Morphine (Complete)

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"What the fuck is happening?"

All eyes turned towards the speaker, the man. It was Mykel. He'd returned from his daily walk to the liquor store, only to find his family a mess and his house in shambles.

Girlfriend had the nerve to call it his mother's house, when he payed for it. His fists clenched as he paced into the living room, shoes beating into the carpet below him as his brothers and sisters watched him fearfully. He'd never hurt them.

But sometimes it looked like he wanted to.

"You didn't hear? Trouble at the ring," Riccard informed him, lifting the tablet in his hand. Mykel stalked over and ran his eyes over the article, feeling a tick in his jaw with each word he read.

"Who was it?"

"That's the thing..." Riccard trailed off, swallowing. No one wanted to be the one to tell him. Since the perpetrator could not be punished, someone else had to be on the receiving end of his anger. "We don't...actually know."

"For fuck's sake," Mykel growled, swiping the tablet from his brother's hands. "I leave for two hours. Look what I come back to."

"You waste most of the day away smoking and drinking, Mykel," Lucy noted, usual hyper voice toned down slightly. She managed to meet his furious stare. "You're supposed to take over when dad dies, aren't you?"

"The fuck do you mean by that?" The man snapped. He threw the tablet aside without a second thought. He stalked over to his younger sibling, staring her down with a fury so indescribable, so untamed, so brutal, everyone in the room seemed to cower before what they could not see.

Something darker.

Something more.

"Dad's not lasting forever, Mykel," Amelia said slowly. She glanced over at the stone-faced man in the corner of the room, that who ignored all around him. His grey hair seemed to disappear into the wall behind him; his eyes blank canvases for new souls to fill; the light of his skin gone, torn by age, broken by life. He was a wise man, a strong man. All the Amir children admired him and loved him, but he wasn't always there.

Mykel had to grow up early.

Instead of replying to his sisters, he whirled in place, nearing a wall and resting a fist against it. One more phrase and he would snap. One more word and the wall could break.

"Cams?"

"Cloaked figure. Maybe 5'7, but they had boots on so we can't be sure. Hid themselves well, masked face, gloves. Little gadgets too." It was Jared speaking. "We don't know, Mykel. But we do kno-"

The wall broke. Slowly, as if time had bent to warp his fist's path, Mykel retracted his arm from the wall. He had never been good with anger. He'd never been good with a lot of things, ever since he was a child. Anger, apologies, compliments, affection.

Some had called him a monster.

I am a monster, he'd tell them. Kneel over.

Blood would splatter.

"Tell me."

"One of our close buyers came face to face with them," Jared said warily. "They told him to tell the Amirs their name. Garcia."

"Garcia." Mykel tested the word on his lips, feeling it as bitter as a unripe berry, picked far too soon.

"Garcia." He repeated, turning away from the wall.

A small dot of blood seeped from his broken knuckle, but he felt none of it. All was consumed by the darkness within him. Sometimes it became uncontrollable like that. A force unbroken, a force unparalleled. A force that was not of their world.

"Find him." He waved a hand, using his other to pinch the bridge of his nose.

His siblings scrambled around him to get their phones, rushing to contact whoever might help. Garcia had sent a threat, a warning. The Amirs did not take threats lightly.

"I want him found, I want him dead."

The threat did not become the threatened.

(a/n: oh fuck)