Ryder

thirty three

Ryder's POV

One, two, twelve. Twelve wraps of gauze tape around the knuckles. Because thirteen was too much, even when the white was now speckled with blood.

"Boss." Someone appeared in the doorway but I didn't bother looking over to find out which one of my father's lackeys it was this time. There had always been too many of my father's men--always a reminder of the man himself.

I curled in the fingers my right hand, took a second to make sure the tape was snug, before heaving in a deep breath and throwing my fist straight into one of the standing wooden boards.

"What?" I asked, tossing the broken wooden pieces away.

"The last assignment was compromised, sir. James and I were about to zero in on Santiago's last whereabouts, but we were...stopped."

I paused and glanced at the only mirror that was installed in this already too fucking compact room. It was cracked in the middle, though. Rafael had said I wasn't allowed to place any more mirrors in here. I still didn't understand why I hadn't gotten rid of him yet.

Maybe because somewhere in that sick brain of yours, you still want someone to micromanage your life at all times, a voice spoke in my head. Just like how it was with your father.

But that wasn't true. Because this was my fucking house and I liked my peace and quiet.

A sharp throb went up my fingers and my arm, almost like a dull reminder of the past. I'd maybe gone overboard with the way the whole room looked now. Every single one of the wooden slabs that I'd asked to be installed here was broken now. I frowned, tipped my head up to the ceiling, and realized I was breathing heavily.

"Stopped," I repeated his choice of word, didn't think I liked it, before bunching my fists and smacking one right into that goddamn mirror. "Why the fuck were you stopped?"

There was a slight clearing of a throat behind me. The only evidence of nerves and tension building up in the air. "Sir, we received another assignment from your father. He said it was to be the top priority. Need to deal with and put down a drug lord."

I blinked. A voice in the furthest part of my head told me to calm down--compose myself--but I was clearly far too gone, and my father had always been a tipping point for me, hadn't he?

I turned and stared down at him. Bulky and overly muscled like all of my father's men. I wondered if he would be as sloppy as the rest of them if I were to hit him. He wouldn't fucking fight back though. My father's men never really did.

"You think a drug chase is more important than finding out where Santiago is?" I asked him.

He met my gaze steadily. Reminded me so much of one of my older brothers. Fuckers liked to look you in the eye before telling you you weren't worth shit.

"We were only following orders, sir."

"Orders," I growled out, stalking towards him until I'd fisted my hand into the front of his shirt. "You think I don't know he wants to prolong this thing as much as he can? There is no drug lord, you fucking idiot. He only wants you, me, every single one of us to keep chasing loose ends around like we are nothing but his fucking puppets."

I watched him swallow--I watched his composure starting to break as I damn near strangled him right then and there.

"Sir," he spoke, "we've been told that Dacio--Mr. McQuillan's orders are always to be kept above yours."

I gritted my teeth, tried to count till fucking five at least, but my arm was starting to throb even more now and it was reminding me of things I didn't want to think about. Aches and pains and my fucking father.