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"I know everything happens for a reason, but sometimes I wish I knew what that reason was."
~ Pinterest
Carlton's POV
My fingers trembled as I lit the cigarette that I held between my lips. Inhaling deeply, I let the smoke seep into my cells. The comfort I longed for was finally here.
My lungs probably hated me as much as humans hated common sense.
I flopped on a grimy, tattered couch in the center of the derelict living room, which was once a hideout for Breanna and her friends, or teammates, or cult, or whatever the fuck they were.
Damien was examining the wrecked artworks hanging on the walls, sneezing once in a while from the dust that lingered in the anxiety-ridden air between us.
I had been elucidating the whole Breanna-situation to him with careful details for the past one hour. And according to him, it was "bat-shit crazy".
His curious eyes traveled towards me as I inhaled the smoke of the cigarette again. "You smoke too much, it's unhealthy."
Scoffing, I replied, "It's not like I plan on living for too long."
"Huh?"
"I'd rather die at the young age of forty-one, on a chair, alone in a massive Beverley Hills Chateau, smoking a fat Gurkha Black Dragon cigar. Oh, and my cause of death will be lung cancer."
His dilated eyes dug deep into mine with utter amusement. "Are you– Never mind. There's no use trying to explain anything to you, anyway."
A few seconds of pondering later, I met his dubious eyes. His stare coaxed me for answers or directions as to what should be done, now, that our grip on the situation just went downhill.
"Damien–" I muttered, narrowing my eyes and sitting straight up on the couch, "–I think I'm going to Massachusetts."
I didn't look up to see his reaction but I could hear the muddled thuds of his shoes approaching me. "Have you lost your mind?"
"I need to look for her."
He slumped on the couch beside me and I could almost feel his apprehensive stare, "How could you possibly look for one person in a fucking state?!"
I returned the stare. "I don't know, but I have to start somewhere. Augustus Bancroft has something to do with Breanna. And when a Bancroft is involved, you know the situation is way more serious than it seems."
The Bancrofts didn't just play around, they fucking gambled with living things – mostly humans.
Their reputation might be clean to the world, but only people like us knew that they were the real deal.
Damien voiced doubtfully, "Aren't the Bancrofts and Hargraves, good friends? Taking Breanna's side would mean fighting a Bancroft head-on."
"Yes, and that's only because both families make a lot of money, so they partner with each other to make even more money. There's no emotional aspect to our relationship, Damien. So are you in?"
My challenging glare caught him by surprise.
He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, his eyes wandering away. "I mean...it kinda scares me. The Bancrofts are vicious people."
"So are we, chum." I inhaled once again, never looking away from him. I wanted him to help me out, mostly because he grew up with the same lifestyle as me. He knew how inside business functioned. His assistance would be really advantageous.
"Fine," he exclaimed, earning a winning smile from me, "You're lucky that I have your back."
I watched him with delight as he pulled his cell phone out from his pocket and casually moseyed around. A few clicks later, he held the screen up to show me a contact without a name.
Calling the number and placing the phone on his ear, he smirked at me. "I know some people who can help us look for her."
Breanna's POV
Massachusetts' night sky was starless and cloudless. The temperature mercilessly dropped to freezing degrees, numbing my fingers and face.
I tucked my hands deeper into my overcoat pockets, fighting the ruthless city climate. My warm breath wafted in front of me like a foggy haze as I overlooked the darkness omnipresent below the bridge I was standing on.
Various vehicles zoomed past from behind me, their approaching and dissipating engine roars matching the rhythm of the waves of the river, below the bridge.
The fake blonde hair that I wore fell on my shoulders in a disorderly fashion, considering how rough the past few hours had been for me and my friends.
My crestfallen eyes wandered towards Raymond's face as he stood close to me, watching the flowing river with intent.
He looked tired and confused, but mostly nervous. His cheeks hollowed, the bright city lights shining on his dark skin, casting fretful shadows on his cheekbones.
It had been only a few hours since our arrival and we hadn't spoken to each other properly since.
Perhaps we were both questioning how they found out about our hideout in the New York suburbs; we had carefully locked it up by installing wooden planks and locks on all possible entry-ways. How did they manage to break in without us noticing?
Only Raymond, Ace and I were present there when they attacked; we escaped from the backdoors and fled in our SUV. We stayed at, Ray's younger sister, Liz's apartment and the three of us immediately flew to Massachusetts in the next few days.
In the heat of the moment, we left all our money, all our research and essentially everything back in the NYC hideout. They probably already found and burned it all.
We were fucked. We had nothing left.
It was over.
I watched my trembling hands as I fiddled with the hem of my overcoat sleeve.
"Mackenzie?" Raymond's voice was coarse and fatigued, as if problems that weighed a hundredfold, were suppressing it. "We need to talk."
Even though I had been waiting for him to break the silence, I didn't want to talk to him anymore. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I feared his next words. Trying not to meet his gaze, I bit my quivering lip, pushing back tears of distress.
I was about to lose someone very important to me.
Out of the blue, I felt his fingers tucking the fake blonde hair behind my ears and tenderly caressing my cheek with his thumb.
His actions held a hint of hesitance as he shifted closer and looked at me. "Mackenzie, whatever happened isn't your fault. You mustn't blame yourself. You're brave and strong, everyone knows that."
"Why don't you get to the point, Ray?"
He withdrew his fingers from my face as if my skin burned him, his stare burning intently into mine.
He was shocked at my sudden outburst, leaning away from me wretchedly. "I–I'm sorry."
Tears were threatening to fall from my eyes as I gritted my teeth. "Sorry what? Just say it."
He didn't look away. Instead, he continued to dig his gaze with more vehemence than before. "I'm sorry I–I can't do this anymore."
Pursing my lips, I felt a stray tear streaming out of my eyes as I swallowed a whimper. A headache was creeping its way into my head as I strained my mind to protect my consciousness. "How could you?"
"I'm so sorry, Kenzie. I really am," he exclaimed, his voice breaking and quivering, "I have a sister that I need to protect and a family that has big dreams for me. I can't keep doing this–"
"You can't just leave me to die! Everyone has left me! I have nothing!" I couldn't stop the tears that kept flooding out, unable to recognize my own voice as I broke down.
He didn't budge. How could he? How could he just stand there and watch me fall apart?
"You're strong enough to take care of yourself," he said, unfaltering, "But this is where I back down."
An unfamiliar notion of satisfaction in his voice made me look at him. Was he glad that he finally told me the truth? And he would finally be free of my burden?
My head spun as I watched him turn around and trudge in the opposite direction, taking steady and hefty steps that felt like a dagger to my chest.
My own voice was choking me as I called after him. "Ray! Raymond!"
But he wouldn't stop; it only made him walk faster.
I needed to do something. I needed to stop him. If I didn't do it now, everything would be over. I would never see him again. Ever.
I was so caught up that I cried, "I love you!"
That made him stop.
With his back to me, he looked over his shoulder to show how vulnerable he was to those three words. I knew it affected him greatly.
We held our despondent stares for long, trying to piece everything together.
We were not supposed to take our relationship forward. We were just messing around but I couldn't help it, couldn't control how I felt towards him.
It was true. I loved him. I really did.
But he wouldn't say it back.
Instead, he turned away from me and continued on his path.
The tears had stopped falling now, replaced with resentment and fury. Not for him, but for myself.
I hated myself.
I hated knowing that I let myself fall for him and allowed him to steer my feelings in every which way that he wanted.
I was all alone. Everyone had left after what happened at the hideout – Mike, Liz, Ace and now Raymond too.
What was I going to do?
Raymond's figure disappeared away into the crowd of bustling tourists and citizens, who were gaping at the beautiful city in awe; while I bunched up the material of my coat between my fingers.
It was over.
When he was by my side, he handled everything, even my sanity. He helped me at my worst and dealt with all the other things money related.
Now he was gone, and I had little or no money and a ramshackle apartment that I had rented somewhere in the congested city.
That's all I had. And with so little, I had nowhere else to go. They would find me and do all those God awful things to me, and perhaps even kill me when they're done.
Raymond knew this.
How could he leave me to die?
Maybe because he had a family, but I never had one. My parents gave up on me a long time ago, and I had forgotten what that was like.
Everyone gave up on me. Not that I expected them to stay. I was in a pretty shitty situation; it was only natural for people to give up on me.
My friends had only helped me out of love, but now it was threatening their lives. And they left. I scoffed.
Of course, they did.
The immense pressure of my near future consumed my mind entirely, traumatic headaches pulsating in my head because of it.
I felt cold sweat encasing my skin.
I was so scared. So fucking scared.
There was no use worrying about it anymore, I was done for. My hand involuntarily reached for my white-blonde hair. I grabbed it with all my might and pulled the wig off. It slipped from my weak fingers and dropped on the sidewalk.
No need to try anymore.
I gulped, reaching for my real, auburn hair tied up in a bun. Untying, I let my long red locks fall, allowing them to taste the chilly air as it ruffled and swished them.
I was Breanna Riley. Not Mackenzie.
I was not going to pretend anymore.
If this truly was my end, I would like to die as Breanna and not someone I pretended to be.
As my heels clicked on the vacant streets of the darkest and most treacherous places in this city, my eyes remained locked straight ahead of me.
It was late at night, and I roamed without a destination in mind, tears drying on my cheeks as I did.
They would find me soon, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I wasn't afraid of dying, I was afraid of what they would to me before they killed me.
Perhaps if I killed myself before they got to me, it would be a faster, more peaceful death.
I started alone and now I would die alone.
After all these years, I would finally witness the end of me.
**********
So, how was Breanna's POV?! ;)
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Love, K!