villain's mind.

What do y'all think of Jane?

Who has no sympathy?

Who feels sorry for her?

Also a friendly reminder to follow me on Instagram @holly.shmit for update notifications, cool pics and interesting questions I have for y'all.

~ Holly Shmit