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Taking the steps two at a time, I jog up to the second level quickly, banging on the large black door that leads to the Reaper’s hidden offices. Arsenal yanks the door open before I can raise my fist to assault the door with another wave of hammering with my fist.
“Chill the fuck out, come on,” he hisses as he pulls the door open and yanks me across the threshold, kicking the door closed behind me.
“Where is he man?” I ask, eyes whipping around the open space wildly.
Arsenal opens his mouth to speak when I hear pained screams echoing from down the hallway. Blaize’s torture room. Turning to face Arsenal, I cock an eyebrow and he reaches for my arm, but I shake him off and stomp down the hallway, following the pained shrieks. For once, the thought of torture doesn’t make me nauseous. It may still fill me with nervousness, but along with that comes anticipation.
I’m salivating at the idea.
Reaching the end of the hall, I turn left into Blaize’s room. Blaize has already started digging into Vin. Figuratively and literally, slicing his chest up with a 9 inch blade. Vin is chained to the table, but this time the table is lifted, turned, shifted to an upright position and the blood pouring from his wounds runs down the length of his body.
Snot drips from Vin’s flaring nostrils as he gags and audibly chokes, swallowing a mouthful of vomit.
“I’m not gonna ask you again Vin, where’s Dante?” Blaize asks calmly. His voice is almost soothing, like the calm before a fucking hurricane decimates an entire city.
“I-I d-”
“Wrong answer,” Blaize shakes his head slightly, sliding a frosted plastic bottle off of the table beside him. “I really thought you had more loyalty than this, shit-face,” Blaize sighs.
Lifting the bottle, he unscrews the cap with his opposite hand and the corner of his lips upturn into a psychotic grin as he pours the contents all over Vin’s wounds. Like a wounded animal, caught in a trap, Vin’s howls echo off the walls.
Rubbing alcohol.
I know I should let Blaize do his thing, but I’m seeing red right now. It’s blanketing my vision, clouding my mind, snipping at the final threads of my restraint. I’m about to sign my own death warrant, and I almost don’t even care.
Charging forward, I shove Blaize to the side and whip my Glock out, placing the muzzle on Vin’s forehead.
“You tell me where that son of a bitch is hiding! You fucking tell me!” I scream, spit flying from my lips, hitting Vin in the face.
“I-I’m not telling you shit. Go ahead and kill me,” Vin grins like he suddenly grew a pair now that it’s not Blaize standing in front of him.
“Kid, you need to ba-”
“Blaize, shut the fuck up!” I shout, whipping around to face him. “You didn’t see what he did! This motherfucker is mine.”
Eyes wild and wide, I lower my hand and lean in close to Vin. I’m so close my cheek is nearly touching his, the remnants of vomit and the metallic scent of blood fill my nostrils. Parting my lips, I whisper in his ear low enough that the brothers can’t hear me.
“You think he’s scary? Dante tried to take something from me. You think I’m just going to come in here and kill you? Well you have another thing coming Vin. I am going to make sure it’s slow and excruciating, and when you’re praying and pleading to whatever god you believe in for death… only then will I kill you. I’ll kill you only to bring you back and do it all over again. So where is he? Where the fuck is Dante?”
Pressing his lips closed, Vin lifts his head high, making his refusal to talk crystal clear. So without another word, I tilt the barrel of my Glock and pull the trigger. A bullet slices through his flesh, shattering his kneecap and his wails fill me with a sick satisfaction.
This may not have ever been who I was, but I’ll do it for him. For them. No one comes after what’s mine.
“Vin?” I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, but he bites down on his bottom lip and shakes his head. So I shift the barrel of my Glock once more, and pull the trigger again, blowing out his other kneecap. Blood sprays over me, coating my clothing in crimson. His teeth smash down so hard they pierce his flesh and blood pours down his chin.
“Riot,” Arsenal comes up behind me, grabbing at my elbow, “It will change you kid. There’s no coming back from this, just come on.”
Shrugging off the grip he has on my elbow, I take a step back. He’s right. I can feel it changing me, and I’m wondering if it’s a bad thing. Maybe if I were more of a threat from the beginning, the people I love wouldn’t have ended up targets. My breathing is rough and ragged. I can’t catch my breath and my heart is pounding at unprecedented speeds, like it’s trying to win a race against itself.
Lifting my hand that grips the gun, I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm.
What am I doing?
I’m drowning in my emotions. Fear. Anger. Hatred. Conflict. They crash over me in a wave, knocking me down, pulling me out with the riptide and I can’t find my footing. This isn’t who I am, but it’s who I need to be.
Pressing my eyes closed, I slightly shake my head back and forth. Flicking my eyes open, I lift my arm and take aim.
Bang! Shoulder.
