River & Revenge

09 | broken ego, broken bones

A N D E R

     As a kid, Ander remembered feeling like a watched pot.

In a house that was too big for him, and his father, there were multiple moments where he had to run away from the monsters in the dark.

He recalled the constant unsettling sense of threat, how through some silly efforts, he'd ensure his back was never to the demon and dash for his bed as soon as the lights were off. He'd give the unruly monster no chance to catch him.

Tonight, it was different.

He wasn't sure who his nightmare was this time, his exhaustion from a stressful long day or an enemy lurking in the shadows. His intuition said the silence foreshadowed a bleak future, and he didn't doubt for a second. He could feel someone's eyes on him, though he couldn't figure out what it was—a genuine threat or some lazy drunk spying through their peephole again.

Helpless and unsighted, he turned around once more in hopes of finding someone behind him and getting rid of his anxiety altogether, but all that he did find was darkness and silence.

The last time his neighbourhood had been this quiet, he had lost the only sane person in his building to a bullet, and the hush had been the dreadful consequence of the petty murder. He couldn't help but worry if he would be the reason for the silence tonight.

He walked along the dark corridor, stumbling through the random packages and garbage bags outside the doors. Over the three years he'd lived here, he'd learned not to disturb the darkness. The quieter and faster he moved, the better.

At his threshold, he twisted the keys into the lock, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. He shook the feeling aside, pushing the door open, but the gate refused to open past a few centimetres.

Something was blocking the entrance, and Ander was alarmed immediately.

He took a few steps back. Wishing to retrieve the knife from his back pocket, he moved quickly. But his arms were immediately sized by a firm grip. "What? Fuck—"

Panicked, he struggled, but someone pushed him against the wooden door. The side of his face hit the surface with a loud thud, and the door swung open. Whoever it was, let him go and shoved Ander inside his apartment. The door shut behind him with a bang.

"Fuck," he was staring into the eye of the darkness, but when the lights turned on, he was almost blinded. He breathed in, slowly looking around.

In his living room stood Seth Quinn.

He attempted to get up from the floor, but a foot pressed into his back. He went down easy. He didn't recognise the man who was intent on being violent, but he had a feeling who he was, most likely some big player's man. If they were here, it meant two things. Either they knew he had been snitching or— "Enjoying the extra money at our expense, Ander?" Yeah, they knew.

"Nghh," a familiar voice spluttered gibberish in the background, and it caught his attention. Ander's chest relaxed with relief. It was Marco. Sure, he was in the corner, held by another familiar man, but it was Marco. He was alive and well.

Amongst the strangers, he recognised the face: Ben. The tall and brawny man stared at him with a dead expression as his bald head shined beneath the lights. He looked annoyed at the struggling Marco.

He wasn't a friendly man, but in the past, he had been civil to Ander. It seemed like a fair enough bet to approach him, "Ben, I don't know what they're talking about—" he started, but a kick at the side of his stomach interrupted him. Holding back a groan, he continued, "I wasn't the snitch. Come on, I've delivered everything on time. Never took orders from anyone but you. How could it be me?"