I shot out of bed to the sound of my alarm going off early this morning. I look over at the clock, 7 a.m. I groan to myself and bury my face in the pillow praying that I could time jump through today.
I push myself from my bed and I stalk towards my bathroom, everything in my house being undecorated and boring. My bedroom two bathroom apartment isn't much, but I was never a materialistic guy.
I brushed my teeth and changed into some black jeans and a black shirt, I put my sunglasses on my face as I headed out the door towards my dreaded destination for the day.
I was required to do a few things at the warehouse today, and I wasn't very pleased about it.
The warehouse was where I went on occasion when I was summoned basically. I was called in to do a variety of different missions and deliveries for different clients.
If I told you I did this willingly, I would be lying. My father, Jason, was one of the heads of the organization. He was a sly bastard who got away with whatever he wanted to. He made my life a living hell, while he runs around playing the devil. He and my mom split when I was six. He was abusive to all of us. My younger sister and mom included.
I headed out to the street to unlock my sleek, black, Audi R8 that I bought illegally through the system. I normally stay out of the business as much as I can, but this benefited me in a way I didn't have to pay taxes through the government.
I took my car to the warehouse, going a different route each time just so in case my movements are watched they won't suspect much. I drive about twenty-five miles to the middle of nowhere, parking my car in the backside lot. The dust blew up around my car as it skidded to a stop. I turn off the ignition and I reach over to pull my black gun from the dashboard and make sure it's loaded.
I huff in annoyance at my requirement of being here and step out of the car and into the bright sunlight. I slam the car door shut and begin walking towards the warehouse door. I take my key in my hand and point it over my shoulder behind me, locking my car.
My sunglasses help with the dust that flies around me in the wind, my boots could be heard scratching along the tiniest of rocks with every step.
I tuck my gun in the waistband of my jeans, not caring at all if it is visible. The people around here are used to that stuff. They all know who I am and what I am capable of.
When I get to the door of the large warehouse I type in the eight-digit code and push my way through the steel metal door. I weave my way through the hallways, gaining looks from the other fuck heads who are here. I pull out my phone in the process of getting to the back room.
It rings for a second before he answers.
"Got what you need for me, kid?" His cigarette-damaged voice cracks on the other end of the line.
"Well considering you forgot to tell me what I was picking up? No. No Jason, I have not." I roll my eyes knowing I'd get punched for that if he could see me.
"You have a real mouth on you nowadays, don't you?" He snaps, I can hear his fist bang down on his desk in the background.
"That's what happens when you beat your kids and wife and then they grow up. They develop the 'I don't give a fuck anymore attitude.'" I say through gritted teeth.
All I hear on the other end of the line is a cold-hearted laugh.
"Well, son, I need ten pounds of cocaine delivered to Mr. Drewitt by twelve-thirty in the afternoon. He's going to give you 250 thousand dollars for it. After you have the money in your hand. Kill him."
My blood goes cold and my body goes stiff as I stop walking once I hear his command.
Murder has never been a thing I liked doing. I wasn't the monster or murderer my own father had made me become. It made me fear myself after I had taken the life of another. These were people that I had no hatred for, my father didn't even necessarily hate them, they were just minor inconveniences to him.
It was just a minor inconvenience to him. He kept me alive though, but only for a price. I shouldn't have to pay a price to live.
"He doesn't deserve to die," I state in heated anger.
"You know the deal. You do as I say, or the two people you love the most get hurt." He tuts, I can almost see him shaking his head with a smirk.
"Touch them and I'll kill you myself," I growl back in protectiveness. This was a game he played, he toyed with the things I loved most in life. They were nothing but pawns to him, while I sat as his opponent.
"You can try, but we both know you won't succeed." He laughs once more. "If I don't hear the word of Drewitt dead in the next 24 hours you're a goner, son." And then the phone line goes dead.
The anger that has begun within me in the past five minutes is about to boil over. The threats to my family and the threats to my personal safety have been like this for years. I stalk off to the back of the warehouse where the drugs are kept. I see some guards around, watching me.
"Do you have an issue with me today? Or am I gonna have to shoot that shitty look off your face?" I ask the guard who has been watching me my entire walk down the hall.
"Cut it out, Styles, you won't do anything to me." He scoffs in disbelief.
Today has been a long day and it's only about nine in the morning. I haven't eaten, I haven't taken a drink of anything, and I'm tired. I stop dead in my tracks at his words and turn my body ninety degrees to face him fully. I smirk at him devilishly, then I grab him by the collar to throw him into the nearest wall.
His eyes fill with fear and his body becomes stiff at my touch, the smell of cigarettes falls from his mouth, and I'm disgusted even being so close to a man who willingly chooses to do this type of job.
I pull my gun from my waistband and flip the switch off safety. I slowly begin to drag the Barrell up his torso and along his neck. I trace it along his jaw and up the side of his cheek till it meets his temple.
"Let's not try and test me again, yeah? I may not choose this lifestyle, but I was still raised by a man who does."
I pull away from him, giving him one last final look over my shoulder, and continue my walk to the back room. I finally reached it after having my identification checked at every door I walked through by a fingerprint. I push open the heavy metal door and walk into the drug-filled room. I spot Antonio from across the warehouse stalking towards me with a drawstring bag filled with what I guess are the blocks of cocaine.
"Here ya go, Harry. Every pound of white power." He hands me the drugs like it isn't the cost of a small suburban house or a nice sports car.
"Don't lose it. I was tempted to do a line as I was packaging it up for you." He tries to lighten the mood, but I say nothing in return. My lips remained in a flat line, it seemed to disappoint him.
"Okay... Well, you don't want to be late Harry, you should get going." He urges me on.
I thank him and try to exit the building without any other fights or tests of power. I don't belong here, but I've been accustomed to it since I was sixteen years old. Jason had been in this field of work my whole life. When my parents divorced, my father made sure to keep a stronghold on us. He always found a way to instill fear into our lives. He mainly targeted my mother and me.
Meredith, my younger sister, lived with my mom, Jenna in a small town in Nevada. They lived pretty far from me and I missed them, but I was the key to their safety. I had to be here. If I had to stay here to keep them safe, I would.
I reach my car and unlock it quickly. I put the bag of coke on the passenger seat as I get ready to drive to Mr. Drewitt's location. He sent my father an address to where he wanted to meet, so I was supposed to be there in an hour and a half.
The address he sent was about an hour away, and in the complete opposite direction to where I was going originally. It was a shame he thought this was only going to be a simple trade and I wasn't about to take his life.
I've become accustomed to death at this point, especially when the blood is on my hands.
I have watched countless amounts of people die with my bullet or fist as the cause. The amounts of last breaths I've experienced shake me to my core. However, as I watch them die all I can think is "better them than my family".
So I've trained my brain not to care anymore.
Mom and Meredith have been my rocks since the divorce. I had a tough time growing up, we didn't have much money, my father made sure of that. I was a rebellious teenager. It was the product of child abuse.
I had to sit and watch as my mother and sister were beaten. I was tied to a chair and gagged so I couldn't scream. He got off to it. He got off to the pain of his family. So naturally, I grew up a little fucked in the head.
Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. That's what they all say, isn't it? That's what could sum up my teenage years. I didn't get roped into my dad's place of work until I was sixteen. I got a call one day, an unknown number. I stupidly answered only to hear his bone-chilling voice.
That's when the true threats began.
He told me, and I still remember his exact words, "You do as I say and your two favorite people don't get hurt."
From then on I did as he said. When I messed up but didn't purposefully disobey, I got punished. Beaten, thrown away, punched, stolen from, set up in any way possible, you name it. Jason made my life torture.
That's when he found Chargers. The street fighting club that secretly laundered money and drugs. Their fighters were all voluntary until Jason thought of his grandiose plan. The owner of Chargers, Micheal, was a client of his. Jason was one of Micheal's main drug providers. When I had first met Micheal it was for a drug exchange like I usually do, however this time it was more of an assessment. I was being assessed. When Micheal needed a new consistent fighter, Jason thought I could benefit him in another way.
I was a pawn in his game once more. If a consistent fighter, who never lost, was always bringing in money at Chargers, more drugs were able to be covered up by the copious amounts of money. I was the new money maker in the business. However, what kind of attraction would I be to the public if I lost a fight? Who would come to bet on a loser? Nobody.
So that was the catch. I was never allowed to lose. If I lost, I died. That was another one of his deals.
Jason was a bit into dramatics if you ask me.
I had been driving for an hour and I was close to the location. My palms were sweaty, and my forehead was creased. As I said, I didn't like killing. It made me uneasy. I never believed myself to have a right to take another's life.
The last thirty minutes of the drive I was a nervous wreck. I thought of every possible way I could get out of this without any harm coming my way or to my family's. Every single plan ended up with me or the dead.
I pulled into the parking lot in the desert much like the warehouse and parked my car. I grabbed my gun once more and shoved it in my waistband concealing it more this time. I grabbed the drawstring bag out of my passenger seat and stepped out of my car.
I headed towards the burly man that awaited me in the distance. I could see him dressed in a suit with his hands behind his back holding a briefcase between them, sunglasses rested on his face. I crossed the distance between us and held up the bag indicating I had everything he needed.
"Do you have it all young Styles?" He rasped. Does every man in this business have a cigarette addiction? I swear on my life.
"It's all there, Drewitt. Now give me the money." I demanded sternly. He raised a bushy eyebrow at me.
"Tell your father I said thank you. Don't linger in the area, I do ask." He responded as he set the briefcase down. I always hated this part.
"That won't be a problem," I reassure him. I'll be leaving as quickly as possible.
I hand him the cocaine and he nods curtly. I bend down to grab the money and I secretly reach towards my gun. Drewitt hasn't noticed yet, which is good I suppose. I quickly pull it from my waistband and point it directly at him. Drewitt's shocked expression and worried eyes made me instantly fill with guilt. He doesn't say anything as he stands in shock.
He doesn't even plead for his life.
"I'm sorry. It's better you than them." I whisper in regret as I turn my head and pull the trigger. I fire right into his chest, killing him instantly. There goes the death of another.
With that, he falls to the floor as blood pours from his thoracic cavity. I grab the briefcase and the drawstring bag and I sprint in the direction of my car. I throw each of the things in the passenger seat and put my car in reverse faster than I ever thought I could.
I turn my car around so quickly and race down the desert roads with no look back.
Adrenaline was a funny thing. It clouded the mind with all things rational and put your body on overdrive. I felt numb as I left Mr. Drewitt dead in the dirt. His blood would make a paste out of the sand. I knew as soon as I got back to my apartment the adrenaline production in my body would fade and I would be overloaded with every emotion I was feeling. Grief, guilt, anxiety, mourning.
I was a monster that was made in a factory.
I was the byproduct of a horrible man who deserved nothing but a slow agonizing death. He was the only person I would feel no remorse in watching the light leave their eyes.
I had to get back to the warehouse and then home as quickly as I could before I had a panic attack. They usually come after the realization of what I have done. It will take me about two hours for the reality of my situation to set in again.
I race back to the warehouse and I park my car as usual. I take the same entrance and run down the same pathway to the back. I find Antonio waiting for my arrival as I throw the bag at him. His eyes fill with despair, he knows what I've been forced to do.
"Just hold on a bit longer, Harry!" I hear him call as I rush out of the warehouse again. Towards my car I go, and my next stop is home.
I didn't have a fight tonight so that was a gift. The club was my own personal hell, knowing that every single time I step in the ring I could potentially die at the end of the night. I was good at what I do. I made myself be good. I analyzed everything I could. I prepared myself for everything. I trained when I could, I did school when I wasn't. I felt suffocated by my own life.
I had my fun, I had sex in between my busiest moments, I got drugged up when I had the time. Those were the slivers of moments that gave me something to look forward to, but then again, they didn't make me that happy either.
I had been going to the bar recently with the hope of seeing her. Blake. She was a new, fresh, beautiful face that I had never been so inclined to get to know. I knew she had heard of me before, she had heard of my reputation, the rumors. Nine times out of ten a rumor is a lie, now isn't it?
I hope Blake chose to believe it was a lie rather than believing in the lie itself.
She was something else. She wasn't fearful of me like most girls, she didn't try and seduce me, instead, she cared for me. When she had been the only one to check up on me after the fight and wrapped my hand I was taken aback. Nobody has ever done that for me. The only people that have ever looked out for me were my mom, sister, and Grant.
When she had let me follow her to the bookstore because I was bored, and when she had laughed at my jokes, she gave me a sense of tranquility and peace that I haven't felt in a while. She didn't kiss me though, and man did I want to kiss her.
It will happen with time, I suppose.
I finally parallel park in front of my apartment complex and I race up the steps. I jam my key into my lock and fling it open. I drop my stuff on my kitchen counter as I head for the shower. I have to scrub my body of the man's blood and any cocaine residue off my body. I feel tainted.
The bad thing about showers though is the time it gives your mind to think and process. That's exactly what it does. The day came back in flashes.
Every bad, illegal, immoral thing I had done today flashed through my mind and sent me into a panic. My breathing was getting heavy and my airways felt constricted. My body felt compressed and my head was pounding. Today was not a good day.
I needed a distraction and my mind had been recently tracing back to her. That's when I hear my phone ding. I pulled back the shower curtain and looked at the message.
'Well done. They get to live another day.'
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