by Vic Tyler
His hand briefly caresses my hair with a heavy touch.
Pulling away, he smiles as he pats my cheek. “Off you go, Adriana.”
The room fills with sunlight again as the windows clear, the rest of the world unaffected by what transpired in this room. What transpires in the darkest corners of society.
When I reach the door, I look back to find West looking out the window. His wide shoulders are sunken, and even from the back, he looks wearier and older.
I said once that it seems like he carries the weight of the world, and that hasn’t changed.
Is this the life he wanted? Or does he feel like he has to do this because no one else can?
I quietly close the door behind me.
Pulling out my phone, I stare at it.
I understand Damien a little better now. The burdens of his position. The damage it causes. The weight of it.
My face stares back at me on the black mirror of my phone, but I look no different than I did this morning. Except for the swollen eyes and messy hair.
But inside, I feel like I’ve aged decades within the past hour.
I type out one last message to Damien before I resolve to leave him alone until he’s ready. And then I’ll go see Hilda and take a nap if I can manage to fall asleep.
Adriana
I’ll wait.
Two Years Later
chapter twenty-five
The grounds of the complex look exactly the same. The mansion looks exactly the same. The foyer looks exactly the same.
Even Kitty looks the same, more or less. Her hair and eyes are brown now in preparation of her latest mark, but her face hasn’t changed.
It almost feels like I haven’t been gone for two years.
Almost.
When I walk through the door, there isn’t a soft flurry of bare feet against the carpet, no arms thrown around my shoulders, no little girl dangling from my neck, no enthusiastic greetings bursting with overwhelming excitement.
I’m not surprised.
After all, I haven’t spoken with her for two years.
I felt guilty — I still feel guilty — for leaving without saying a single word.
But as soon as I realized that I was the target of her teenage crush, I knew I had to put as much distance between us as possible.
It would be hard enough to slowly cut her off when my duties only increase as my rank rises, but if she felt that kind of emotional attachment to me, it’d hurt her more the longer I waited.
“I’ll wait.”
I was tempted to text her, even up until last month, the need to see how she’s doing — to check whether she’s okay and hear it from her own mouth or read it in her own words — consuming me from time to time. But if I did, it’d risk destroying all the progress I made up until then, so I resisted.
When I enter West’s study, I’m almost bored with how nothing’s changed. West looks the same, his study the same, the dark room, the cool air — same, same, same.
It’s like no time has passed, and I’m reporting in like any other day.
The only thing that’s different is me.
My mind and body are blank slates when I face West, and he seems to treat me no differently than he did two years ago.
But the air is tense, and I know he’s sharply assessing me.
He’s received the monthly check–ins I sent, and he’s probably heard from East himself.
From North, as well, for the last year I’ve gone from the eastern and northern factions. I’m nothing if not dedicated, and I’m determined to take the Cardinalship as soon as I can.
Not right now. Not yet. But soon.
West knows it too. There are some things you can only determine when it’s right in front of you, and he’s vigilant, trying to determine how much of a threat I pose to him now.
I’m not the same greenie I was before. I stand straight and give nothing away.
It’s a formality for me to be here. There’s nothing new to report, and in a matter of minutes, I’m dismissed. Same old, same old bullshit.
As soon as we leave West’s office, I turn sharply to the left towards the west wing. The familiar faces of a few deviants pass, and Kitty skips to catch up.
“Not going to say hi?” she purrs in a low, soft tone.
I don’t look back, pretending the rest of the house doesn’t exist, although my mind is already stepping on the carpet of my memories.
Heading in the opposite direction to check up on the girl living all by herself on the other side of the mansion. Wanting to keep that lonely girl company and make her smile.
But the Adriana that I remember most clearly is the same Adriana that I left anguished in her room after she kissed me. A little girl who wanted love from a man who’s wrong for her in every way.
“Why would I?” I respond dryly, and Kitty laughs.
Occasionally, she dropped a breadcrumb of news about Adriana during the few times we talked throughout the past couple of years, trying to see if I’d lunge for it.
But I stopped trusting Kitty’s word that same day I stopped deluding myself that I can retain a bit of normalcy in my life.
She visited once when her mark brought her on a ‘romantic getaway to the Big Apple.’ When she got bored while he was doing her bidding, she called me. So I slipped out from an uneventful shakedown, leaving the men under my direction to take care of it while I indulged in a quick fuck.
After the two years I had of East’s depravity and of fucking east coast women, who claim their own class of insanity, Kitty’s special brand of crazy was like kicking back on the sofa with a beer in hand after a long day of work.
It was like a little taste of home. Which meant that even while I was deep inside her, even while I was coming, the urge to ask about how Adriana was doing lingered in the back of my mind.
Kitty follows me into my room, plopping onto my bed as she watches me unpack and settle into the place I grew up in.
Nothing’s changed here either.
My eyes linger over the untouched collection of knick–knacks I gave Adriana that she insisted on keeping here. In the middle of it all lies the last present I brought back for her.
Untouched in its original packaging.
She was waiting for me, so we could ‘unwrap it together.’
She was always waiting, huh.
“Did you bring back any presents?” Kitty turns to lie on her stomach, watching me curiously.
In a week, it’s Adriana’s birthday. Her eighteenth. It’s not why I came back, but the timing is impeccable.
For one thing, the western headquarters will move to one of the many different residences that Venti owns. Most of us don’t even know where we’ll be going or exactly how many estates the organization has.
It’ll be my first time moving, but it happens every decade or so to keep things secret. Or maybe just to keep things interesting.
But more importantly is the annual Cardinal meeting happening next week.
On Adriana’s birthday.
Even without West calling me back to attend, I would’ve come regardless.
Each Cardinal brings two of their Twelve, partially for the inclusion of the right– and left–hand leadership and partially for insurance. Because it’d be stupid to assume your allies won’t try to kill you if you show weakness.
The location changes each time, alternating between the four headquarters, but for better or worse, the meeting is here at the Windrose this year.
Even though I want West nowhere near her, I know how much he means to Adriana, so I feel the tiniest bit of guilt that he’ll be away for business on her birthday.
Especially when he won’t be able to experience many more of them with her.
At eighteen years of age, she’ll have the trust from her parents, and she won’t be bound to guardianship under law. She should be able to leave here and live wherever she wants.
But West won’t let her. She’s his prisoner as long as he’s alive.
It
’ll only for a little longer. He’s living on borrowed time until I make some last preparations to cover her tracks once West is dead and she’s freed.
To veil her from the gods of the underworld. To let Persephone live under the sunshine once again.
That’s the best present I can give her.
Her freedom. Her life.
“No.” I toss all the shit in my bag onto my bed.
There isn’t much since I learned to travel extra light considering I moved back and forth from New York and Chicago constantly over the past two years.
When I see all my old belongings, even my knife collection in that box Adriana gave me, they just seem extraneous and unnecessary. Everything in this room does. I should get rid of it all.
“Why not?”
I shoot her an annoyed look. “Why do you keep asking about Adriana?”
Kitty cocks her head, and a smile slowly spreads on her face. “Have I asked about Adriana?”
After a moment’s pause, my jaw clenches down.
I should’ve gotten used to Kitty playing her fucking games by now, but my head’s been so wrapped up in paranoia that I got distracted.
A heavy double knock on the door jolts both our attentions, saving me from having to answer for my lapse in judgment.
Turan leans against the frame with his arms crossed. “Look who’s finally back.”
A hint of the time that’s passed has affected Turan. The creases around his eyes have deepened, and there are a few more white hairs on his head and face. Regardless of how little’s changed around here, everyone’s grown. Everyone’s older, for better or worse.
The smirk comes easily on my face. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”
Turan throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back to give you a good ass whooping. Who do you think you are, leaving your position open for two fucking years?”
He smiles.
Sentimental.
A tiny tinge of intimacy sparks that same sentimentality inside me before I extinguish it.
I need to learn how to keep my walls up in the midst of familiarity. It’ll be good that we’re at least moving away from this manor. I can’t go back to being the same naive kid I was.
“Don’t be so sure you can even touch me, old man,” I taunt. “You might end up breaking your hip if you try.”
His eyes glint from the challenge. “I hope you haven’t just learned to talk big while you were away, boy.”
He nods his head out the door, and I follow him as he leads the way to the gym.
His massive, wide body looms threateningly in front of my eyes — vulnerable and unguarded. Full of trust and ease. Full of openings and holes.
Foolish. He should be wary about keeping his back to me once he’s made me an opponent.
Yeah. This is the man I’ve become. The vicious deviant that East and North have molded.
The deviants in the western faction are soft. The others I’ve come across are everything our myths claim we are. They’re cruel, hardened, and amoral. They don’t believe in fairness and integrity.
Only victory.
But I don’t need to fight dirty with Turan. I can wait until we’re on the sparring floor.
Kitty skips behind us, her eagerness and curiosity radiating palpably from her.
Familiar faces turn to look, and unfamiliar new faces peer curiously. When they call out to me, I return the greetings because that’s what’s important. Constructing the equilibrium.
Act normal. Don’t draw attention. Don’t give anything away.
A crowd begins to follow Turan and me once they realize we’re going to spar. They’re excited to see what being exchanged means.
When we enter the sparring room, Ubo is there with his mentee, Zeke.
The relentless sadist also hasn’t changed, mercilessly driving his foot into the fallen man.
He cocks his head when he sees me, and I can see his thoughts whirring as he contemplates picking a fight.
But when Turan shoots him a menacing glare, Ubo lightly sighs, conceding to wait his turn.
I, for one, can’t fucking wait to put Ubo in his place for once.
On the sparring floor, Turan and I face each other — circling, watching, waiting.
His defense is nearly flawless, and his sharp gaze studies the slightest ticks of motion.
Last time I sparred with him, I was still wary, struggling, my movements mere reactions to his actions.
But now, closing the distance between us with every step as we circle around each other, I’m no longer afraid of Turan.
Hardly anyone scares me after I was trained, beaten, and battered everyday by East himself.
Something I never reported to my Cardinal because it wasn’t necessary. Something East would never share with him either — that he’s training West’s own man to kill him.
But it’s not like he doesn’t know that West and North did the same with Kaden.
There’s still a significant amount of distance between us, and I know that once it closes another foot, Turan will make his move, taking advantage of his monstrously long stride.
But I won’t let him.
I have no doubt he’s gotten better over the past couple of years, but I won’t wait to find out.
He’s not the only one who’s gotten better. Old dogs may know how to learn new tricks, and I’m still young.
Making the first move will leave the power is in my hands. I can map the fight. I’ve narrowed down my actions, his potential reactions, and my responses.
Meanwhile, he’ll be left to react. His board is clear, his slate blank. Every single move is a possibility, so his attention is spread thin solely to determine where I’ll hit first. Full defense, slave to reaction.
I slow my step imperceptibly, watching for when Turan’s weight shifts and he’s chained to the gravity of his colossal weight, and then plant myself firmly on the ground as my hips pivot, whipping my long leg into Turan’s tall body.
East trained my body to take hits, reinforcing my bones to heal stronger, and North taught me to be efficient — to use momentum, angles, weight distribution to fight smart.
So even if Turan blocks it, the force will be jarring, and the impact will strain his muscles and bones to the verge of tearing and cracking. Aim for the same spot again, and he’ll lose the functionality of his limbs before he realizes what’s happening.
As expected, his arm flies up to block my shin from connecting with his face.
He grimaces — his arm probably numb and throbbing — as I pull back.
I don’t give him time to process — spinning to kick low on the other side, so he’ll be forced to drop down or take the hit.
Sucks to be that big.
My leg connects with the side of his hard body, and he traps it with his arm, yanking up to pull me off–balance.
Anticipating it, I spin and drop to the ground, steadying myself on my hands as I kick into his stomach, forcing him back as he struggles to stay on his feet.
A wild excitement lights his eyes when I flip upright. “Is that all you got, boy?”
I smirk and motion him forward. “You’re getting pushed around, old man.”
Before I finish my sentence, he launches at me.
Turan’s speed is remarkable considering he’s over seven feet of pure muscle mass.
I barely duck, his massive fist driving through my hair.
Blocking that would’ve done too much damage.
My leg is already reared back, and I spin, aiming my kick at his arm this time, right where he had blocked me earlier.
Although it’s not his dominant arm, his left side will be wide open when he’s half–immobilized.
But damn, he’s sturdy, hardly budging an inch as he takes my attack, and I barely raise my arms to block his roundhouse kick.
The foot he has on my height is nothing compared to the extra hundred or so pounds of steel hardening his body.
But he doesn’t move away f
ast enough. Even though my arms are starting to feel numb, I grab him, holding him still as I target his knee.
As well as he hides it, I know an old injury has weakened the joint. It’s a dirty move, but a victory is a victory, so I attack it.
He snarls when I make contact, and the slightest buckle of his legs gives me the upper hand as I flip him onto his back.
I’m on him immediately, pummeling hard fists against the arms shielding his head.
He bucks his hips up, throwing me overhead.
Before I fall, I tuck and roll, immediately unfolding to land on my feet.
Turan is already missiling towards me.
I should be looking at him. I should be prepared to take him head–on. I should, at the very least, dodge.
But my focus slips when something catches my eye.
And the next thing I know, I’m on the ground, in the worst position I can be in with this iron–fortified mammoth on me.
All because my attention slipped for half a second. Magnetized to the face I longed to see.
What the fuck is she doing here?
His punches are raining down on me. I grit my teeth through the blows against my shielded arms.
I’ve never seen Adriana down here before. She used to be put–off by the fighting, so why is she here now? To watch?
But she’s wearing skin–tight workout clothes, her cleavage pouring out of her crossed arms.
What the fuck? She has cleavage?
I tune in to hear Turan’s frenzied cackle, and he growls tauntingly, “You haven’t changed at all, boy.”
My body amps with adrenaline as anger sears through my veins in a surge of sudden wrath.
He fucking called her down here.
I curse myself for falling for the cheap trick. I can’t let her be my downfall when she’s the reason for me to get back up.
Curling into his torso, I wrap my arms around him and lunge forward.
We grapple on the ground for a while until I fist his hair and slam his head onto the ground.
I don’t go easy on him, just like he hasn’t with me.
This is the type of men that we are. Gambling our lives for the thrill of death.
