Everlasting Scars || Ongoing

Chapter 22

Malakai's POV

I should've killed him. Is that taking things too far? Yes. Do I care? No.

I should've killed him the day he came back. I should've killed him in that car. I should've killed him as I watch his arse stumble besides Katherine as she struggles to hold up his limping body. Weak motherfucker. What the fuck is he limping for? It's not like I broke his toes or some shit. Like I said, weak motherfucker.

I hold the blunt between my lips as I cup my hand around the edge and use my other to flick the lighter.

I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be travelling four thousand something miles to keep an eye on her. I shouldn't be letting my jealousy consume me over the stupidest things. She's free to do whatever and whoever she pleases. And the same applies to me. So, what I don't understand is why I haven't fucked anyone since Clarissa. A quick fuck, that's what I need to get her out of my mind.

But I can't do that right now. I'm standing outside a hospital waiting for Mr. Durand. No, not Beau's weak arse boyfriend. His father. If this works accordingly and the way that I want it, then in five fucking months, I won't be a slave to the Mafia because they'll be fucking dead. But if it doesn't, then there's no doubt that I'll be laying in a pool of my own blood.

I slowly exhale the smoke and watch it disperse into the frosty air. A quick hit will get me through this fucking meeting.

My phone buzzes in my coat pocket and I slide it out to read an expected message.

Unknown Number
- Your payment will be in your account by 6pm tonight. 

Not a minute later -

- Don't doubt me, Mr. Silvius.

Fucking Durand. A rich and cocky French boy that's currently riding up my arse. A fifty year old man wanting approval from a twenty-one year old. He thinks I'm fucking stupid, thinks I don't know where his work branches from. Well, it will be my fucking pleasure to ruin his and their empire.

You see, it wasn't exactly my idea or my intention to ever join the mafia, to ever work with them. It was theirs. A fucking Goddamn empire, desperate to want a seventeen-year-old boy. My life was the epitome of fucked the fuck up at that age, I was angry, I was careless, I was weak, I was desperate and most of all I wanted revenge. For supposedly getting the gift of a sad and miserable life. Nothing much has changed since then, I'm still angry but I contain it. I'm still careless but I don't show it. I'm still desperate but I'm patient. I still want my revenge but I'm waiting for the right moment. And I guess I'm still weak but I don't let it consume me.

I was a fucking seventeen-year-old child and I had the FIB, CIA and the Mafia riding up my arse. I'm lucky, in a sense, that the Mafia was the first to wrap me up in foolish ideas and ambitions. I was lucky because if I was drawn into the CIA first, I would've been doomed. They're pathetic and dull-witted if they truly believe that their army could go against the Tarantino's.

It was quite the humorous situation. I fully stood with the Mafia, never betrayed their trust in me as I delivered every bit of information that I could as I also worked alongside the FBI, the CIA mainly. And they fully trusted me to deliver them information about the Mafia, which I did, but only the information that the Tarantino's allowed me to give. Very humorous, I would say.

A blacked out SUV parks up only five feet away from me. I take the hint. I draw some more smoke into my lungs as I head towards the car. I pull open the door to the passenger seat and slide into the spacious area. I look to my left and see a blonde girl, no younger than me and conclude that he sent one of his fucking drivers. Still a prick who wastes my Goddamn time.