Deep Green - Christian Kuria

SYNN'S POV:

Sunlight poured through the frosted window like syrup, slowly, languidly, and it spilled into the bathtub that I was sitting in. Mamá had opened the window a crack, giving sight to a puzzle piece of blue sky and cotton clouds that wisped into nothing. Now, she knelt beside the bath, letting her hand drift in the water while I played with my toy aeroplane. My lips blurred and vibrated to make flying sounds as the aeroplane would soar and then crash in the deep blue depths of the sea. My fingers had wrinkled like dates long ago but Mamá seemed to be in her own little world as she poured cups of water over my shoulders and returned to listlessly stare at the wall beside me.

"Mamá?"

"Mamá?"

"Mamá!"

She snapped out of her reverie and blinked at me, blue eyes mirroring the sky behind her. Apologetically, she smiled and ran a wet hand over my cheek.

"Yes, mijo?"
[My son.]

"I have a question," I told her and dunked the aeroplane under water. Mamá nodded her head for me to ask, now paying full attention to me which somehow made me embarrassed. "Mamá... why am I not good at fighting?"

"What do you mean fighting?"

"All the other boys at school fight but whenever I try, I get scared," I said frustratedly, "And then I start crying! I hate crying."

There had been many a time where Carmelos would laugh at my spontaneous tears, whether it be because I fell down or someone had angered me to the point of silence, but over time, he'd grown to be comforting when I cried. And that was even worse. I wasn't a baby. I was six years old, almost a man. I wasn't supposed to be crying over little things. My father had scolded me for it too.

"There's nothing wrong with someone who cries," said Mamá with a frown, perplexed by my words.

"Yes, there is. Boys don't cry. Only babies do."

"No, baby, that's not true. Maybe boys don't cry, but I know that men cry."

"Men?" I repeated. I scowled at the water and fiddled with the propeller on the aeroplane. "Liar. Papá never cries. I never see any man cry."

"Your father is... different," she said carefully and I looked up at her. Her blue eyes were pale, paler than mine, and they almost had a dreamy look about them. Swishing her hand in the water, she finally looked at me. "Do you know what's special about you, mijo?"
[My boy.]

"What?"

She raised her wet hand to my cheek and her thumb glided under my eye. "You're love to love, not to fight."

"Love?" I said with disgust. "Yuck."

"You may say that now, but I know you," smiled Mamá and ran her fingers through my bubbly hair. "You're my handsome little man, aren't you? But more than that, you're kind. You have a kind, kind heart. And the fact that you cry? That makes you a man. A man isn't someone who always fights or raises their fist to solve a problem. A man is someone whose heart stays soft for the ones he loves, someone who shows mercy to the weak, someone who sheds a tear when they are hurt. You might not think so, but showing weakness is strength."

"That's not what Papá says."

I dropped my plane into the water and started gathering bubbles on my side of the tub. As I pondered, I found my reflection peering up at me in the water, his eyes inspecting my appearance just as much as I was doing his. There was his black coal hair, and there was his long nose, and there were his big, blue eyes - everything just like Mamá's. But somehow, despite every feature I shared in common with her, I resembled my father entirely. I couldn't understand how, but people always said it.

"Your Papá is different." Her voice was stronger than before, as if trying to pierce the flimsy wall I'd put up as defence. "And you're different, Synn. You are not the same as him, no matter what he tells you."

"But Mamá, don't you want me to be like him?"

"I don't."

"Why not?" I frowned. "Don't you love Papá?"

She winced through a smile. "I do, I do love him. But it's not as simple as that."

"Then, who should I be like? Like Carmelos?"

"Heavens, no," she suddenly laughed and I watched in awe as sparkles passed through her eyes like stars. How I loved when she laughed. "One Carmelos is plenty. I think the world would fall apart if there were two."

"Then... who?" I urged.

Who was I supposed to be? There were two conflicting figures in my home: one was the epitome of dominance, of strength and perseverance in the hardest of times, and the other was a flower taking root in the midst of winter, translucent petals fanning upwards to the sun and catching any grace which would become her. I happened to like flowers, but how easily they could be crushed with one wrong footstep. How was I supposed to protect my family if I was so easily trampled? Who else could I be?

"I don't want you to be anyone or anything that you aren't already," said Mamá softly and cupped my cheek. "I want you to make your own decisions and grow into your own person. Don't listen to the people around you. There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing weak about you, no matter what your father says."

"Even when I cry?"

Her lips brimmed to a smile. "You know what I do when I cry?"

She pointed her finger at the gap in the window and I followed it eagerly as she turned to gaze outside.

"I look up at the sky."

"Why?"

"Once upon a time, I used to think your father came from there." Although she wasn't looking at me, I found a light in her gaze, almost as if she was seeing heaven itself with its open, golden gates. "I thought he was an angel. I thought, it was impossible for a human to be this perfect so he had to come from the clouds. As years passed, every time I looked up, I saw him again. And now, whenever I cry, I breathe in the clouds and feel the same way. That light, pretty feeling."

Blankly, I looked up at my mother. I didn't understand. "But Papá is still here. He hasn't gone anywhere."

She swallowed. Lips trembling, she looked at me and smiled - all the way to her eyes, making them crinkle to hide her tears.

"I know, baby. He isn't gone."

Her voice became mournful.

"He's right here."

—

I looked up at the sky.

It was a cloth of perfect blue, woven together by fine threads and meticulous stitches. Occasionally, a tangle of white strands would appear and rupture the surface - clouds, soft and delicate enough to be broken by a touch. The sun burned a hole straight through the fabric. It was unnaturally warm, enough for me to remove my suit jacket as I leaned against the hood of my car. I placed my hands on the hot metal and gazed upwards.

I had always thought of my mother when I looked at the sky. She was the person that I associated with the blue, infinite expanse and the warm memories of Spain under the same open sky. But now, as I squinted through the sunlight, I found another girl making her home in my head.

I wondered what Thea was doing right now.

It had been a couple days since that night at Cargo, since she'd kissed me with everything inside her and imprisoned me completely in her unbreakable shackles. Thea was no longer a figment in the palm of my hand but real, as real as the warmth of her soft, silky hand and as real as the curve of her waist beneath my fingers. Despite having killed someone in front of her and shattered her wondrous image of me, her forgiveness came like rain, gentle upon my dry, yearning sands. I had always been hers but now, I couldn't believe she was mine.

I hadn't stopped thinking about her since that night and it had taken everything inside me not to give into my desires when she'd lay beneath me that night, gazing up at me through her dark, endless lashes. I'd followed the rise of her chest like a man who hadn't eaten in days. The sight of her dressed in nothing but my office shirt and a flimsy piece of underwear was ingrained in my mind. Even now, I could see the silhouette of her small frame in the darkness, the dip of her hips and her smooth, honey brown thighs-

"Fuck," I muttered. I released a heavy breath and closed my eyes. I needed to get ahold of myself.

As if the universe were reading my mind and hidden longing, my phone suddenly vibrated. I slipped it out of my pocket. Thea's name and a message appeared on screen.

Over the past week, the little angel had developed a habit of sending me pictures of her day-to-day on her own accord. It could have been a tree she spied and snapped a shot of, a flower she saw that reminded her of me, sometimes even her lunch if she found it particularly interesting. Despite how menial those things seemed, every image she sent me had warmth prickling through my chest at how endearing she was. Her every tendency, her every thought glowed with innocence and only strengthened this urgent need in my chest to protect her with everything I had.

This time, however, it wasn't a picture of her surroundings she'd found entertainment in; it was a picture of her.

I stared at it, unblinking. I could have stared at it for hours.

Thea appeared to be at lunch. She was smiling at the camera, cheeks bursting with food and thumb raised adorably. Happiness radiated from her like she was the sun of her own solar system and all I could do was gaze at her in soft wonder from my orbit. I zoomed in on everything: her large doe eyes, her soft, glossy lips, the dark waves cascading down her back. How was she so effortlessly beautiful? My chest constricted at the sight and I found myself screenshotting the photo and setting it as my lockscreen. That way I could always see her, whether she was in my arms or not.

*THE WAY I CRI*

While I admired my girl's face glittering on my phone, I almost forgot where I was before a set of footsteps caught my attention.

I looked up at the dark entrance to the construction site. The place was typically desolate, empty. Concrete steps led to a pair of grimy wooden doors. Paint peeled from the walls and metal poles lined the front of the building, and as sunlight spilled lavishly from beyond the clouds, it turned rust into streaks of bright blood. Only some of the windows were paned and most were boarded up with wooden panels. We'd established a multitude of sites where we could conduct our criminal activities, whether it be negotiations or torture, and with such an ominous front, no one dared enter in fear of the building tumbling down from one stray footstep.

Now, a dark figure came pushing through the doors and descending the steps. His boots crunched on the gravel and I slipped my phone back into the safety of my pocket.

"Is he ready to talk?"

Emilio pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"He's a tough one, Jefe. A couple of his ribs and teeth are gone but he's managing to keep his mouth shut," he said, letting a roll hang from his lips while he pulled out his lighter. Cautiously, he raised his eyes. They glimmered like a predator's in the sunlight, flashing a brilliant gold only present in thick undergrowths. "He'll talk though. It won't take much more to break him."
[Boss.]

I chuckled as he came to rest against the car beside me, lighting his cigarette and inhaling slowly. "I can always count on you for a breaking."

Smoke fell from his mouth in thick curls. He held out the box. "Want one?"

"You know I've stopped."

"You and your morals," he said in faint amusement, shaking his head.

"Por mi madre," I said and he hesitated before nodding.
[For my mother.]

We stayed there a moment as the sun warmed our skin and the breeze blew through our hair. There was a strange alliance between Emilio and I. He was one of the few people I could stay in quiet with, not a word needing to pass our lips for our souls to keep company. Even though we clashed often, there was always a comfort between us which no one else could quite gather. His cunning and resolve always seemed to melt away when it was the three of us, but particularly when we were alone.

"Have you spoken to Carmelos?" I asked.

"Briefly. He's inside. Why?"

"No reason," I said dismissively but his answer brought a pang to my insides.

"Is something going on between you two?" he propped, tone rising in mild curiosity.

"Nothing significant."

"That's not the impression I'm getting. Seems like something more."

"Even if it is, we'll sort it." I gazed down at my hands. "We always do."

Emilio didn't press for any more. The truth was, we'd only spoken shortly since that night at the strip club - where my anger had torn a rift between us that hadn't quite dissolved. The times I'd seen him grinning were strange; there was a foreign tightness to his mouth, like hidden stitches buried beneath his skin. I didn't want to admit that it had been bothering me more than I liked, but with this infectious guilt spreading through my chest, I knew I wouldn't be rid of it until I dispelled the tension between us.

I leaned away from the car. I rolled up my sleeves.

"It's best not to keep our guest waiting, no?" I smirked and Emilio's pupil's thinned like a hawk.

He took another puff of his cigarette and smoke blew past his lips. "I'll be right with you, Jefe."
[Boss.]

Nodding shortly, I headed into the building.

My footsteps echoed down the empty, cemented hallway. It was colder inside. The air leeched off my skin, devouring all warmth that had previously spread over my body. I slipped my hands into my pockets. A flight of stairs came into view along with a blue plastic sheet at the landing, and as I slowly ascended the steps, the sound of grunting and live flesh being pummelled grew louder and louder until splutters filled my ears.

I pushed the plastic sheet aside and stepped into the room, revealing the scene inside.

The room was dark save for a stream of light through one of the cracks in the window, which had been sealed by boards of rotting wood. A man was strung from the ceiling, hands tinged an unsightly purple and body battered beyond recognition of him once being human. Thick welts covered his arms and legs and blood drizzled from his lips. One of my men stood with a baton, ready to swing again, and I took in the rest of the familiar faces before my eyes landed on Carmelos. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the beating take place in slight revulsion.

I clapped a hand on his shoulder and he looked over at me. In that split second, I examined his face. His brown eyes connected with mine beneath dark brows, slightly scrunched at the contact; I hoped my regret would bleed into him from my fingertips.

I lowered my hand and looked at my men.

"I'll take it from here."

The soldier lowered the baton and bowed his head.

"Take him down," I ordered, nodding at the prisoner. "I want him in a chair."

"Yes, Jefe."
[Boss.]

They obeyed with immediate effect, untying him from the ceiling. As soon as the prisoner's binds were undone, he collapsed onto the soldier in front of him as thick wheezes left his chest. Another man dragged a chair from the corner of the room and got to work on tying his wrists and his ankles.

I stepped in front of Carmelos, but he was already turning his back and opening a black case on the table.

There was an itching at my fingertips. I despised the feeling. Like cockroaches, it grazed my knuckles and flickered over my palms, forcing me to clench them tightly. The sensation had existed with me throughout my childhood and journey into adolescence, and every time it occurred, it was a reminder of the weakness harboured deep inside my soul. Regret was weakness, my father had said. Softness was strength, my mother had sworn. As I looked at my brother, I searched for an answer to resolve the tension.

"Your toys are ready, Jefe," came Carmelos' voice, steadfast and strong.
[Boss.]

"Thank you."

I followed his eyes intently, hoping to catch them once - just once. But when he looked at me, I found a smile which made every invisible wound inside me burn like fire.

"Well, don't keep him waiting," he said, gesturing to the prisoner who was still struggling to breathe, blood spilling from the cracks between his teeth.

I licked my lips.

I stepped past him. Looking down at the table, I scanned the various devices at my fingers before focusing on one.

I lifted the drill from the table, but that was when I froze.

I stared at my wrist. At the white, silk scrunchie wrapping the circumference of it, speckled with pink petals like the cherry blossoms outside. It was Thea's - the hairband I'd teased from her dark, beautiful locks before nestling her soft body against mine. How long had I been wearing this? I must have taken it off at some point, whether it was to shower or shave, but still it remained, having resumed its place on my tattooed wrist. My heart clenched at the sight with some sort of longing. I couldn't wear this and do what I was about to do. My conscience wouldn't allow it.

Taking a slow breath, I slipped the scrunchie from my hand. I glanced at Carmelos and held it out to him. He frowned.

"¿Me guardarás esto?"
[Will you keep this for me?]

He looked down at the scrunchie in confusion. I held my breath.

"...Por favor, hermano."
[Please, brother.]

We held each other's eyes. Then, like coal turning to diamond, his eyes glistened and he smiled. Really smiled.

"Voy a usar esto en tu contra, ¿lo sabes?"
[I'm going to use this against you, you know that?]

He clasped the hair tie and shoved it into his pocket.

"Estoy feliz de oírlo," I said warmly, relief spreading through me at his words.
[I'm happy to hear it.]

I grabbed the drill and turned.

The man in the middle of the room was now regaining some kind of consciousness and my footsteps echoed loudly as I closed the distance between us. I took in his matted, blonde hair, the scar running from the left corner of his mouth down towards his jaw, but most importantly, the blood pouring from his broken nose into the funnel of his mouth. His head was hanging low and his face was hardly recognisable. But as his body caved inward, his green eyes appeared stubborn despite his injuries, lightened with vitality.

Observing him thoughtfully, I stood there in silence for a moment and then took a step closer. Those tenacious eyes followed my movements. Although his face lacked any trace of weakness, the scent of his fear was thick and heavy like a cloud of perfume, sending pleasurable tingles down my spine.

"I'm going to be honest with you," I started, the drill dangling from my hand like a plaything. I cocked my head to the side. "I don't enjoy hurting people. I find it... unnecessary. I find it tedious, especially when there is an easy way of avoiding such pain, no?" He said nothing, teeth gnashed together in a bitter expression which said nothing of conceding. I smiled. "If you answer my questions, I believe we can come to an agreement that will benefit the both of us."

He kept glaring. There was a confidence in him which I found amusing. Emilio was right. It wouldn't take much to break him at all.

"What do you want from me?" he finally spat. His voice was scratchy and his jaw twinged as he spoke. "I already told your... friends. I don't know what happened. I didn't see who was shooting."

"Oh? But I think you do."

I took one step, two steps towards him. His chin tilted upwards in defiant fear. Wielding the drill in my hand, I waved it gently and drew his attention towards it.

"See, my friends were there that night. They saw what happened in the club. They saw what you did," I said, each syllable ringing loudly in the emptiness of the room. His jaw wobbled - the only fracture in his appearance - before lowering his gaze, but I'd already caught sight of his weakness. "They happened to see three people with guns that night, and yet... only one of them came back alive. Can you explain why that is?"

Shallow breaths escaped him but he kept his eyes on the space between his legs whilst licking the blood from his mouth. He turned his head to the left, eyes zoning in on the guns strapped to my men's waists, and I fought the urge to chuckle at his subtle desire to escape.

I lifted the drill to his chin and drew his face up towards me. His eyes turned into a forest fire and venom bled from his lips. My voice was gentle when it came.

"I want you to tell me why you killed those people."

Emilio had described the scene to me of the strip club. Guns had been fired, various guns from different hands, and there had been two casualties. He identified three people at the scene with weapons but out came only a single survivor. Both Emilio and Carmelos denied shooting, aware of how crucial it was to seize those who had intruded and collect intel on them, and so that left only a handful of possibilities of what could have happened. Our only survivor was a man who went by the name of Viktor and had tried escaping amidst the panic after firing at us through the window. And here he sat, mouth sealed to a vault I needed to open.

"Viktor," I sang as slight irritation crept within my veins. I tapped the drill under his chin and quivering lips and his abdomen tensed, shredded muscle straining from the pressure. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me? I can promise you that you'll regret it."

Instead of responding, vehemence filled his gaze and he glared up at me in a way which made my blood tingle. I curled my free hand into a fist at his silence.

Smiling, I lowered the drill. "See, I told you I don't enjoy hurting people. I didn't lie about that."

I pressed the drill to his hand.

"But, you're not a person, are you?"

I pulled the trigger.

And there were screams galore. I watched the drill screw through the flesh of his hand, blood spilling from the space between his knuckles and onto the arm of the chair. His body lurched away from the weapon but it only ripped through his hand with every jerk and movement. The sound of whirring was barely heard over his shrieks and when I finally removed the drill, tears were pouring down his face, adding to the mixture of fluids at his crotch. A deep hole remained of his hand. Sinews frayed. Capillaries snapped.

I grabbed his jaw harshly.

"You killed innocent people. That doesn't make you human. That makes you meat for me to chew on."

I sunk my fingers into the gash of his hand and he screamed again. Shivers soared down my spine at the sound of his cries and his heaving body.

I pulled away and took a deep, satisfactory breath. "Now," I said, wiping the blood over his grimy cheek, "We're going to try this again, sí? Why did you kill those people with the guns?"

[Yes?]

"Because," he sobbed and shuddered, more tears falling freely, "Because..."

"Because what?"

He looked away, still crying, then finally met my gaze through bloodshot eyes. "Fuck you," he hissed.

I grabbed his face tightly.

"You won't get the pleasure."

I sunk the drill into his knee and pressed the trigger. He screeched like a banshee. Shreds of flesh sprayed upwards and onto my white shirt but I couldn't care less. I felt no remorse, no pity for my victims. Long ago had those emotions been rinsed from my soul, but there was a slight desperation to my touch. That night at the strip club hadn't only been a breach of territory and an attack on our gang, but because Thea was there, yet again had her life been put in danger. Yet again had a bullet almost grazed her head. Yet again had I seen that fear in those innocent eyes which haunted me so.

And he had been the cause of it.

The sound of his pain had me humming with gratification as the drill crunched through his patella and wove through his ligaments. When I felt the drill bit meet the seat of the chair, I withdrew. He was slobbering now, a mess of blood, grime and tears.

I examined the bit; pieces of flesh had stuck to the convoluted metal like meat between a set of sharp teeth.

Sighing, I rolled my shoulders. I cracked my neck to the side and looked down at the blood pooling at Viktor's feet and his quivering frame. His hand was still smothered in blood, fingertips searching for some feeling.

"One more time, Viktor," I breathed. "Let's try again one more time, shall we?"

"F-Fuck," he cried under his breath. He ground his teeth as blood poured from the hole in his knee and dripped onto the already sticky floors. Still watching him, I unscrewed the drillbit and tossed it onto the floor. It clinked and rolled to the side of the room. Extending my hand, Carmelos placed another bit in my palm: this one was thicker, more serrated. I slotted it back into the drill, ignoring the blood staining my fingers.

"Why did you kill them?" I said, calmness leaking from my tone.

Placing the screw against his shoulder, I tilted my head to the side. He clenched his free hand, broken fingers flexing in the other, and looked up at me through blonde, wet lashes. I lowered my finger to the trigger.

Panic consumed his features and he screwed his eyes shut.

"Th-They were with me!"

I paused.

"The people with weapons?" I probed.

"I-I killed them. I killed them because we-we were about to get caught. I didn't want to risk... I couldn't risk it."

"And the innocents?" I pressed as a tower of fury built slowly inside me, not letting my appearance reflect my rage. "What was their wrongdoing?"

He hunched his back and breathed heavily. Angry grunts escaped him and his weak knee trembled uncontrollably every time he looked at it. Suddenly, I wrenched his head up by the roots of his hair, making him hiss loudly. There was something enjoyable about looking into a person's eyes when they were on the verge of life and death. They became so readable, so predictable between the shifting of their pupils and the thickening of their irises in the face of terror. Viktor's eyes were a chaparral of turmoil. Defiance clawed at the trees, fear squawked shrill and loud, but it was humiliation burrowed deep in those green thickets.

I smiled.

"I've changed my mind," I said softly, removing the drill from the edge of his collarbone. "I don't want your shoulder. I want something else."

Slowly, I dragged the auger up the base of his throat. He flinched. A line of pale skin revealed itself through the film of dirt and blood that had stuck to him as I slid the metal up his jaw and cheek. I reached his eye.

"I want this."

He paled through his costume of blood.

"N-No," he muttered in disbelief.

"Or would you prefer this?"

Bending down, my fingers grazed his groyne before abruptly clamping down on his testicles. He lurched and cried out in pain at the holes in his body. Such resistance for something so tiny in my hand. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Fine- Fine! I'll answer you now," he reasoned and tugged at his binds. "I killed those people because those were my orders. It- It's not like I wanted to do it! I just did what I was told."

"And who told you to do it?"

He clamped down on his lips.

"Viktor," I hummed.

"Promise me that I'll live."

Blankly, I looked down at him. He licked his lips, face convulsing with discomfort as he leaned forward, bloody fingers twitching.

"P-Promise me that I'll get out of this alive and I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything. I swear it," he cried, desperation filling his eyes.

I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek. I scanned him up and down.

Slowly, I nodded my head. "Vale. Speak the truth and I'll spare you. I promise."
[Okay.]

Hope bloomed in his eyes like damn daisies. Gritting his teeth, he leaned even closer.

"Elusion."

I raised a brow at him.

"Elusion. Th-That's who I work for."

"Who gave you the order?"

"There- There was a man. Christian! Christian Heer- that's his name! He told me to do it."

Christian. I'd heard that name before. He was becoming more and more of a prominent figure in their gang, it seemed, hence a greater target for us.

"And Christian told you to do what exactly?" I demanded.

"He told me to go to your club and start shooting. To try and kill... you and whoever was with you. Some- Some bitch and that man behind you."

My fingers twitched by my side. Some bitch? I fought off his words, an anger growing thick vines in my stomach and piercing every part of my body with the urge to take shape. He was talking about Thea. Thea and Carmelos. Unwillingly, a vision of the precious girl came to my mind and I did everything to evade it as I listened to the words spilling out of the man. But I was helpless. That picture she'd sent me: her soft, innocent eyes made every part of me go rigid with rage. I knew they were already aware of her, but they'd already attempted to dispose of her?

"And your leader?" I said lowly, emotionlessly. His face came into view again. "What of her?"

He smiled and licked his teeth. "I-I don't know her. I haven't seen her. No one has."

Wordlessly, I nodded my head.

"Y-You said I'd live if I told you, right? You said you'd let me go, right?" he said, struggling not to wince through the pain and hope.

"I did."

"So? So you'll release me?"

My ears rang with a hollow fury, branches threading through my fingertips and fiery petals entering my mouth.

"Why would I make promises to someone who isn't living?" I said solemnly.

His eyes widened.

"Wh-What?"

"I already told you."

I plunged the drill into his mouth and brought my lips to his ear.

"You're meat."

—

Silently, I wiped the blood from my fingers. The room had grown quiet since the removal of the body. Sunlight continued leaking through the crack in the wooden panels, leaving a slice of dazzling gold across the blood on the floor.

The silence did little to mirror the turmoil inside me, however.

In all my years of growing The Saints, never before did I have a rival worth considering. Gangs were diminutive in size and power before us; they crumbled at our touch. But now, now there was an enemy beyond our reach, who were thinking harder, thinking smarter than us. Elusion had managed to pass under my nose like smoke, silently creeping yet veiling the true blaze behind them which could threaten to burn what I'd built to the ground. I couldn't let this continue. I couldn't keep risking the people around me.

I'd failed to protect my mother. I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Placing my hands on the table, I clenched my jaw and stared hard at the grain of wood against my fingers, hoping to find some answer in the eddies and swirls. I was so absorbed by my thoughts that I barely registered the voice from the doorway.

"Jefe."
[Boss.]

I turned my head. Emilio hovered at the entrance to the room, black clothes illuminated by a ripple of sunlight which stretched over his body. Slowly, I straightened as he stepped towards the table. There was an impassive expression on his face, careful hazel eyes holding mine until he reached me. Dark brown strands of hair fell messily over his head. I noticed that he'd since removed his black gloves. Subconsciously, my eyes flickered to his hand as he passed his fingers through his hair.

They zoned in on the thick, pink scar on his palm.

"What is it?" I questioned in Spanish, returning to hold his gaze.

"What was Viktor talking about when he mentioned his orders?"

I paused. I examined him. Why was he asking about that? Despite his attempts at hiding it, his eyes flashed with curiosity and something darker, something which I'd witnessed in the cafe before. I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my head at him.

"You heard what his orders were," I said testingly. "He was ordered to shoot anyone close to me at the club. That included Carmelos."

"But not only Carmelos," he finished.

I narrowed my eyes. "What is it to you, Emilio?"

"I was just curious." His chin tilted upward. "I'm curious about the girl who's gotten so close to you that you'd risk the success of our operation. In fact... where were you that night? I don't recall you being in the club when the shooting started."

"I'd be very careful with the questions you ask. My romantic or private relations are none of your business. Do I do you the disrespect of asking about your women?"

"No. There's no need when you're perfectly aware of their value to me," he said collectedly as sunlight drifted across his olive skin. "But there's a difference between you and I."

"Is there now?" I inquired and stepped towards him, almost chest to chest. Flames building upon my fingertips in the heat of my palms and reflected upon my eyes, which I was sure were blazing. "Would you care to enlighten me on what that difference is?"

He didn't move. He smiled.

"If I have a weakness, I know how to eliminate it."

Emilio tilted his head to the side tauntingly.

"What's your weakness, Jefe?"
[Boss.]

My ears rang hollow.

Before I could clamp my fingers around his throat, footsteps were sounding up the stairs and Carmelos was appearing at the landing with a tablet in his hands.

"Jefe, we've detected some gang activity a few towns over, which is likely to be Elusion. There have been reports of missing persons but no evidence of who the... perpetrators are... woah, what's happening here?"
[Boss.]

Emilio's eyes hadn't disconnected from mine while I seethed, hands furled tightly until the whites of my knuckles came to the surface. If Carmelos hadn't shown, I feared what I would have done to the man and if he would have walked alive. The anger inside me was white fire; it singed my intestines, burned my tongue to coal, and if I made a move towards him, I knew I would only set Emilio alight. I couldn't even stand looking at the fucker. Instead, I broke our gaze and looked sharply at Carmelos.

"What missing persons?"

Cautiously looking between us, he scrolled through a file on his tablet. "It's plausible that if Elusion are sifting through their enemies, that means our partners have a target on their backs." He reached an image and stopped to show it to me. My eyes widened with recognition at the man on the screen. "Mahaba happens to be one of their victims."

"When was he reported missing?" I demanded, brows furrowing. "He was at the police station only a couple days ago."

"The report came in yesterday from his wife. If they're starting with him, it means there'll only be a series of victims after him. Only they know who's next."

Exhaling, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why were so many things going fucking wrong all of a sudden? First Cargo, and now this? "Send me those reports, Carmelos," I ordered, a slight tension to my tone. "We may need to make a trip if Elusion is the one behind this, particularly if it's Christian Heer."

I looked back at Emilio, whose eyes were fixed on mine with plenty of scrutiny. I raised a hand to his shoulder, and squeezed. I brought my mouth to his ear.

"We will speak about this, entiendes?"
[Understand?]

His lips remained frozen but his eyes continued flashing their various colours. And then he looked away.

Drawing away, I made a move to leave, but my plans had a mind of their own when I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I stopped in my tracks.

Carmelos murmured something to Emilio in the background while I swiped to check the message that had appeared on my screen.

Mine: Helloooo

Mine: I just wanted to say that school's finishing a bit early today :0

Mine: So would you still be able to pick me up?

Mine: It's fine if you can't, I'll just walk home :3

Fuck.

I looked down at my blood-spattered clothes. At the scarlet petals reaching up my arms. At the remnants of the man left on the stained floor. How was I supposed to pick Thea up in this state?

I looked up at the two men having begun to bicker: one embodying annoyance itself and trying to tie the other's hair with Thea's scrunchie, and one on the verge of throwing the other out the window.

One, I found slightly more tolerable right now.

"Carmelos."

He whipped his head around and raised his brows in question. I took in the slyness of his gaze and the smile on his face. Sighing, I ran a hand down my face.

"I need you... I need you to do something for me."

*****

Read ahead on Patreon and gain access to Mismated: patreon.com/Fudgecakexox

Hey fudglings!

AHHH HERE'S THE NEW CHAPPIE I don't know how I feel about this one but it's aight 😔

What did you guys think of the chapter? I wanted to give more of an insight on Synn and his relationship with both his mother and father BABY SYNN IS SO CUTE AND PRECIOUS and his description of Thea omg I never get tired of the way he talks about her ,_, I need a man like dat and the way he kept her scrunchie AHHHH AND THE FACT HE SAVED HER AS 'mine' ON HIS PHONE stfu I'm gonna pass away. Also haha sorry for the torture scene I gotta include some blood and gore :3 BUT OMG I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER AHHHHH CARMELOS X THEA FINALLY???

Guys I'm starting uni on Monday and I don't wanna goooo 😭😭 lowkey though I'm looking forward to having some alone time. I don't get along with my housemates because we fell out but since then, I'm starting to value my own company more. Like a couple months ago I went to the cinema on my own - it was so daunting to me at first but honestly, it was one of my favourite experiences. I'd encourage every person to take themselves on a day out and just do whatever you want. You feel like shopping? Treat yourself girl. You feel like having an aesthetic picnic, a little read in the park? You do that!! Throughout life, you'll gain and lose people but always depend on you to make yourself happy. That's your best friend right there :)

Potato question of the day: What's your favourite type of cupcake?

Mine's probably chocolate BECAUSE OOF IT'S SO DELICIOUS AND CREAMY WITH ICING but I do also love vanilla cupcakes with white/pink buttercream ice cream because it makes it look so ANGELIC I know how on earth does a cupcake look angelic?¿ ALSO COFFEE CAKE? DELICIOUS.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading the chapter and I hope you guys enjoyed it. If you did, please do vote, comment and share this book with your friends! I love you guys!

Love, Fudge x