Red Strings of Fate (Haunted Series 2)

Strings 45: His side (Part I/II)

Timothy James Del Valle

When I was shot, do you know what I thought about? That being shot hurts ten times worse than a fucking graze.

Well, that's the second one. The first one was that I wished my Hope wouldn't blame herself when I die. She didn't pull the trigger, but she expected her creations would secure my life a hundred percent of the time.

But that doesn't happen. We can't control what the fucking universe has unleashed—what fate deems to do.

I played with death for too long. That may be why he's ordering my thread to be cut.

"'Wag kang pumikit!"

I opened my eyes to see my baby crying.

City lights hit the hollows of her cheekbones, making me see the tear strains that cascade down her face and neck. She's so beautiful.

A bullet wound wouldn't cut our strings just like that.

Fuck them. What my baby wants, my baby gets. I can't die. Next time, sure, but not under these circumstances. I'm not about to die wearing a coat she made to protect me—that would appease the ironic gods.

I can't die with the fact the fucker who shot me might still be alive. Scarlet might be targeted next.

I could feel her shaking. I wanted to tell her that it's going to be okay... But no words would come out of my mouth.

Needless to say, I'm bigger than fate and death.

But every thought gets muddled when my eyes act like magnets that want to stick to each other. And for the last second of my consciousness, I still pray to every higher being that I don't succumb to death.

I really hope I fucking live. I want to live. She makes me want to live.

The thought makes me laugh because, funnily enough, eight-year-old and current me wouldn't agree.

There she is, the daughter of my enemy.

Her short black hair fluttered in the breeze as she walked across the campus field alone.

My darling Hope. Who would've thought I'd see her again? But now, as the daughter of a man from the exact organization I plan to destroy.

"The world is fucking weird." Chance hummed while we stared at her inside my car.

It's been a year since we were assigned to be her bodyguards, and nothing has happened. No one has approached her.

Our client experiences were either crazy or painfully boring. Either we were babysitting celebrities and politicians at soul-crushing eye-rolling events, or dealing with a diva celebrity who spent all day snorting drugs and trying to stick her hands down my pants. When we finally dumped the latter in rehab, I swore I'd never do this bodyguard shit ever again.

But here I am with my team.

It's the same every day. Her school, part-time work, and then she goes home—but I'm not complaining. Observing her is the highlight of my day... Well, that sounds stalkerish when I say it out loud.

Chase, Mark, Allan, and I are among the best-trained men in the company. We've been working in Ces Vallis since we were teenagers, and I hand-picked them for my team since they followed me to the company when I decided I'd be part of it. Now they have their team and subordinates, but they're still the ones I call on when on a mission.

Last month, we recovered the hideout of a cult leader. The month before that, we obliterated a factory that deals with sex trafficking. We experienced a lot of shit, it's not an understatement when I say Scarlet has an overly qualified team to be babysitting her.