MALACHAI
The car ride was silent at first, the low hum of the engine filling the space between us. Then, Lucius spoke, his voice dripping with mockery.
"How is your wife doing?"
My fingers twitched against my thigh, but I didn't turn to look at him. I kept my eyes ahead, watching the dimly lit streets blur past. He knew. He fucking knew. Yet he played along, dragging this sick game further, twisting the knife deeper.
"She's fine," I answered, keeping my voice steady.
Lucius chuckled, lighting a cigarette with one hand as he drove. "She better be. You know, I've always wondered how a man like you got so lucky. A beautiful, pregnant wife. Quite the family man, huh?"
I clenched my jaw. The truth was an ugly, bleeding thing buried in my chest. She wasn't mine. She was my brother's, and I had to keep it that way. The only reason I'm on a six months assassin contract was because Lucius thought she was mine. If he found out, he'd gut me and use her for a rival ransom.
"I do what I have to," I muttered.
"Right," he drawled, exhaling smoke. "Just like tonight. You know why you're here, don't you?"
I nodded.
"Good. Then don't fuck up."
We pulled up outside a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The air smelled like oil, rust, and the unmistakable stench of blood. The rival gang, the Black Hounds, was inside. We were here to send a message. No survivors.
Lucius stepped out first, his coat billowing as he adjusted his gloves. I followed, my heartbeat steady but my mind restless. I had to focus. I had to stay sharp. One wrong move, and it wouldn't just be my life at stake.
We entered through the back. The moment we stepped inside, the metallic scent of fresh death hit me. Bodies littered the floor, throats slashed, bullet holes still oozing. Lucius' men had gotten here first. We were just here to clean up.
"Search for survivors," Lucius ordered, stepping over a corpse like it was a piece of trash.
I moved quickly, sweeping through the dark, shadowed corridors. My fingers tightened around my gun as I turned a corner and found a man barely alive, gasping, reaching for something in his pocket.
I kicked him hard in the ribs. He choked, curling in on himself. I crouched down, pressing the muzzle of my gun against his forehead.
"Where's the rest of your men?" I asked, voice cold.
He spat blood, laughing weakly. "You think you've won?"
Something in his tone sent an alarm ringing in my head. I pulled the trigger. The shot echoed, splattering the wall behind him. But my gut told me it was too late.
A sudden explosion rocked the building. The force sent me flying back, pain blooming in my ribs as I crashed against a metal shelf. The world spun, my ears ringing. Through the smoke, I saw them, the rest of the Black Hounds, emerging from a hidden passage in the floor.
It was a trap.
Gunfire erupted. I scrambled to my feet, dodging behind cover. My head was pounding, my vision blurred, but I forced myself to focus. I fired blindly, taking down one, two, three men. Blood sprayed, screams filled the air, but there were too many of them.
Lucius, on the other hand, was laughing.
"Is that all you've got?!" he taunted, dodging bullets like he was invincible. He was enjoying this. He thrived in chaos.
A blade slashed through my shoulder, white…hot pain ripping through me. I gritted my teeth, elbowing the attacker before driving my knife into his throat. He gurgled, eyes wide as he dropped. My body was slowing down, exhaustion creeping in, but I had to keep moving.
Lucius noticed.
"Getting sloppy, Malachai," he mused, snapping a man's neck like it was nothing.
"Fuck you," I spat, pressing a hand against my wound.
The fight dragged on, brutal and unforgiving. By the time we killed the last of them, my body was screaming. Blood soaked my clothes, most of it mine. My breaths were ragged, my vision darkening at the edges.
Lucius walked over, his boots crunching against the debris. He tilted his head, looking me over like a disappointed father.
"You're a mess," he sighed. "Distracted. Weak."
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. He was right. I had let my thoughts slip, and I had paid for it.
Lucius crouched in front of me, gripping my chin hard enough to bruise. His eyes were sharp, calculating.
"Tell me, Malachai," he murmured, "was it because of your wife? or because of Ezra?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
He smirked, releasing me with a rough shove. "Get up. We're done here."
I forced myself onto my feet, my body screaming in protest. As we walked out, I knew one thing for certain.
I couldn't afford to be weak, I promised.