Morphine (Complete)

𝟑𝟎

(the scenes in italics are flashbacks/memories)

Chapter Thirty

A rat scurried past, diving out from a hole in the wall. Its feet scampered across the filthy grey floors but stopped as its screech filled the small room.

"Shut up," Rannia grumbled, slowly removing her foot from the rat. Released, it disappeared back into the wall before she could lay eyes on it. Arms crossed, legs spread wide on the couch, she waited and waited for something interesting to happen.

The brat had indeed brought her to their family's base of operations--the one where they dealt with networking and allied affairs. There was one problem: he'd put her in a dusty old closet with an old couch to wait for him to finish some paperwork. Carter had gone along with him, of course--God help the boy be he away from his older brother for one second.

Well, half brother. Rannia's head tilted to the side. Who was Mykel's biological father, anyway? She snorted and kicked at the floor. Her scuffed shoe wore away at its flattened bottom a little more. Probably some ass who lived in the bums. Knocked up Mrs. Amir and scrammed like a good-for-nothing man would do.

"This is boring," Rannia whined to her solitude. "For fuck's sake, love being here and all, but a closet, really?" She threw herself off the couch and stalked over to one of the empty bookshelves stuffed into the back corner, crammed in with the crusty ass, hard ass, dirty ass couch. She ran a finger along the edge of a shelf and grimaced at the thick coating of dust she'd accumulated on her finger. "Bleh."

She turned and looked at the door Mykel had locked on her. Keeping her penned in there like a fucking dog.

Her eyes narrowed and she approached the door. As she kneeled and observed the doorknob, she recognized the design of the lock. One that would be very easy to break into. She slipped the trusty bobby pin she always kept in her hair and smiled venomously.

How she craved to find the Amirs' inner workings and kick each piece down like dominos. Once something fell, the rest would follow. She twisted and pressed her hairpin until she heard it click in the right places. She tested the doorknob. Pride flared in her chest as the door swung wide open.

Like clockwork, all turned in her favour. Who would be her next target? Perhaps she could kidnap Mr. Amir first, and then pick them off one by one as they chased in search of their father.

Or, perhaps, she could finish off his heirs first. Leave him staring hopelessly at his fallen family before he was even dead himself.

Carter's face flashed before her eyes like a cursed spirit. Rannia's brows creased together and she darted down the hallway, trying to ignore the strange tension pulling at her chest.

She would be able to kill most of the Amirs easily enough. Most. She hated herself for every moment she wasted, and she hated herself even more because she knew that when it came to bringing a knife to Carter's throat, she would hesitate. She hated who he was but she could not hate him.

It was not Carter who almost killed your dad, Rannia's mind echoed.

Her fist tightened and her pace sped up. Her shoes were lithe and quiet on the ground as she meandered the base; most of it empty, a few random boxes strewn across the uncleaned floors.

And Mrs. Amir, too. Why did she have to marry into the Amirs? If she hadn't, Rannia never would've had to target her. Rannia never would've wanted to put a gun down her throat.

Her mind whirled like a torn hurricane unsure of which direction to pull. Her throat started to tighten. Could she kill them? Yes. But would she?