Josie found herself abruptly pulled into a close embrace by Arnold, their bodies entangled in a moment that blurred the lines between confrontation and intimacy. The cool evening air brushed against Josie’s hair, casting a serene yet tense atmosphere around them. “Release me!”
Having secured the firearm from her grasp, Arnold stepped back, examining the gun with an air of contemplation. “Imagine Dexter’s reaction if he were to see us now. I suspect he’d be less than pleased, to say the least,” he speculated, half-jokingly.
Her focus shifted, catching Arnold off guard. “Everything you’ve just shared with me… was any of it fabricated?” she inquired, seeking truth amid the web of uncertainty that surrounded them.
Arnold’s gaze shifted away for a moment, betraying a hint of discomfort. “Why would I fabricate such a tale? This vessel is rigged with explosives, hidden at its very core. Should Mr. Dalton catch wind of any betrayal, he won’t hesitate to detonate them,” he revealed, his tone somber.
Josie dişmissed the notion with a shake of her head, “That doesn’t add up. If Mr. Dalton had truly wished for your demise, you wouldn’t have escaped unscathed from our first encounter. You’re valuable to him; he wouldn’t squander his trump card so recklessly.”
The mention of their shared past elicited a chuckle from Arnold, though his amusement quickly faded, replaced by a serious demeanor. “Do you have any idea how I survived back then?” he posed the question, locking eyes with her, waiting for an answer that she did not have.
In those days, Arnold recounted, many had been dispatched in an attempt to capture him, a mission led by Dexter’s forces. He found himself adrift, surrounded, and outgunned. Ultimately, he made a daring escape, plunging into the river at Rivodia’s edge and swimming to freedom.
Bruised and battered, he sought an audience with Wayne, offering his loyalty and begging for a second chance.
Trust, once shattered, was not easily restored.
Wayne surveyed him from above, his gaze penetrating and contemplative. After a moment of silence, he posed a question that cut to the core, “Arnold, at this moment, what do you see yourself as?”
“A stray dog,” Arnold confessed, his voice carrying the weight of his fallen state. “I’m willing to be at your disposal.”
The response elicited a laugh from Wayne, a reaction that underscored the gravity of Arnold’s situation.
Regaining trust and standing within the inner circle demanded more than mere apologies; it necessitated a journey through trials and tribulations. Arnold was cast into the most unforgiving environments, where daily survival was a victory in itself.
Task after daunting task was set before him, each a potential death sentence if failed. Triumphing over these obstacles was his only path back to Wayne’s side, a journey that spanned an arduous two years.
Arnold rolled up his sleeve to show Josie the scars that adorned his arm-a vivid record of his past struggles. The skin bore the marks of knives, the lashings of whips; it was a testament to the myriad battles he had endured.
“There is no alternative,” he stated, his expression void of emotion, a stark reflection of the resignation that had taken hold of him.
Josie found herself instinctively looking away, unable to meet his gaze. While she felt no sympathy for Arnold, believing his current predicament to be the consequence of his own actions, his revelation left an indelible mark on her perception of him.
Arnold shared a particularly poignant memory of his return to Wayne’s side, recounting how he was immersed in a medicinal spring, his wounds searing with pain as Wayne added more herbs to the water.
“Reduced to such a state over a mere woman. Are you content now?” Wayne had inquired, his voice both mocking and inquisitive.
Clutching his resolve amidst the agony, Arnold had vowed, “I will reclaim everything that is rightfully mine.”
“Do you still love her?”
“My capacity for love has been extinguished,” Arnold replied, sealing his fate with those words.
As the final pouch of medicinal herbs was cast into the spring, Wayne declared, “Then reclaim everything you’ve lost.”
Hearing Arnold’s account, Josie’s skepticism deepened, her voice heavy with implication, “Love? Could you ever truly say you loved me?”
Arnold, caught off guard by her doubt, could only offer a hollow laugh in response. “Love is a sentiment I’ve long since abandoned.”
Yet, in a moment of unexpected vulnerability, Josie reached for his scarred wrist, her touch tentative, yet telling. “There might have been a time when my heart was open to you, Arnold. Had you come into my life before Dexter, things might have been different between us.”
Arnold was left momentarily speechless by her admission.
