Chapter Twenty-Three
The bitter taste of beer hung off his tongue like a hand reaching down his throat, holding him captive. He was five drinks in and his mind was only a little buzzed. Every since he'd first laid the divine intoxication of alcohol on his tongue, Mykel had not stopped. It was that and cigars; his two muses. He couldn't call it an addiction, because those that were addicted were always searching for something within their toxin.
Mykel knew nothing really came from it, sipping whiskey or wine, but he drank it anyways.
Another sip was one step closer to having his organs fail. One more sip was the chance that he'd end it all.
The rapid knocking of fists on his door wrenched a groan from his dry throat. His lidded eyes turned to the door and allowed his visitor in.
One of his workers stumbled in, stress clear in their face.
"Sir-sir, there's been an—"
The sound of Mykel's ringtone went off. Each vibration of noise in the air went straight through his skull and bounced against the pink meaty flesh of his brain—bam, bam—with each beat of his heart.
"Hold on," Mykel grit out, ignoring the sweating boy before him as he lugged his phone up and pressed it to his ear. "What?" He snapped.
"Your suite's security network has been breached," a hurried voice rushed out through the phone, "security personnel is searching the building, but they can't—"
Mykel ended the call and slammed his phone onto his desk. The darkness that exuded from his glowering form sent the boy in front of him into a fit of panic.
"Is this what you came to tell me, boy?" Mykel inquired lowly.
"Yes."
"Ah. And are you aware of what is living at my suite?" Mykel's stare turned inquisitorial and gleamed in the corners. He cocked his head to the side, and though half of his face was clearly lit, the embedded shadows felt so much more present...so much more omnipotent...
"Yes?"
Mykel's fist slammed down on the desk, and he shot up in a whir of movement. The boy barely had time to change his face from fear to shock before Mykel had thrown him into the wall. The boy's back crashed into the harsh edges of Mykel's bookcase, leaving levels to crash down and books to fall. Once the last had fallen, nothing but the sound of Mykel's heavy breathing remained. His fingers flexed idly as he stared down at the unconscious boy before him, slumped over with books covering his limp body.
Carter was in there, dammit. Carter was a priority, not a second thought—if the boy was in danger, none of those fucking imbeciles mattered.
A breach in the security could mean one of two things: someone had hacked into the network from outside the suite, in which case it was probably only a matter of time before someone got to killing; or the second option, where it was within. A fucking rat, and either Mykel got someone's blood on his hands or they'd get Carter's spilt first.
Mykel didn't know who'd breached security, it could've been one person or a group of them, but fuck—
Maybe Rannia would be taken from him too.
He slugged on his jacket and stepped out of his building. Instantly, wet sheets of rain pelted down on his head, shattering along the street and breaking down into streams of mini rivers. Mykel brought a hand to his face to see and began hunting down the nearest car—one he would either use, or one he would steal. It didn't matter.
He needed to get there first.
He needed to get there now.
---
The halls of his suite's building were surprisingly empty.
And quiet.
The distant sound of rainfall had muted out in small spatters of thunder behind him, leaving him to feel the cold, wet ache spreading across his hands as he prowled the golden-lit halls, through the precariously cleaned entrance, and felt the cold hard soul of his shoe brace against the slick glass tiles of the floor. Wet steps, dripping sleeves, humid breaths.
Mykel tore his jacket from his shoulders and threw it on a nearby table, knowing someone would clean it up eventually. His senses were on high alert as he prowled around, eyes darting around every corner, ever meter, every tile. His fingers slowly wrapped around the handle of his gun at his waist, lifting it from its hold slightly. Cold and hard, sleek and precise.
The ping of an elevator down the hall.
His fingers ripped it forth and he focused his eyes on the doors that would soon open to reveal an intruder.
He stalked over, right in front of the doors. Just as the doors opened with a mechanical whir, he stepped forward and crashed in with his hands out.
The person went flying. Their back met impact with one of the railings around the elevator walls, and a small cry escaped their lips. Before Mykel had his gun up their neck, he hesitated, recognizing that feminine cry. Rejecting his gun back into its holster, he to lunged forward, instead pinning the person against the wall. As his fingers gripped her hands and dragged them above her head, the elevator doors slid closed.
His dark eyes fell to Rannia's. With a quick sweep of observation he, made out the slight pain etched into her brow, curling it that slightest bit. Then his eyes fell to her full lips, parted and breathing lightly. He felt her heart race beneath his body and the pulse of her wrists beat wildly against his hands.
"Why are you here?" Mykel demanded quietly, voice raspy as he refused to move his face away from hers. Rannia bit back her reply and tried to ignore the uncomfortable rail of metal behind her back.
"Live here, don't I?" She winced when he pressed her in further. "Fuck, you brat, that hurts."
He didn't move away, but he did release some of the pressure along her back, letting it rest more comfortably against the rail.
"You live up there," Mykel snapped grumpily. "And why are you out anyways? It's supposed to be locked, wait—" He pulled back as his mind rushed forward with clarity. The sight of her and the angst of walking through the halls alone had gotten to him, surely. He wouldn't normally have forgotten about his brother so...so quickly. "Where the fuck is Carter?"
"By the vending machine," the little vixen replied, large dark eyes meandering on Mykel's tense form. He paced back and forth through the elevator. His fingers slammed forward and pressed the lounge level button, knowing exactly where his childish brother must have gone.
The security was breached. No fucking wonder the electronic lock on the door wasn't working.
As the elevator whirred upwards again, unsettling both their balances, Mykel placed his hand at the crease of his brow, groaning slightly. Frustrated. He was fucking frustrated.
"And you left him alone?"
Though it pained him, he saw that somewhere—somewhere under her sparkling dark eyes, there was the confirmation that he was, in fact, correct: that Carter would be the protectee, and Rannia the protector.
He disliked the idea of envisioning such a small looking person fighting God knew who; the Amirs had been fortunate enough to rack up a long line of enemies in their time, many of which probably rued for their deaths—not to forget Garcia, the blasted rat without a trace of evidence--
"It's a juice bar." Rannia laughed lightly, not at all catching onto Mykel's stressed stance. "For God's sake, you're a fucking idiot. You really think an adult boy will somehow die at a juice bar?" She snickered. "Well, he is your brother. So if stupidity is a genetic trait—"
"He's my half brother," Mykel cut gloomily.
Fuck if I know, that kid could be six feet under already. And it'd be because his fucking girlfriend couldn't be fucking bothered to accompany him to a fucking juice bar.
"Oh?" Rannia inquired curiously. "How so?"
"Different dads." Mykel grimaced. "Why the fuck do you care, anyways?"
The elevator pinged as they arrived at their destination.
"So...you're gonna be my half-brother by law?" Rannia guessed, stepping beside Mykel nonchalantly to exit. And with a knowing smile playing at her sugar lips, she stepped out. As if she really would marry Carter, as if she wasn't gonna run the second she saw the gun on Mykel's waist, and as if she hadn't been fucked by him just that morning.
It irritated him, that look on her face. But what irritated him most was himself; how easily he noticed his temper being distracted by the simple look on her face.
How dangerous that was. And how completely unwilling he was to change it.
(a/n: as far as you are all concerned, I simply do not exist. I am. A square.)