"Sir" he lifted his head from the papers, not caring about the haze of smoke whiffing by his eyes, partly blocking sight of the impeccably dressed man standing by the dark, mahogany door. He released a heavy breath of smoke, leaning back in his large. leather chair with a creak, glancing to the roof as he pulled the lit cigarette from his lips, crushing its sparked head against the black gloss ashtray on the desk in front of him.
"He's here" Lancy spoke. Max didn't even have to ask who it was, he already knew. The royal fuck up of the century. When he witnessed the guy the day before, he had looked like an entirely different person. His blond strands were freshly groomed, his tattoos covered with tacky foundation, and his eyes appeared lost without the signature liner that usually sheathed them.
"Send him in" his words rumbled, anger snapping his sanity just a little more with every split second that passed. His confidant, his second in command, the man he trusted more than anyone else, walked past the door with empty eyes, a clear absence of emotion. But, Max knew that Spike's mind wasn't bare, the man was simply pretending, to shield just how fucked Spike knew he was. Lancy closed the door with a heavy creak and a click of the lock, leaving the two of them alone to the air of nothing. Max didn't know what made him more furious, that Spike had jeopardized everything they had been given, or the sense of betrayal, realizing his friend wasn't who he once thought he was. Max should have fucking disbarred him, thrown him the hell out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and the skills of this trade, that would do nothing but hinder him in a regular life.
Max leaned forward in his chair, letting a mechanistic groan disrupt the suffocating silence between them. He suddenly got up from the chair, pressing palms flat on the wooden slab of desk, Angled eyes between the hairs ceasing the sight across from him, Spike was doing nothing but standing there, like a fucking imp. The desk groaned slightly with his weight by the palms, but Max didn't care, he didn't let his eyes stray from Spike for a single moment shared between them His hair had been altered again, he had cut it all off, leaving a strip of mohawk. He had also scrubbed off that disgusting makeup, revealing the tattoos that round up his neck like vines to crush his throat, and the branding which stained the skin just below his hair at the back of his neck.
"We grew up together-" His words reverberated just enough in the space between them, the hands pressed against the wood desk suddenly tightened into fists "From the moment we were born, we knew exactly what our purpose was...what our lives were meant to be" Max was trying not to yell, he really was, because he deduced that if he started he may not have been capable of stopping. But, the office was soundproof. In his head, he tried to untangle the logic as to why he was suddenly trying so hard to keep his reason from crumbling.
"We're here to keep this operation going! that's it!" he spoke quiet, but ominous. The muscles of his back shoulder starting to twitch. He wanted to shift, he craved to lament and throw shit, maybe even strangle Spike for being such a fucking failure. "Our personal qualms are nothing but distraction...you are nothing but a soldier in the greater hive" He could hardly take the screech of his psyche anymore, slapping his fists hard on the desk, sensing the pain hassle his knuckles, but he hardly felt it. The adrenaline pumping through his veins did well in elimination of any other thought that pertaining to Spike, a man that showed not a single feeling on his face in response. The fact that Spike's face was completely without anything at all, it only further antagonized him. Max would have been more satisfied had Spike had any sign of remorse whatsoever.
"You let personal emotion sway your judgment-"
"She needed it" Spike's hollow response came only a beat after Max's own words.
"She needed what?" Max raised an eyebrow, so fucking baffled by his friend "What did she need?!" he snapped suddenly, the band of his ring digging into the skin of his knuckle. He gripped the quarter-full crystal bottle of tequila that perched near the edge of the desk, and cast it hard across the room. It shattered against the wall with a shriek, forcing wet, alcoholic shards across the floor, some even slid so far they hit his feet. Liquid traced the surface ridges in small, translucent lines. You could smell the alcohol snap in with every breath, truly toxic.
Spike hadn't flinched when Max chucked the bottle, nor had Max expected him to. They'd been desensitized to stimuli like that a long time ago.
"She needed to be dirtied" he answered.
"Dirtied?" Max asked, his tone incredulous "That's all you got for me? To explain the fucking shitstorm you just sent our way? FUCKING DIRTIED?!" he bellowed "YOU FUCK HER TO DIRTY HER, SPIKE! YOU DON'T FUCKING KIDNAP HER!"
"Aren't you overreacting just a little, Max?" Spike rebutted, crossing arms against his chest. His defiance was brave, but sickening.
"OVERREACTING?! Is that what this is?!"
"What could she possibly do? She's a creampuff" he defended
"And what happens when the cops come sniffing around here looking for her?! THIS COULD CAUSE THE WHOLE ORGANIZATION TO FALL" Max took a hard kick to the desk, making it plunge and shake with the brunt, lungs exerting with chest in a pulse "The investigation into her disappearance could lead them right to our front door" He seized at his hair, gripping it in tight fists
"We can't let her go"
"Then we don't" Spike retorted. Max turned his head with the mirroring of those detached words, eyes boring into Spike. A girl's entire life, to be ripped away from her. "You finish her, just like we've always done" The first time Max had killed someone, he had only been fourteen. It had been the initiation test to prove his loyalty. Since then, the body count was a number he lost the ability to quantify a long time ago. But, to a certain measure, every person he had ended had deserved their fate. Whether it was enemies...or allies. But, this girl...hadn't done a single thing to deserve death, she was a simple person, living a regular life.
"I can't believe you would do this to me" his voice held a heavy meaning, but hardly loud enough to shake the air. "I just wish you could explain to me why-"
"I DON'T KNOW MAX!" The words erupted from Spike's lips. The dispassionate facade had cracked, he could no longer hold it back. "I DON'T KNOW WHY! DON'T YOU THINK I WOULD TELL YOU IF I KNEW WHY?!" by the end, Spike's voice was audibly splintered
Their excessive gasps held in the air, as if both were oxygen starved. All Max could do was close his eyes, lift his chin, and count every extend of chest inside his mind. He longed to act reckless, maybe even pull the handgun from desk drawer to his side, his fingers even twitched with the anticipation of doing so. But, he didn't. He opened his eyes, keeping them up for just a moment towards the light of the ceiling above them
"You're a fucking psychopath" He muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You are on suspension, effective immediately..." he lowered his head, maintaining gaze with his friend "You are not permitted to leave chapter grounds, if I hear that you have disobeyed me...I will throw your fucking ass out and cut ties! leave you to be picked off by the lurking sharks!" Max observed Spike's eyes slightly falter at the words, glancing down for a split moment
"You aren't to tell a single soul that girl is here, no one must find out...if this gets out you are good as dead, you know that" If any other leader in the organization discovered what Spike had done, they would most certainly have one of the cleaners finish the job by sundown. But, despite what mistakes Spike had made, they had still grown up together. Max didn't want him to die. Spike nodded stiffly, dropping his head further. To anyone else, Spike's refusal to look at him would have probably been taken as a sign of shame. But, Max knew people like him and Spike didn't know how to feel shame, not anymore.
"Now...get the fuck out" That was all it took to dismiss Spike. The man walked out of the office swiftly, shutting the door with a slam. Max fell back into his chair, hands fisted at his sides, nails digging painfully into his palms. He leaned back, fishing for another cigarette from his pocket and a lighter. He brought it to his lips, watching the fire spike repeatedly with naps and sparks until he was satisfied, tossing it on the desk. He could already feel a headache coming on, a pounding in his skull. He shook a tight hand through strands, taking another drag of the poison elixir within the air and shutting his eyes
Now, it would be time for him to clean up Spike's mess...
YOU ARE READING
His Angel
Romance"You have a name, don't you?" his voice was deep and irritable, but rather calm. Her eyes lifted just slightly, now staring at the edges of dark hair that hung an inch or two from his shoulders. Her lack of answer seemed to annoy him further, she co...
