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Taking in the colorful flowers and gorgeous fountain in the center reminds me of some kind of park people pay to see. Butterflies surround a rose bush, and I wish I had a camera to take a picture. I’m about to reach for my phone to use it but remember quickly that I don’t have it anymore.
“Is there any possibility I could get my phone back? Or at least call my dad? I just want to tell him I’m okay and not to worry,” I ask as we walk further away from the house and deeper into the garden.
“No.” He shakes his head, not even considering my request.
“Why? He is going to be sick with worry. I just want to–”
“That’s the point, Amara, I want your father to be sick with worry. I want him to suffer for what he did to you and me. He deserves to be miserable, or have you forgotten that he didn’t warn you?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say through clenched teeth. “That’s another reason I want to talk to him.”
“Because you don’t believe me?”
“It’s hard to believe my dad would do this. He is a good father, always has been. I just can’t wrap my head around all of this,” I admit.
“You’ll come to terms soon enough,” he fires back. There is a tone to his voice that tells me to leave the subject alone for now. I’ll stop asking him about my father for today, but I will not give up on that so easily.
“What about school? Will you really not let me go back to classes?”
“There is no reason for you to continue your schooling. Plus, I want you at my complete disposal. I want to know where you are and what you are doing at all times.”
Of course, he does...
“Enzo,” someone calls from behind us. We both turn at the same time and find Mack approaching us. “There are some urgent matters you need to tend to.”
Enzo turns to me. “Go upstairs to the bedroom and stay inside. Do not go anywhere else, do not come out again until I tell you to.”
“Got it.” I nod and turn away from him.
It’s not like I have a choice to do anything else anyway.6Enzo“Mack, grab the gun,” I order gruffly as we circle the tied-up man who is now lying on my floor. Blood is dripping from his mouth, and I can see the far-off look in his eyes—the one that says he knows he is going to die.
Mack hands me the gun, and I hold it firmly in my hand. A sliver of doubt pools into my mind. I have been doing this since before I was even eighteen. Not once have I ever had a doubt, yet now at twenty-five, I suddenly want to feel sorry for doing this shit.
Turning my gaze to Mack again, I look at him. He is tall just like me and built like a house. Our families have been friends forever, and he is one of only a few I trust with my life.
“What’s going on? Want to torture the guy more before ending him?” Eli asks, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He is one sick son of a bitch, but he always gets the job done.
“Nah, he can die now.”
Mack wipes the sweat from his brow as he gives me a bewildered look. I can’t blame him one bit, I’m as confused as he is… Why am I still standing here with a gun in my hand? Why isn’t this guy being taken away to be buried already?
“You want me to do it?” Mack questions. His voice is hushed, as to not let the little snitch hear. The man who lies before me is someone who took our stash of drugs, sold them, and then took the money and ran. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it most certainly won’t be the last.
“No.” I wave him off. I don’t need anyone to do anything for me. I have climbed my way to the top alone, and I can handle this alone too.
Squatting down, I grab the man by the chin, forcing him to look at me. “Tony, why did you have to go and pull a stupid stunt like this?” There is nothing sincere about my questioning. It is mocking, taunting even. See, I like it when these people try to fight back because it makes me feel that much more powerful.
He doesn’t say anything to me; it seems like he is looking straight through me rather than at me, which in turn just pisses me off more.
“Any last wishes?” I ask, smirking, the gun cocked and ready. I generally never take this long to put a bullet in someone’s head, but something is off about me tonight. I can feel it.
Amara.
My mind whispers her name faintly. I grip the gun tighter in my hand. The man says nothing to me, so I take that as his answer. Putting the gun to his head, I pull the trigger. The ringing that is generally associated with shooting a gun no longer affects me. I can’t tell you how many people I have killed with this gun alone. After a while, your body just gets used to it.
