☆Wish Upon A Star☆

☆~Chapter 14~☆

Toris glanced around the mansion, his expert eyes beating the precious metal and stones that decorated the most discreet details in coldness, a deaf rage crawling through ever inch of his skin. His lips curled up in a dull grin, watching the tall Russian man, his young sir, falling into his Chinese lover's Viagra-induced vigor. He knew that Yao wouldn't tell the calming and the Viagra pills apart, and he needed the boy's lascivia at its limit for the plan to work.

As the great door closed, caging the excited Chinese kitten and the lustful Russian wolf in their golden jail, the Lithuanian crow flew along the row of men that went from Ekaterina's everquiet room to the leader of the bloodthirsty pack's leader's office, ready to jump and run at the slightest noise and to alert their own leader for the torture to stop and the murder to take place.

Just as Toris had planned it.

He took a few of his strongest men, his dark-bagged eyes narrowed to take in every single detail from his revenge, almost seeing Feliksi's broken, bloodied body again; and made his way to Sergey's usual place.

He knew that Raivis was there, distracting the old man with cold words, knowing that it was no longer dangerous to do so. The Latvian boy, the trigger of the Mission. The one who had shaped the fury in every slave's heart. Truly the leader who had poured boiling oil into the stinging wounds of their pride; the hurt child that prosecuted his revenge like it was a rabbit during a famine; the proud young boy that would enjoy the stink of spilt Russian blood after a short life of abuse and violence. The one who gave Toris the courage to take the lead of the Mission.

Feeling the dozens of eyes staring at him and his armed men, the leader rejoiced in his walk to his vengeance, waiting in front of the wide door. He took his time to watch every single figure carved or sculpted on its bronze frame: wolves, owls, bears, maybe even mythologic beings and gods. A true work of art.

A slightly smirk grew on his lips as the sharp blade of a pocket knife sliced down his palm. There wasn't paint in the world as threatening as one's own blood. He picked the warm liquid that trickled down his arm up on his fingers, tracing an eight-pointed star with three slashes within.

The Mission's symbol. The sign that made that day a victory for them, a reminder of the strength in the weak ones.

He wrapped his wounded hand in clean bandages, his smirk growing wider as his hand rested on the door's handle. "I'll allow no mercy, guys. Edward, are the tools ready?"

The Estonian man nodded, his cold eyes darting to a black leather box under his arm. "Ready and eager to be used,"

"Good."

The Lithuanian man pushed the door open at the time he took a shotgun out, shooting at the ceiling as a signal. The men that weren't busy with vigilance barged in, their souls roaring a strong anthem together, that grew wilder and colder at the detail in the room that didn't match their plans.

Toris' eyes widened at the bloodied corpse that laid in front of the also also bloodied wheelchair. He stared at the wide, dry turquoise eyes that were still open, at the silver scissors through the boy's throat, at the dark crimson blood splattered all over the floor.

"Welcome." Sergey mumbled, as peaceful as ever, his cold glare fixing on the army of men around him.

Toris's lips trembled, staring at Raivis' body in disbelief. "Raivis..." He mumbled, feeling an arrow through his chest. Another one, next to Feliksi's. The cold fury in his veins warmed up to a boiling wrath that pounded against his temples. "W-Why did you kill him?"

"I know what you're about to do. I just wanted to take one of your lives before you take mine."

Toris's wet eyes darted into Sergey's old, almost blind ones. "I thought a man with a purpose would be afraid to die."