Ichor || mxb

II

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Ethan's tiny frame slanted on his window shield, with a tear stained face, wishing on a lonely star for his parents back.

He was cut short out of his train of thoughts by the ruthless cackling of the company his grandfather had brought almost every night since his parents were brutally taken away from him.

Ethan wasn't dumb, he knew what they were doing there was unquestionably illegal, based on the alarming acquaintances his grandfather had.

Though when the ruthless cackling sounded from his grandfather's basemen, Ethan did what any twelve year adolescent would do, he followed their screeching voices down to the basement.

As the little adolescence stood at the foot of the stairs, he couldn't perceive their faces as he was way high up, though it seemed as though they had noticed his miniature stance, as they had stopped moving in the dim light. 

"Well well well, what do we have here?" A chilling voice echoed throughout the room, though you couldn't really place a finger on which direction it came from. Ethan could swear it sounded like right out of a horror movie.

"Ethan. Did I not tell you to not leave your room?" The boy's grandfather hissed, his weak and withering body swaying like a paper caught in the wind.

The look he had in his eyes was something Ethan knew at that moment he could never forget, those striking blue eyes, still mourning the loss of his only son, the anger that didn't seem all that too directed at Ethan himself but rather the situation, the perplexity after one too many drinks, and lastly the tiniest spec of terror as he didn't want the youngster dragged into disarray of his world.

"You've got George's eyes don't ya boy," Ethan's eyes perked up at the mention of his father's name, his eyes finally pinpointing the source.

The man was raw-boned yet had broad shoulders, he looked no older than 40. His raven hair slicked back, eyes dark and heavy, his lips forming a smirk as a blunt hung in between them. He wore a navy blue leather jacket with an all too familiar wrapped up snake on each sleeve.

He strolled over to where Ethan stood as still as a rock, hands stuffed in the pocket of his jumper, nervous, shaking fingers fiddling with his pocket knife.

After what seemed like an eternity later to Ethan, the man stood, towering over the little boy's shy posture, hesitant eyes looking up at the man that he is yet to learn his name.

"and Emily's hair it seems." He snickered, propping Ethan's chin between his pointer finger and thumb, almost studying his face with a fiendish smirk.

"Leave him alone, Gomez." Arnold slithered, his words dripped of venom.

Ethan wanted to reach the comforting gaze of his granddad, but all his line of vision could meet were the man's wide shoulders. His stomach churned nastily, making him feel sickly feeble. Though he didn't dare to move, as he held his breath. 

One wrong breath and this would all go to hell, at least that's what his instincts suggested by the looks of the man in front of him. 

"Where's my money old man?" The so called Gomez snapped at Arnold, yet still maintaining that intimidating stare with the juvenile in front of him that was subtly squirming, searching for anything to keep his eyes busy.

"The boy has nothing to do with this." Arnold pleaded, hoping that the cold-hearted geezer would just leave it at that. Though at heart, he knew this didn't stand a chance. He had to do what he had to do.

"Oh, but he does. I didn't know George had a son. I would've killed not only his wife but his kid too before his eyes." Gomez sighed, almost remorsefully, ashamed.

Ethan's eyes shot wide open at the newly received information. His jaw slanted as he stared at the vile excuse of a human before of him.

"Where's my money?" The gang leader repeated.

"I don't have it." The older bloke sighed, defeated. He mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Such a pretty boy. What a shame, really." Gomez baby-talked, as he squished Ethan's cheeks.

"Take him as a warrant. I'll have your money by next week." Arnold felt his guilt eat him up inside as soon as the words left his mouth. He would not have the money by the next week. Nor the week after. Maybe not ever.

Then it happened.

It was almost too fast, Ethan hadn't even realized the tears streaming down his face. The shattering feeling in his heart quickly turned into raging and burning anger towards the man who stood there with a smug smile.

He hadn't even thought about doing so before his eyes had realized what had happened.

The man fell to the ground, Ethan's pocket knife gutted into the middle of his neck, blood spewing onto the floor as his head fell back in a silent scream. His body shook in seizures, then finally fell limp.

The loud thump must have alerted the guards who were outside as Ethan heard numerous rapid footsteps. How had he not noticed them? At least that's what he would've started thinking about if he was dumbstruck over what he had just done.

 Take a man's life.

Arnold's eyes doubled in size as he finally intercepted what had happened. As he frantically started to move towards the door, Ethan inched towards the dead man's body, shaking with the fear of him coming back from the dead and finishing him off.

He shakily reached over to his knife, pulling it out, causing a stream of blood to ooze from the gangster's wound.

As soon as he got a hold of it, he scurried over to one of the cabinets that were used to stash all the junk his grandfather would keep.

He squeezed himself behind a lamp and tried to hold his breath as men barged in panic-stricken, staring in disbelief at their now dead leader.

Arnold's screams could be heard all around the country, as he begged them to believe him. It wasn't him. Not that anybody would listen to his begging.

The bang of a gun silenced Arnold's desperate cries, the only sound was the panic filled mumbles and descending foot steps.  

 Then it was obscure noiselessness.

It might have been a few minutes, a few hours or maybe it was a few days. Ethan sobbed and wept, clenching onto his knife for dear life.

That was the last time he shed a tear.

-

The knocking on his door snapped him out of his daze. As Isaac  creaked open the door leading to the drug lord's study. "Boss?"

Ethan puffed out a cloud of smoke, as his eyes lazily eyed his most trusted worker out of his peripheral vision.

"Boss, we need you." Isaac said slowly, weary of not pissing off the chief.

If it was up to Ethan he would've clocked his gun and shot him right between the eyes. He loathed people interfering with his alone time. He probably would've if he wasn't roaring high.

Instead he twisted his body in the direction of the well-built man with his eyebrow raised, urging him to get it over with.

"We have a huge shipment of Benzos that is due tomorrow, but our reporters haven't contacted us on whether or not the bags have reached the assigned checkpoints or not." Isaac stood valiantly, studying the gang leader's reaction.

Isaac knew he had no reason to be jittery and petrified of Ethan, as he waited for a response. He had never wronged his boss, never disrespected nor did anything to manipulate his trust towards him. Though the narc's cold gaze was enough to make the boldest of men faint-hearted.

"I'll deal with it. Out. Now." Ethan bellowed, puffing out another cloud, resting his head back against the leather chair, his heavy eyes shut as he cramped his pocket knife tightly. 

Second chapter already? Hope you enjoy this xx