Guilty (BWWM)

(Blood) Brothers

They said nothing as they had a silent battle with their eyes.  Bleu's shoes left slow thuds as he languidly walked down the stairs.  "Nice of you to finally show, hermanito," he spoke casually as if they hadn't been moments away from killing each other.  

"Ya tu sabes," Los shrugged, gun in hand, smirk crooked and sinister.  "I like to make an entrance."

They were now a few feet away from each other, hoping to read the other's thoughts.  Los stood with pride.  He held no regrets about his actions; his betrayal of the man he once deemed as his brother was nothing to him.  After over a decade of following after this man--being his sidekick--it was his turn to shine.  To rule.  With all that he'd contributed to this empire that Bleu undeservingly ruled over, it was evident to him that he was the one meant to be king.

Bleu, on the other hand, was fuming.  Despite not showing it on the outside, he'd been boiling.  In this business, he'd learned long ago that trusting too many was easily a death sentence.  That's why it'd only been the two of them for so long.  Looking at the smug, victorious expression on Los' face, it was hard to contain the anger he felt for him because of his betrayal, and himself for not paying closer attention to the growing jealousy of his right hand.  

It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed the way Los would struggle to hide his disdain during their rounds.  It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed the envious way he'd look at his homes, his cars, or his wealth.  Truth be told, he'd noticed it all.  Thing is, he'd never expected him, his brother, to act on his feelings.  He never expected to be stabbed in the back like this.  Now, that mistake might've just cost him his life and everything he'd worked for.

"You want my position so bad that you'd do some pussy shit like this?"  Bleu asked, surface still as unmoved water, despite his clenched fists.

"Mira, call it whatever you want.  That's just the game, baby."  Los shrugged lifting his gun between Bleu's eyes.  Staring down the dark, hot barrel of Los's pistol managed to finally bring out a visible emotion in Bleu: fury. 

In a flash, he reached for the gun, bending Los's arm in an uncomfortable position causing him to drop it.  Cocked and loaded, the gun fired just as it hit the ground.  A sharp elbow to the jaw sent Los stumbling backwards. 

"It's just the game, Carlito?  Bitch, I am the goddamn game!"  He yelled at Los's hunched form.

"See," he said standing back up, clutching his jaw.  "That's your problem.  You think you're more than what you are while everyone else, including me, is just supposed to bow down to you or some shit.  I got news for you: you wouldn't be shit without me!" 

Los charged for Bleu's form catching him off guard.  The ground shook as Bleu was sent falling backwards, his spine collided against the marble tiled floor.  Noticing his dazed state, Los seized the opportunity and connected his fist against Bleu's jaw- his head snapped to the side.  Blood tinged his tongue, he spit it from his mouth onto the floor.  Los didn't let up, he sent another to the opposite side.

"Arrogant son-of-a-bitch!  I couldn't wait for this day," he postured to clasp his hands around Bleu's neck, but a head-butt to the nose sent him backwards.  

Bleu gingerly rose from his vulnerable position, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.  Smudged copper added color to his cheek.  His nostrils flared.  He only saw red as his eyes designated Los as his target.  Ramming Los back first into the staircase-returning the favor from before-he relentlessly threw blows to the bald head of his former bestfriend. 

"And that's your  problem,"  Bleu started as his hands wrapped around Los' sweat covered throat.  "Real kings make their own way without expecting handouts.  Only bitches do what you did!"  He spat, quite literally, sending a sharp, back handed smack to an already dizzy Los.