Annaliese always craved a family. She desired a warm father, caring brothers, a loving mother and adoring sisters. Maybe even a dog or a cat. But, they were desired for a reason.
She never had a family to call her own, not since she was abandoned o...
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Seven and 3/4 years. 93 months. 2,790 days. 167,400 hours. 10,044,000 minutes. 602,640,000 seconds.
With every second I spent looking for my missing little sister, I had never imagined she would be resting in an alley with nothing but the clothes on her back. How many times had I passed her in a car or on the street? How many times had I prayed to a God I didn't believe in while being too self-absorbed to realize she was right under my nose?
Every action I've made in the past seven years, even before she was taken, could've been a mistake that caused her pain. I refuse to miss any more of her life due to my ignorance. Appropriately, this would mean any bastard who dared make her uncomfortable deserved a proper punishment.
"Please," The man begs pathetically, coughing up blood onto the cold concrete. My arms tense as I fold them across my chest. I nod to Luca to continue, my thirst for vengence not quite yet satisfied.
He nods in return. Grabbing a knife from his belt, Luca allows the light to reflect into the man's eyes. A threat of what's to come. He plays with the blade between his fingers, keeping eye contact.
"What is it that you wanted from my sister?" Luca asks quietly, his voice void of emotion. Only a fool would fail to notice the murderous intent behind every action he takes.
Of course, only a fool would dare attempt to make my sister their victim.
"I wasn't going to do shit," The man responds wearily, tears trailing down his wrinkled cheeks. "I don't want shit from a little girl, I'm not a fucked up bastard like you're thinking. Hell, I tried to help the bi- girl."
As soon as the slip up passes by his lips, the knife halts in Luca's hands. I don't blink when he flicks his wrist and the knife gets impaled into the base of his cheek, right before his ear. Blood trickles down from the wound. I ignore the screams of pain as Luca slowly drags the knife into the corner of his lips, effectively cutting his cheek open.
He repeats the action on the other side. The long gash looks like he's smiling from ear to ear. Luca moves the knife to the center of his lips and forces his mouth open. The tip of the knife rests on the back of the man's tongue. "One wrong word and you lose your tongue," My brother growls lowly.
Sweat mixes with the blood and my veins buzz with excitement. Dark red covers the bottom of his face. A small, very small, part of my conscience whispered about the insanity of it all. This man, Arnold Beyers, lived 68 years and 3 days. He was sexually abused from ages 3 to 17 and had been in and out of gangs since. He generally stayed with the trafficking quarters of the underground.
