Page 18 of Nero


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I keep the lights dimmed in here. Not needing a bright reflection of all my scars, I stand in front of the mirror, and I take them in. The slashes of raised skin up and down my ribs, the circular rise of flesh low on my abdomen, and the matching round marks on the front and back of my thigh are still visible even now.

They tell my story. One of torment, survival and violence.

My tale is not a pretty one. But it is mine. And so far, the plot has sided in my favor. I’ve lived when so many others haven’t.

Still, my luck won’t last forever.

It never does for men like me.

And that’s exactly why I need to forget Payton. Why I need to pretend she doesn’t exist. Why I need to delete every shred of information I’ve collected on her and let her live out her own differently-miserable existence.

Turning from the mirror, I don’t bother looking over my shoulder at the canvas of memories etched onto my back, as I stride into the shower.

With my face tilted back, I turn the handle and the cold spray pours over me, shocking me back into the present.

My muscles start to unclench as the water slowly warms.

I need to focus on what’s important. And that’s the same thing it’s always been. Surviving.

When King and I made our move all those years ago, we knew exactly what it meant.

It meant freedom from the shackles of servitude. It meant retribution against those who stole our futures away from us.

But we aren’t good men. Not King, and especially not me. Because more than anything, it meant vengeance. And we took our pound of flesh.

A dark sort of glee fills my chest.

We took more than a pound.

We took it all.

The sewers ran red that night.

The night we cut down the Russians and the Irish, we had an option. For the first time in so many years, we actually had an option. We could leave this life and walk away. Try to find some sense of normalcy. Or we could take control of the territory and build our own legacy.

A quiet life was a nice daydream. But the first time I killed a man, I knew there’d be no going back. So, we climbed the mountain of bodies, their slit throats making the path slick and treacherous; and we formed our own destinies.

We formed The Alliance.

Heavy with memories, my head tips forward.

Steaming water cascades through my hair. The warm after the cold making me appreciate it even more.

It’s easy to get used to luxury. Easier yet to get swept up in the feeling of invincibility.

As if to remind myself that I’m human, my hand reaches down to trace the gunshot scar on my stomach. It’s the closest I’ve ever come. Even with the beatings, the cold nights, the starved days, that little piece of metal was the closest I ever came to death.

There’ve been times I wish it would’ve taken me. Done me in. But I still have moments I’m glad I’m alive.

Like last night.

My eyes slowly open, locking on the small, stolen bottle on the shelf in my shower.

I shouldn’t have taken it. Butshouldn’t havenever stopped me before. And, I blow out a breath, it’s not gonna stop me now.

Bending, I scoop up the bottle, pop the lid open and inhale the scent of roses.

It’s floral, but it’s not light. Not girly or carefree. It’s… dark.

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