Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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A FEW MINUTES EARLIER: 𝗥igo's large hand grasped his forearm harshly, yanking him forward and into his already dropped shoulder. His stomach folded into itself as it connected with such a boney area; the sharpness of the move was lost on him as Rigo managed to remove his feet from the ground and throw him up and over his body, taking him down in less than two seconds.
A mix of a groan and a futile gasp of oxygen escaped the back of his throat as his back connected with the slick and hard ground, shattering his free will to breathe. The water that poured down from the spouts at an unstoppable rate seeped into his mouth and eyes, blinding, and suffocating him.
His supposed brother cackled above him whilst placing a foot on his stomach and using that as a support beam for the flat of his arm to rest on.
"Is this all you have to offer?" Rigo continued to laugh, "I expected more from the boy that replaced me and took my title."
Rueben attempted to pry his mouth open to respond to him, but the lack of oxygen exacerbated his lungs, expanding them, and taking away his ability to breathe. It didn't help that his two-toned, bigger biological sibling was skewering the toe of his boots between his ribs.
Knowing he'd never regain a mode of stability if he allowed himself to fall victim to this position for a lengthy period of time, he grabbed his ankle, using every other sense besides vision to guide him, and mustered the courage to move. Without a lot of air inside his body, it was a task not many could manage—however, in a split second, his left leg wrapped up the front of Rigo's, while his right did the same on the backside.
It felt like his head broke the surface of the water as he lifted his hips off the ground and forced his body to perform a backward somersault, throwing Rigo away from him and off-balance. The moment his stringy hair slapped against the skin of his forehead, and the balls of his shoes touched the concrete in an upright, albeit, crouched spot, he knew he was back in the running.
"You talk a lot," he finally answered, "You must love the sound of your own voice."
"There it is. That attitude I've heard so much about."
Rueben looked over his shoulder to see the looming shadow hidden behind the leftover layers of smoke and streaks of mechanical water. Rising to his feet, he caught an understanding of the man before him with his eyes at the same time he reached behind his back and felt up the handle of his firearm, readying to use it if he decided to pounce.
Ranging at around six-four to six-six, they were almost identical in terms of build. Rigo was buffer than him, he'd admit—thicker arms and more inches on his waist, not lean like himself. But what had him substantially different was the landing of black in the middle of his head, and the fact that he shared the same ice-cold, blue eyes his mother had.
Soulless. Empty. Never knowing empathy.
"Here it is," he replied simply, "Is that what you want?"
"No, dear brother," Rigo grinned, "What I want is a fight."
