Wild Tiger Chase | Book #2 (Complete)

51: always right in past tense

— Léon —

When Léon closed the door at his back, nothing kept him company but the dead cement in the walls and the constant buzz of the spaced lights overhead. Amma had found him clean clothes and flip-flops, but the trouble nagging at his heart had nothing to do with his appearance and everything to do with the power raging inside him.

The emergency unit looked deserted. Hospitals never stop, but he was near the ICU, which meant people usually rested at that hour, so close to sunrise. Besides the silence, the coldness of first light lent the place an eerie ambiance. Watching the sunrise and lost in this bubble of concrete, Léon had never felt so alone.

Contrary to what he expected, that thought filled him with relief.

Life had been too complicated in the past weeks. The things Léon did, didn't do, and could've done filled his head like wasps inside a jar. Instead of a lid, all he got to keep the critters inside were his bare hands... but to every step he took, every thought he conjured, and every word he said, he ended up shaking the jar a little harder.

Right now, the wasps inside the metaphoric jar stung his palms without rest and there was nothing he could do about it. Not only that—it also hurt like a motherfucker.

Léon fitted his hands into his pocket, nails digging into calloused skin. He couldn't escape from Jackal or from his past. More than that, he didn't think he could escape from himself. But he could try. He shut his eyes.

Don't think about it. Forget all of it!

With a sigh, he stepped closer to the half-wall, supported his arms on the railing, and his chin on his crossed arms. Yellowish lights from old lamp posts licked the exuberant royal color of the Purple Ipê in the very center of it. He was way above it, far away from the range of the lamp-posts, and for a second he wished he could stay there forever, frozen in that single moment of peace.

I don't think my brother can take this, Phil. None of us can. Not another Toni; not again.

Léon growled at the memory. "I'm not Toni, okay?" he barked.

"Okay," someone said at his back. "But I don't think I need you to tell me that."

"You..." Léon's eyes widened and he dried the tears on his cheek before turning around. "What are you doing here?"

"They'll come for you tomorrow. Jackal found out how to have what she wants in the most damaging way possible, and you don't have much time."

He took a step forward, and Léon took one backward.

"I want you to stay away from me," Léon growled. "You don't know who you're messing with."

"Oh, yes I do."

Rio slipped a hand into his jacket's pocket, but before he could make a second move, Léon was already calling upon his powers. He took a hard step forward and swung his arm upward as the long snath of his weapon took shape between his fingers. He then swung the scythe down and, with a hard jerk, he interrupted the movement, stopping the edge of his blade mere millimeters away from Rio's neck.

Eyes widened, Rio looked from the blade to Léon. The weapon was so close that when a droplet of sweat rolled down Rio's neck, it found purchase on the cold ethereal metal of Léon's scythe.

"No, Gregorio. You don't know what I'm capable of. Not after you lied and fooled us and fucked with my mind!" Léon shouted. "You have no idea of how much I want to—"

"What? Cut my arm off? Kill me?" He let out a derisive chuckle. "You're not that kind of person, Léon. I might not know you since we were kids, but I have known you for the past five years."