The Desert Lies

1

SAHARA

"I cannot believe they're still doing this" I mutter to myself in disbelief.

Eight months. Fucking eight months. The moment my father died, and I took ahold of his empire, Vallain has tried to lead the authorities to try and eliminate me from the picture I worked so hard to draw.

Vallain. Fucking Richard Vallain. My misogynistic father's bestie of 30 years has been a pain in the ass for so long. Leaving his crumbs for the FBI and CIA to find and lead to our mafia. If that fucker pushes the wrong button, I'm going to assassinate him myself. But I can't do that because once a drop of his blood is spilled, his people will know the person behind the gun- me. Because I'm the only one he's currently pissing off to the point I'd want him dead.

The fact that he's so hell bent on taking over my organization just because he thinks it's "Wasted on a woman too pretty but too brainless to lead such an empire." Yup, his own words right there. But I can't be participating in wars this early into my leadership. I can't risk that many lives without the guarantee of winning. Not yet.

He's also pretty pissed that I cut off his and my father's ancient mutual business agreement. But is it really a mutual business agreement if only one side of the agreement is benefiting off of it like a parasitic worm in a dog's stomach? God, the things my father did to keep Richard Vallain close. Shit had to change, and he didn't like that.

And he's too much of a pussy to actually start shit with me knowing he'd also have casualties at the event of fucking with me.

So now, I sit in the comfort of my office couch watching the live CCTV footage of about 15 or so men as they barge into one of our empty storage facilities, in full military gear, arms cautiously pointed to where they might require using it.

I smile, knowing one of them has probably already stepped on the stick-on tracker Danny, our one and only tech guy, recently created.

We had to do something about this dilemma and Danny's brains found us a solution just last week.

It's one of a kind, really, it's small as a pebble and thin as paper that just sticks to your shoe and tracks where you've been for the last twenty-eight hours.

"Richard's been puppeteering them good, that's why." My brother, Ilya, states the obvious.

"Where the fuck is my phone bro" He adds, throwing a throw pillow across from where he's sitting, to Alana, our older sister, who's bowl of popcorn that was once cradled safely into her arms now on the floor due to our little brother's tantrum.

"Oops, sorry." He says, not an ounce of remorse in his tone.

"You little shit! I already told you since fucking yesterday, I don't fucking know." She responds, moving to reach for the remote and throwing it to Ilya who ducks and not-so-swiftly dodges the object, hitting him in his hairline.

"Ow what the fuck!" He exclaims, massaging the spot he was hit, ruining his blond hair in the process. It was always quite odd to me that he's the only one with blond hair out of the five of us. We all have the same hazel eyes though, the same shade our mother had. The rest of us have dark brown hair it's almost black.

"That's for my popcorn shit face, and your phone is obviously lost. Just get a new one." My sister proposes.

"It has sentimental value, okay." It's probably true. It's the last thing mom gave him before she... Before her business has ended on this earth.

Just as I was about to get a word in, one of the men in the TV finally spoke and announces to the person who looks like the one in-charge. "There's nothing here, boss."