by Rina Kent
Crow.
A member of Team Zero and our former instructor in The Pit.
“Where did you find him?” I ask.
“He found me.” Tristan’s voice is amused. “He’s the one Hades sent for my head.”
I laugh, my fingers twitching to grab the knife in my waistband.
This will be interesting.
Although it’s still odd that the mighty Crow allowed himself to be caught. No matter how strong Tristan’s chain of Intel is.
My cousin reaches for one of the plastic coats in the locker. “I’ll go first.”
I block his way. “I thought this was my surprise. Why do you have to unwrap it with me?”
“It’s our revenge, too, Aaron.” Tristan slips on the gloves and cracks the muscles in his neck. “We also get to play with the bastards who played with us.”
Damn. Why do I co-habit with killers?
Dylan unbuttons his jacket and sits on one of three metallic chairs, crossing his legs on the ankles. “The two of you can do whatever you want, but killing him is mine.”
Tristan opens the door of the observation room that looks onto the interrogation part. I pull a chair and sit next to Dylan. My demons crowd the remaining space, taking notes until it’s their time to extract blood.
My cousin punches Crow. The blow almost knocks the chair backwards. Crow shakes his head before studying his surroundings. He smiles at Tristan, his bloodied teeth prominent in the room’s blinding whiteness.
“You always had a good punch, 110.”
My cousin’s upper lip twitches at his assassin identification code. He strides to the corner of the room, where lays a table of torture equipment. After picking up a few screwdrivers, he goes back to Crow.
“Oh, I’m scared,” Crow mocks, eyes glinting with anything but fear. “I’m terrified, please don’t hurt me, 110.”
Tristan jabs the screwdriver into Crow’s arm until it comes out from the other side, earning a jerk. “I won’t ask you twice. What’s Hades’ identity and why did he send you to take us nineteen years ago?”
Crow’s expression remains unfazed. “The mystery kills you, doesn’t it? I wonder why only the three of you were spared. Don’t you feel fucking worthless for being alive while your entire family had to vanish?”
Crow is provoking. On purpose. Does he have a death wish or something?
“You’re a dead man.” Tristan’s voice is low, threatening to spill hell over. “You can protect them all you want, but you won’t save them from us.”
“I’m not trying to save anyone.” Crow cocks his head to the side. “I’m just enjoying this the best I can, 110.”
“My name is Tristan!” My cousin stabs another screwdriver into Crow’s palm. Enchanting blood leaves his skin in small drops. “You better tell me what I need to know.”
Crow doesn’t. He continues mocking Tristan despite the screwdrivers pinning him in place.
I don’t even focus on Crow’s reaction— or the lack of thereof. My attention is completely absorbed by the beautiful red on white. The spilling of blood heats me to draw some of my own.
“What Tristan is doing won’t force Crow to talk,” Dylan’s words are relaxed.
“You’re not triggered yet?” I ask without turning away from the soothing gore.
“If he continues being an accomplice to Hades, then he needs to die. There’s no reason for my condition to escalate.”
Huh. I don’t think so.
Dylan is right, though. No amount torture will force Crow to talk. At this rate, Tristan will kill him before I get my share.
“Give up,” I say through the speakers. “Your time is over.”
With a heartfelt sigh and a punch straight to Crow’s jaw, Tristan comes out.
He brushes my shoulder on my way in. “Don’t even think about releasing him for a fight.”
There goes my plan.
My plastic coat in place, I inhale the deep scent of metal. My bloodlust increases to its fullest.
I fetch a knife and stand before Crow. His swollen eyes peek at me. He grins, and his bloodied teeth offer a nice view into his rotten soul.
“111!” He barely manages not to cough. “I was wondering when you would come out!”
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.” I yank the screwdriver from his arm, and he jolts. “Tristan and Dylan take this whole revenge thing too seriously, so I suggest you give them what they want.”
He grins again, hiding a pained expression. “I taught you all how to torture. Did you possibly think I would provide you answers?”
“Do you have a memory lapse?” I remove another screwdriver from his left shoulder, focusing on the blood that spurts out. “I don’t torture for information, I do it for fun.”
“Sick fuck.” Crow laughs. “How about a fight for old times’ sake?”
“No, Aaron.” Tristan’s stern voice comes through the speakers. “That’s a fucking order.”
A long breath leaves me. “You heard my babysitter.”
Crow hums. “You’re no fun anymore.”
I plunge my knife in the hole caused by Tristan’s screwdriver and twist it inside, toying with his pain receptors over and over until he squirms. “Neither are you.” I lean close. “Why did you let Tristan catch you?”
A nostalgic look darkens Crow’s features. “Maybe I’m done with it all.”
No. There’s something more. Something that made the mighty Crow fall so willingly.
Not that I care. Blood is my only aim today.
I draw a line from his upper shoulder to his palm, closely following the tearing flesh, tendons, and every little drop of blood.
Crow grits his teeth, stifling a scream. Arsehole has always been tolerant of pain. It’s almost unnatural. He grins, refusing to give me any satisfying reaction. Bastard. He knows that I hate the lack of those.
Mae does that too sometimes, and I yearn to push her to the edge. See if she will scream then.
Bloody hell. What does Mae have to do with any of this?
‘Focus on the blood, Aaron.’ Aunt scolds.
I do as instructed, careful not to drive Crow into a shock, only severing his veins for slower exsanguination. The ceremony of blood calms my senses. This, right here, is peace. Pure fucking euphoria. The voices take their fill of hard-earned blood. We all needed this. Even if Crow is chained and isn’t so cooperative with his reaction.
“We have a board meeting in an hour.” Dylan’s composed voice comes from the speakers.
Screw time limits. Torture shouldn’t be confined by a deadline.
I jam one last punch into Crow’s stomach and leave the room to give way to Dylan. I throw my now-reddish plastic coat and gloves in the bin before taking a seat next to Tristan. “Dylan will flip.”
“Not this time.” Tristan leans close to the window, one hand supporting his chin. “He has a plan.”
Dylan places both his hands in the plastic coat’s pockets and approaches Crow’s bloodied body with a broad smile. “I’ll tell you a little story. Consider it my parting gift.”
“What’s that, 109?” Crow spits blood as he speaks. “If it’s not the story of a family’s massacre, then I’m not interested.”
He’s provoking again. It was never his style.
Crow’s pupils dilate and sweat pours out of his skin almost as smoothly as blood. He’s struggling to stay conscious. Dylan better keep his story short because I would rather not deal with reviving Crow from shock.
Dylan’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes sombre up. “This i
s much more entertaining, believe me.” His voice takes a dramatic turn. “In a small town in Southern France lived a beautiful nurse. Then, the kind nurse fell in love with a foreign patient. Sadly, that man left her after a few months’ affair. She thinks he’s dead.”
Dylan stops his storytelling and leans in to stare into Crow’s eyes. To give our former trainer credit, he tried to hide his reaction. If he was under better physical circumstances and in front of other people, Crow could’ve gotten away with the slumping of his face and his fake smile. But not with us. Dylan hit a burning spot.
“Fortunately for the beautiful nurse, he’s not dead. Unfortunately, he will die today,” Dylan says with feigned sadness. “He can choose to die alone or with her, though. I promise to bury you together.”
Crow’s eyes heat up, allowing emotions to take him over.
Is that what’s been making him act unlike himself? A hidden love interest?
He used to preach us about discarding our hearts and only following our minds – not that I had a problem with that.
And now he’s practising the opposite of what he preaches.
What type of idiot breaks his own rules?
“What’s my guarantee that you won’t hurt her if I tell you?” Crow grits from between clenched teeth.
“Honestly, there is no guarantee.” Dylan showcases his politician’s smile. “But you know me. I don’t hurt innocent people.”
“How did you know about her?” Crow slurs.
“You hid her very well, I’ll give you that,” Dylan says, “But you see, we’re obsessed with The Pit. We know a lot about you. More than you think.”
He laughs long humourless which ends in a fit of coughs. “Doesn’t matter, anyway.” Crow releases a heavy sound, sounding defeated. “Even if you don’t hurt her, she’s been on Hades’ radar. If he finds out I’m still alive, he’ll kill her.”
“If you don’t tell us what you know, she’ll also dead.”
Crow snarls, looking as if he can rip Dylan’s head with his glare.
Something in his stance relates to me. The unexplainable urge to protect. To shield.
Crow wasn’t forced to fall. He willingly chose to fall because something a lot stronger than The Pit and his loyalty to Hades is at stake.
And that someone is a nameless nurse.
Sort of like Mae.
Hell.
I thought I would never understand this type of impulsiveness, but now, I kind of do.
If Mae was in that nurse’s position, would I do the same?
The answer is dangerously hovering on where it shouldn’t.
I shoo those thoughts away and step back into the room, Tristan on my tail.
Dylan’s left eye twitches, and he’s nearing the edge himself. I step between him and a still snarling Crow.
“Hold the death glares for a minute, chaps.” I smile at the both of them. “Here’s a deal. Crow, tell us what we want, and Dylan here won’t hurt your nurse.”
“I told you—”
“I haven’t finished.” I cut Crow off. “We’ll continue making Hades believe you’re dead. We will even send a few of our men to watch over your nurse. Once Hades and The Pit are news, and you’re no longer in danger, you can go back to her.”
Tristan gives me a knowing look. I shrug. True we never discussed this, but it’s the only way to make Crow talk.
Hope springs in the latter’s eyes before he shakes his head. “I can’t betray Team Zero.”
“You won’t have to,” Tristan says. “If things go according to my plan, they’ll soon join you. There’s no need to fight with them if we share the goal of taking Hades down.”
Crow remains silent, a tremor taking over his limbs. It’s only after what seems like forever that he sighs. “The three of you were pawns in a greater game. The purpose of the operation wasn’t only to take and mould you into professional killers. Hades holds a great grudge against your fathers and toyed with you to extract revenge.”
“What’s Hades real identity?” Dylan’s eye twitches.
Crow shakes his head. “I barely met him in my career. I have no fucking clue about his real identity. For me and Team Zero, he’s just Hades. Hell’s keeper. He’s posh, though. So he’s likely someone from your noble circle. If you follow the lines, you will get to him. But I assume your fathers did a lot of bad to follow, didn’t they?”
“Shut up.” The grey in Dylan’s eyes clouds the grey. “Who are you to judge our parents. You may not call the shots, but you trained us. You played a part in turning us into the pathetic beings we are. Never fully a monster. Never entirely a human.”
“At least you didn’t have to do it under the influence of the fucking drugs.” Crow grits out. “Stop acting like a pathetic little bitch, Dylan. You would never erase the lives you’ve taken, so how about stopping being sorry for yourself and use that energy to hunt Hades?”
I whistle. “Tell him, Crow.”
Dylan glares at me, and I glare back.
“And you, Aaron.” Crow coughs, and more blood splatters on the white tiles. “You’re drifting from the real world and losing touch with reality. So you better find something to hold onto before it’s fucking too late.”
I think I already have.
. . . . .
After Crow is strapped and sent to our private clinic, Dylan, Tristan, and I remain in the bloodied room.
Dylan places the gun back in his waistband but doesn’t move. He escaped killing his seventeenth victim. I learnt his because he keeps reciting them like they’re a sacred prayer.
He’s way behind me in numbers. Though I stopped counting a long time ago. What’s the point in living in a useless and completely destructive moral cycle like Dylan?
Who deserve to be killed will be killed.
Or like Ghost, our other trainer, used to say ‘Either kill or die.’
There’s no in between for people like us. Tristan and Dylan are only fooling themselves by thinking they can be normal after so much abnormal.
“Not that this is news, but there are other traitors in our circle,” I say. “Hampton mentioned Lowell before he died. We might get answers if we bring him in..”
Tristan raises his eyebrows, more in surprise than sarcasm. “Since when do you care about our revenge?”
“I don’t.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” he throws me a side glare. “He only wants more blood.”
“There’s that,” I reply. “But I also want answers as to why Uncle Alexander dies. Hades and his accomplices toyed with us for fun. No one does that and gets away with it.”
Dylan smiles, and Tristan’s lips curve into a wide grin.
“I am proud of you, little brother,” Tristan says, “I was already contemplating hosting the next Noble Community’s banquet.”
Dylan nods. “That’s a good idea. Let’s get them all under the microscope.”
Tristan’s arm encircles my shoulder. “Come, let’s continue our talk in the car.”
I release myself from his hold. “You go first, I need to change my clothes.” And see Mae.
“Don’t be long. We will be waiting,” Dylan says.
Xan and the rest of Tristan’s team greet me on their way to the dungeons.
Crow’s blood was inspiring. The best place to hide Mae is no doubt where no one else but me is allowed access.
Once I’m out of earshot, I dial Kane.
“What can I do for you, Sir?”
“Where have you been?”
“A meeting with a shareholder. The on
e you were supposed to go to.”
“Right. I will move my female guest to my quarters for better security and you’re to take care of her needs whenever I am not around.”
“What are my orders, Sir?”
I smile at his firm unwavering voice. “Discretion. No soul but myself and you shall know about the guest.”
“Very well, Sir.”
It’s time to upgrade Mae to the next level.
Chapter Twelve
Mae
White saturates my closed eyelids.
The cell fades into the background. Its dull walls transform into my canvas. Inspiration strikes like angry lightning, electrifying my hand to move and fulfil its needs. Like a possessed brush, my fingers dart in all directions, shaping something with frightening speed.
Stillness occupies my insides, and I patiently await to see where this goes. I can’t tell my hand what to do. I’m only to follow its spontaneous commands. Sometimes, it’s worthy. Other times, it’s pure rubbish. But most of the time, it’s a darkness that I want to avoid like a plague.
When I first came to art, it was to unleash the energy inside me. It started with beautiful things; green sceneries, flowers, and my grandparents’ farm. Then, it evolved into something entirely sinister: Phantoms and sombre shapes.
My trauma of darkness translated itself on my canvas more than once. I tried to oppress it, but my best pieces were always fragments of my nightmares.
“Have you finally lost your mind?”
My eyes shoot open at Aaron’s deep voice. The imaginary canvas shatters in the background.
He stands opposite my sitting position. With my finger suspended in the air, it appears like I was using him as a canvas.
My gaze travels from his narrow waist to his handsome face, taking in the refined spotless black suit.
He’s so unworthy of the physical perfection bestowed upon him.
And yet, relief washes over me whenever he’s around. His company is way better than the biting loneliness that makes my head swim with pessimistic thoughts. Abhorrent solitariness thrusts me towards my kidnapper in a way I don’t want. When the hell did I become so dependent on this man?