"Tsk, tsk, tsk if it isn't little Jakey who decided to fuck up and be a little bitch by snitching about one of our deals." Ethan's voice cut through the silence, inscribed with a sinister tranquility that would make your skin crawl.
"Boss, I s-swear to y-you I-I did-didn't,-" Jake's voided withered as he along with everybody else around knew what was coming. "Ah, Ah, Ah, little Jakey. You know I hate liars don't you good ol' pal?" Ethan cut him off, voice humorous, the rest of the gang chuckling nervously in fear of pissing him off more than he already is.
"Hold his tongue!" Ethan barked. "N-no please! P-please! I'll do anything!" Jake implored. His pleads fell on deaf ears as two bandits held out his tongue muffling his words. Ethan walked over to him, taking his full time, almost as if he relished watching Jake's remorseful face.
The gang leader pulled out his lucky charm, a pocket knife he'd acquired during his early days, before his gang days had started. He kick-started carving in his initials E.G.D onto Jake's tongue earning Jake's first wail of agony, as he tried to squirm and scream on the top of his lungs. "Quit moving around!" He snarled. Though when he felt Jake struggle against the rope more forcefully, by then he had enough and 'accidentally' let his hand slip, cutting off the tongue as a whole.
"Told ya' to stop moving around." Ethan snickered like it was the most amusing thing ever said. His expression briskly twisted into that of a cold nature, as he took out a gun out of his back pocket shooting the almost half passed out man right between the eyes, brain matter blotching onto the floor of the basement and on anybody who stood too close.
"Clean this shit up, then send me up some joints and a girl or two." He casually spoke to nobody at all. Though they all knew better than to not get him what he asked for. As he left the basement heading up to his suit, planning on luxuriating his night with some fine weed and the best bottle of whiskey on the market.
—
Smoke swirled around the room, slightly fogging it up as strippers of all varieties danced around the room skillfully to the thumping beats amplified by speakers from every direction. Bodies swarming the dance floor, some passed out and have been swept to the corners of the room as this life style has proved to be conventional to everybody who lived in the manor, or whoever knew about it.
While the party raged on, the nefarious host sat quietly in his office, drink in one hand and the pocket knife he'd like to call his lucky charm sat in the other. Adequately intoxicated as he allowed his mind run free, his brain quickly filling up with thoughts concerning his business, contemplating his next moves in the industry, who to trust in this hollow-hearted game.
That was until his eye fixated on what he would like to think was his most prized possession, the reason he went on with the trade, it was the only part of his old life that he had left.
Back before he ever got dragged unwillingly into this mess. Back when life wasn't adorned with death, falsehood and sinister morals to abide to.
You either kill or get killed in this game, and Ethan knew that the most.
His pocket knife, metal and miniature, with a snake wrapped up in the center, with his father's initials skillfully carved in cursive, bold text. He remembered the day it was given to him by his father, a twelve year old on top of the world, getting high off the sense of trust and credibility he got from his father.
As thoughts of his father and mother took up most of his brain activity, it wasn't too long till he found himself dwelling on the past.
The day his twelve year old self got the mortifying news of losing not only one, but both his parents, the despair and emptiness he dealt with up until that night. That awful and grisly night.
-
Ethan's tiny frame slanted on his window shield, with a tear stained face, wishing on a lonely star for his parents back.
He was cut short out of his train of thoughts by the ruthless cackling of the company his grandfather had brought almost every night since his parents were brutally taken away from him.
Ethan wasn't dumb, he knew what they were doing there was unquestionably illegal, based on the alarming acquaintances his grandfather had.
Though when the ruthless cackling sounded from his grandfather's basemen, Ethan did what any twelve year adolescent would do, he followed their screeching voices down to the basement.
As the little adolescence stood at the foot of the stairs, he couldn't perceive their faces as he was way high up, though it seemed as though they had noticed his miniature stance, as they had stopped moving in the dim light.
"Well well well, what do we have here?" A chilling voice echoed throughout the room, though you couldn't really place a finger on which direction it came from. Ethan could swear it sounded like right out of a horror movie.
"Ethan. Did I not tell you to not leave your room?" The boy's grandfather hissed, his weak and withering body swaying like a paper caught in the wind.
The look he had in his eyes was something Ethan knew at that moment he could never forget, those striking blue eyes, still mourning the loss of his only son, the anger that didn't seem all that too directed at Ethan himself but rather the situation, the perplexity after one too many drinks, and lastly the tiniest spec of terror as he didn't want the youngster dragged into disarray of his world.
"You've got George's eyes don't ya boy," Ethan's eyes perked up at the mention of his father's name, his eyes finally pinpointing the source.
The man was raw-boned yet had broad shoulders, he looked no older than 40. His raven hair slicked back, eyes dark and heavy, his lips forming a smirk as a blunt hung in between them. He wore a navy blue leather jacket with an all too familiar wrapped up snake on each sleeve.
He strolled over to where Ethan stood as still as a rock, hands stuffed in the pocket of his jumper, nervous, shaking fingers fiddling with his pocket knife.
After what seemed like an eternity later to Ethan, the man stood, towering over the little boy's shy posture, hesitant eyes looking up at the man that he is yet to learn his name.
"and Emily's hair it seems." He snickered, propping Ethan's chin between his pointer finger and thumb, almost studying his face with a fiendish smirk.
"Leave him alone, Gomez." Arnold slithered, his words dripped of venom.
Ethan wanted to reach the comforting gaze of his granddad, but all his line of vision could meet were the man's wide shoulders. His stomach churned nastily, making him feel sickly feeble. Though he didn't dare to move, as he held his breath.
One wrong breath and this would all go to hell, at least that's what his instincts suggested by the looks of the man in front of him.
"Where's my money old man?" The so called Gomez snapped at Arnold, yet still maintaining that intimidating stare with the juvenile in front of him that was subtly squirming, searching for anything to keep his eyes busy.
"The boy has nothing to do with this." Arnold pleaded, hoping that the cold-hearted geezer would just leave it at that. Though at heart, he knew this didn't stand a chance. He had to do what he had to do.
"Oh, but he does. I didn't know George had a son. I would've killed not only his wife but his kid too before his eyes." Gomez sighed, almost remorsefully, ashamed.
Ethan's eyes shot wide open at the newly received information. His jaw slanted as he stared at the vile excuse of a human before of him.
"Where's my money?" The gang leader repeated.
"I don't have it." The older bloke sighed, defeated. He mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen.
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Such a pretty boy. What a shame, really." Gomez baby-talked, as he squished Ethan's cheeks.
"Take him as a warrant. I'll have your money by next week." Arnold felt his guilt eat him up inside as soon as the words left his mouth. He would not have the money by the next week. Nor the week after. Maybe not ever.
Then it happened.
It was almost too fast, Ethan hadn't even realized the tears streaming down his face. The shattering feeling in his heart quickly turned into raging and burning anger towards the man who stood there with a smug smile.
He hadn't even thought about doing so before his eyes had realized what had happened.
The man fell to the ground, Ethan's pocket knife gutted into the middle of his neck, blood spewing onto the floor as his head fell back in a silent scream. His body shook in seizures, then finally fell limp.
The loud thump must have alerted the guards who were outside as Ethan heard numerous rapid footsteps. How had he not noticed them? At least that's what he would've started thinking about if he was dumbstruck over what he had just done.
Take a man's life.
Arnold's eyes doubled in size as he finally intercepted what had happened. As he frantically started to move towards the door, Ethan inched towards the dead man's body, shaking with the fear of him coming back from the dead and finishing him off.
He shakily reached over to his knife, pulling it out, causing a stream of blood to ooze from the gangster's wound.
As soon as he got a hold of it, he scurried over to one of the cabinets that were used to stash all the junk his grandfather would keep.
He squeezed himself behind a lamp and tried to hold his breath as men barged in panic-stricken, staring in disbelief at their now dead leader.
Arnold's screams could be heard all around the country, as he begged them to believe him. It wasn't him. Not that anybody would listen to his begging.
The bang of a gun silenced Arnold's desperate cries, the only sound was the panic filled mumbles and descending foot steps.
Then it was obscure noiselessness.
It might have been a few minutes, a few hours or maybe it was a few days. Ethan sobbed and wept, clenching onto his knife for dear life.
That was the last time he shed a tear.
-
The knocking on his door snapped him out of his daze. As Isaac creaked open the door leading to the drug lord's study. "Boss?"
Ethan puffed out a cloud of smoke, as his eyes lazily eyed his most trusted worker out of his peripheral vision.
"Boss, we need you." Isaac said slowly, weary of not pissing off the chief.
If it was up to Ethan he would've clocked his gun and shot him right between the eyes. He loathed people interfering with his alone time. He probably would've if he wasn't roaring high.
Instead he twisted his body in the direction of the well-built man with his eyebrow raised, urging him to get it over with.
"We have a huge shipment of Benzos that is due tomorrow, but our reporters haven't contacted us on whether or not the bags have reached the assigned checkpoints or not." Isaac stood valiantly, studying the gang leader's reaction.
Isaac knew he had no reason to be jittery and petrified of Ethan, as he waited for a response. He had never wronged his boss, never disrespected nor did anything to manipulate his trust towards him. Though the narc's cold gaze was enough to make the boldest of men faint-hearted.
"I'll deal with it. Out. Now." Ethan bellowed, puffing out another cloud, resting his head back against the leather chair, his heavy eyes shut as he cramped his pocket knife tightly.
Second chapter already? Hope you enjoy this xx