Morphine (Complete)

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**a/n: itsjodieann has made me remember that I'm one of the few people that have been successfully choked by their crush. Oh, good times**

Chapter Twelve

Garcia watched as two men unloaded a bunch of crates from a boat. The night sea churned against the port's steady cement walls, sloshing up and creating spits of mist rising up into the air around.

She counted seven crates in total, peering through the small set of binoculars she kept in her cloak's pocket.

"Get this to the car," grunted one of the men. Garcia listened keenly, identifying him as Jared, one of the Amir's most active members. He was never home much, so she did not know much about him. All she knew was that he was alone with one other bystander, and this was her chance.

The other man grunted, heaving up two boxes with his arm. Low lighting from the floor lit up the bottom of his face, and with a bit of thought, Garcia finally recognized him as one of Mr Amir's brothers, making his relation to Jared an uncle.

Garcia was not stupid. They were two large men, both highly trained in combat. They would play dirty and had not problem with it. By separating themselves, they were becoming weaker.

As Jared's uncle walked off the port and down a gravel path into the trees, Garcia slid off the bench she was seated on, slid her binoculars into her pocket, and prepared the gun in her hand.

She knew she was a little too confident. Her ego inflated with each step she took towards the ever-unsuspecting Jared. Dull wind whistled past her ears, and the man kept unloading things from the small boat.

The sound of the water below was enough to deafen Garcia's approach. A dangerous smile was creeping onto her lips as she came within shooting range. The knife on her thigh felt so tempting. A quick shot to the head would be satisfying, but a cut to his throat? Maybe a slow show of his death? Cutting into every limb, every part of him, until he slowly bled out into his clothes and died?

Garcia licked her lips and lowered the gun, fingers trembling with anticipation as she fingered the double-headed knife.

Yes, the knife would do just fine.

She pocketed her gun. She knew it was a foolish and rash decision, one that could only result in her injury. She eyed how Jared had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing all those arteries and veins to her. Her eyes traced the column of his neck.

Her lips were parted in a hazy sort of lust, and she was caught on a cloud—a cotton cloud, soft, appealing...

Jared turned.

He'd grown uneasy since his uncle had left, leaving him alone at the docs with the majority of their restock at his feet. And then he'd felt eyes on him. He'd told himself the no one but his family knew about the restock. He was most definitely alone.

And then he turned.

And he found her.

Jared had only ever seen pictures of the mysterious Garcia, all cloaked in black, face covered by a mask, intentions nothing but evil. He recognized him first by his aura. A chilling, dark spirit. A feverishly hungry, rapidly decisive spirit.

His eyes caught the sharp reflection of a blade at their side, and his heart plunged.

Jared had always been a prideful man, hoping that his constant efforts to please his father would lead the man to make him the heir, rather than...than Mykel, someone who wasn't even—