Chapter Five
Mykel remained outside for the remainder of the morning, smoking his life away. When Rannia checked for him out the window after the dining room had cleared out, she spotted multiple discarded cigars at his feet. The whiskey was less full than it had been before, but the stoic composure of his body defied all intoxications Rannia would assume he had.
The oldest child of the Amir family. Drunk, high, and alone.
"Pathetic," Rannia said to herself, eyes domineering on the figure outside the window.
He was. Pathetic and untrusting. That maggot.
"What is your price, Amir?" She spoke again, breaking her gaze from the depressing scene before her. "What do I have to give for you to give your all?"
"You're alone."
Rannia whipped towards the source of the voice, finding father Amir in the door frame of the kitchen, dauntingly empty eyes staring her down. His old fingers clasped the walls beside him easily. Rannia found herself incapable of telling if he'd heard her or not.
"Yeah, figured it was nice to have some peace, some alone time." Rannia smiled shyly. Inside her heart raged. This man had killed her grandparents in cold blood. This man had started the ever-lasting war between their two families.
Her eyes fell to the rack of knives behind him.
He was sixty or so. There was no chance he'd win against her in a fight.
Rannia's heart started racing. Was it now? Was now the time? To kill, to flee, and then claim she wasn't even home at the time?
She longed to taste something so sweet and divine as victory, as the defeat of her enemies. It was higher than any lust, higher than any joy. It was her life, and that which she lived for.
She would kill them all. One by one, like flies. Snap, snap. She could picture the sound of their necks being snapped one by one under her boots, hearing that sweet last expel of their breath before they were lost from the world forever.
"Mykel does not like you."
Rannia felt her fingers still. The sound of his life fading away slowly became muted in her ears, falling deaf compared to the massive onrush of blood that roared through her veins.
"I know." It took all Rannia had to make her voice sad. She was disappointed that the man did not like her. It wasn't that she wanted to be liked, but his liking was her prize. And what was a pretty girl without her prize?
"I have always trusted Mykel's gut feeling," the eldest Amir continued, limbs ebony oak, still and strong, however frail they seemed. His words bit like lions. Rannia leveled her stare with his.
His eyes clawed like monsters.
"But for Carter?" He expelled a breath, reluctantly shifting his gaze out the window, to see his eldest son perched on the porch steps, the figurehead of depression himself. "Carter likes you. I do not want him to be hurt."
Carter was the baby of the family. Not only in age, but in mind and spirit as well. The boy kept his hands out of his family's business as much as possible, residing mostly at his job at the bank, ruining his posture and making far less than he would if he just pulled the trigger.
The Amirs were not known for mercy, but mercy was a given for Carter.
Decidedly, Rannia would make a show of his death. To feel his life drain out at her fingertips as they all watched, restrained, unable to protect their one precious soul. She had to force herself from her internal musings, wipe the sick smile from her mind-the image of victory. The image of forever, and return to the world of the sane.
"I won't hurt him," Rannia said, though it was not a promise, because she knew full well her intentions were to hurt them, to hurt them all. "He's my once chance. I-I can't mess this up."
Something akin to understanding passed over the man's features. He did not speak as he walked past her to the seat in the corner of the room. He did not acknowledge her as he sat down, folding himself in on the leather cushions as if he wished he could disappear.
Only when Rannia began to leave did he speak, quietly and dangerously as one could.
"Do not hurt him, Rannia."
"I promised," she replied, sending one last smile over her shoulder. She left immediately, unable to spend one more minute before that man. Tingles, a rush, a high-it all spread over her, cloaked her, embraced her. Their lives were so close to her, so fucking close. She needed time, she needed trust. Her eyes glowed with a sick kind of mirth as she entered her room, eyes scouring the floor for her suitcase. Her hands glided through the air, removing her items of choice. Her fingers ghosted the gun at the bottom, metal sheen reflecting bits of light. So tempting.
She licked her lips, tearing her hand away from it.
Not yet, Rannia, not yet.
She stood and stuffed her clothes into a spare bag, lugging it over her shoulder.
That gun is not for you.
It is for Garcia.
(a/n: ooohhhh, things will start to get very fast paced from here on. Tuck in your seatbelts and hold your tiddies)