The Dark & The Beautiful

09

"Fuck." I growled under my breath, a fist slamming against the table. That's the last thing we need right now, stolen cargo and more wounded men. I turned my attention to the man on the table in front of me bleeding out, his eyes barely open, looking around. Maurice is crouched beside him, trying to keep blood from gushing out of his chest with the pressure of his hands but it's not enough.

He's going to die.

"Hey- it's okay." Maurice soothed, blood soaking onto his hands. Cries erupted from the dying boy on the table. He's young in the face, probably not too much older than Enzo.

"I-it hurts!" He sobbed, blood dribbling down his chin from his mouth.

"Shhh- I know.." Maurice frowned, his eyes darting to me. We both knew the outcome that was coming. Even if we could get a medic in here by the time they came the boy would have already taken his last breath.

He didn't deserve to die, no one does but death doesn't discriminate. No matter your age, race, or wealth — death has always come and collects his debt. I've always had a weird relationship with death. My first encounter came when my mother passed when I was eight and even then it was a weird experience though I don't remember much of it. From an early age, I learned how death plays and how he doesn't halt his plans for anyone.

It's funny really how death is considered a tragedy in the young and a right of passage for the old and so brings different kinds of mourning but for me, it's all the same. After witnessing so much death over my lifetime, I learned that giving tears was nothing but a waste of time. I've lost so many men, lost countless family members to death. There's no point in mourning. Death comes for us all eventually and when he comes for me I'll be ready.

"I don't wanna die!" Marcus cried loudly, blood flowing from his wound. One of the men gulped from behind us as a tear rolled down his pale cheeks.

"It's okay the pain will stop soon . . ." Maurice grabbed ahold of the boy's hand. He's always had a way with his words unlike me. It's times like this I'm jealous of his sensitive nature. Sure I could talk about cargo shipment plans, and the drug cartels with ease but when it comes to comforting someone in a time of distress words leave me. I don't know how to comfort I've never been taught the art.

The men who carried him in cried softly as they watched their brother die, slowly feeling his life get further and further away, and judging from the tears I can assume they must've been pretty close — as they should be. They took the oath, this is brotherhood after all but even still I curse myself for not being able to bring forth the emotions that they are. Being in my position I see hundreds of men every day, all of them working for me and it's hard to put names to every face I come across. We don't have the same relationship so it's hard for me to feel what everyone else was feeling at this moment and I hated that because this boy didn't want to be here on this table bleeding out in front of me and I didn't want to be here watching him beg to live. No one would.

I picked up his hand, palms cold. Blood dripped down onto the floor, soaking through his clothes. His eyelids start to fall and I watch as he slowly goes limp.

"Dors bien." Rest well, I whispered lowly, my hand coming up the boy's cold face to close his barely shut eyes. A cry ripped from one of the men's throats and he fell limp to the floor. He cried aloud with his blood-covered hands shaking over his face. Blood smeared all over his cheeks, mixing with the salt tears.

I turned around back to the men, all of them sulking with defeat. "I'll give you all time to grieve. I'll meet with you all tomorrow to plan a proper burial. He deserves that much at least." I say to them. They nodded at me, sniffling into their hands.