MALACHI
A week had passed since we vanished from Lucius's grasp. A week of freedom, of breathing air that wasn't tainted by fear, of seeing Ezra slowly return to life. But it wasn't all sunshine and peace. Not when my brother and I were at each other's throats every damn day over the same issue….his wife, my supposed 'wife,' still being held hostage back in that godforsaken mansion.
Ezra had been unconscious for most of the week, lost in fever and pain as my brother worked on him, treating the mess Lucius had left him in. The bruises had faded, the open wounds had scabbed over, and the deep cuts had been stitched, but the real damage… the real damage was to his legs. Lucius had shattered them beyond recognition. Ezra was crippled, his body refusing to support his weight. My brother had managed to get him a wheelchair, which he reluctantly accepted, though he barely spoke about it. I knew he was holding it in, the same way he always did.
But there was hope. My brother Elvis being the doctor he was had said that with intense therapy and the right care, Ezra might be able to walk again… but not anytime soon. A year, maybe two, if his body responded well.
I tried not to think about it too much. Because if I did, I'd lose my mind all over again.
Instead, I focused on what mattered, taking Lucius down. I was done running. Done hiding. Lucius had done enough damage, and I wasn't about to let him control my life any longer. So, I did the only thing I could. I reached out to my old crew.
Back in the day, before I was forced into Lucius's web of power and cruelty, I was an assassin for a different gang. A deadly one. They weren't the type to forgive betrayals easily, and disappearing on them had put me on their shit list. But if there was one thing stronger than loyalty in this world, it was revenge. And Lucius had wronged a lot of people, not just me.
My brother and I sat in the dimly lit cabin, an old wooden table between us, a map spread across its surface. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, face set in a grim frown. He never wanted me to get involved with gangs again, but we both knew this wasn't just about me anymore. This was war.
"You really think they'll help you?" he asked, his voice heavy with doubt.
I exhaled slowly, tracing a scar on my forearm. "They hate Lucius more than they hate me."
Elvis scoffed. "That's not exactly comforting."
"It doesn't have to be." I met his gaze, unflinching. "They want blood. I'm giving them a target."
He studied me for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're insane."
"Maybe."
I glanced toward the other room, where Ezra was resting. The thought of him waking up alone, in pain, with no one there, made my chest tighten. But this was something I had to do.
"We can't just sit here and pretend Lucius won't come looking for us," I continued. "Because he will. And when he does, I'd rather be the one hunting him first."
Elvis sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "And what about her?"
I clenched my jaw. "I'll get her out. But Ezra comes first."
He didn't argue. Maybe he understood. Maybe he was just tired. Either way, we got to work, planning the takedown of the most ruthless man we'd ever known.
And this time, I wouldn't fail."