Gritting his teeth, Wellington recoiled and straightened his spine. He bit back his usual curses and insults. The man had banked them for whenever his goons were disobedient and showed the slightest sign of disrespect, such as empty threats like "I'll kill ya, Boss!" - as if they were capable of the act anyway. However, the threat he received just now was far from empty. The dead eyes that were locked onto his were far from the cowardly ones his minions possessed.
The crooked smile that carved itself on the young man's face was far from sane.
Ring...ring...ring...
There was no doubt, Wellington thought, that this man in front of him was capable of murder. No, he must have already dirtied his hands with the blood of his so-called victims. Wellington broke into a cold sweat.
This boy could actually kill him.
"Are you not going to pick up?" Still in that wicked crescent shape, a mocking voice parted from Asher's lips.
Gulping, Wellington refocused his attention on the final few discordant hums. At the last minute, while still facing the phone's screen towards Asher, Wellington thumbed the 'Call' button.
"Hello? Hello, Asher?" A distressed voice transmitted across the line. With the phone on speaker mode, it echoed off the walls of the battered room, static humming in the background. "Oh my god, are you okay?! Are you hurt? Where are you?"
Finally - to Wellington's relief - Asher's manic grin relaxed into a small smile. "Ah, Y/N! I..." He looked up at Wellington, who mouthed a reply. "...I need your–"
"–Wait, first, are you in any danger at all?" In her anxiety, the girl failed to realise that she had interrupted him. "I'm at the hotel now and apparently there's a guy called Wellington Gray who came here. According to the counter lady, he broke into my room and made an absolute mess of it. With you not being here at the same time, I thought this guy did something to you, so..."
Silence.
'Heh, so the bitch snitched after all.' The bespectacled man sneered. 'Did she think I was kidding when I said–'
"Is that so?" A low voice replied.
Wellington snapped his gaze to Asher, only to meet cold hazel irises, kindled by ire.
"Yeah! You...didn't happen to come across him, did you? Oh and that Boris guy! Where did you go with him? Is he with you right now? Did he do anything to you? God, what the hell happened?'"
"Hey, Y/N." Asher adopted a soothing tone, his expression softened. "Breathe, okay?" After hearing the sound of a slow inhale and exhale, he continued. "I need your help."
"O-Of course!"
He returned his attention to Wellington and read his lips. "You...need to come...to where I am."
"Okay, but where exactly are you? Are you safe?"
"I'll...explain everything then."
The line hummed while both parties stayed quiet. It stretched on for several minutes until she broke the silence.
"Wait, Ash..." The hesitant voice started slowly. "...why are you on speaker? You sound a bit echo-y. No, scratch that, you sound weird in general. What are you saying?"
'Heh, that's my girl.' Asher smirked to himself. It was just like his beautiful and intelligent Y/N to catch on rather quickly. He smugly quirked an eyebrow at his captor, whose jaw was clenched.
The final embers of Wellington's patience fizzled out. "Okay, that's it." He switched the phone off speaker mode and held it to his ear. "Y/N!" he boomed.
"...Who is this? Where's Asher?"
"Oh, be quiet! If you're at the hotel now, then where the fuck were you an hour ago?"
"That's none of your goddamn business."
"Tch." His nostrils flared at the defiant tone in her voice. "You think you're so clever, escaping my clutches just like your dipshit brother."
"My...My brother...? What the fuck did you do to Cyril?!" she growled, voice rising to a shout through the microphone. "Who the hell are you?"
The man chuckled, scratching his chin. "The name's Wellington Gray, though it seems you already know that. I'm simply a humble man who helps the weak in their time of need - especially with, er, money problems."
"Money problems? What's my brother and Asher got to do with you? What do you want?"
A loud, scratchy laugh. "Well, your brother is the reason why we're here, and we have the Asher boy to make sure you listen."
To his satisfaction, Wellington heard a gulp on the other end. It was followed by a sigh and a quieter voice. "...I'm listening."
"Good. So, you know your brother is bankrupt, hm? Well, a few months ago, he borrowed some money from my group and now he owes us. Do you know how much he owes us?"
"...No."
"Oh, it's only $800,000." Her sharp gasp was music to the scoundrel's ears. "Of course, that includes our rates, considering he borrowed 400k in the first place."
"Loan sharks?! How the hell did Cyril get involved with loan sharks?"
"Beats me. We don't care 'bout the reason; only 'bout the cash. Since your brother had not settled this cash, despite us giving him more than enough time, someone needs to pay."
"What...do you want from me?"
He clicked his tongue. "It won't do to discuss the matter over the phone. I wish to meet face-to-face, and Asher wants to see you too. I will tell you the directions on where to go and you will come alone." He paused before he quickly added, "Oh, and don't get any bright ideas. I'm going to send two goons to escort you, and they won't hesitate to use force if you resist or run away. I've also got many of them surrounding the route to come here. If they see you with anyone else other than your escorts, not only will you both be killed on the spot, but I will also kill Asher. Understood?"
Another long pause, then a defeated sigh. "...Okay."
"NO!" Asher thrashed in the chair and yelled, loud enough to be picked up by the phone's mic. "Don't come here! I can handle things myself, so don't worry about me!"
Wellington kicked his shin hard, eliciting a pained groan from the young boy. "And if you don't come here at all," he spat into the receiver, "then I'll just have some fun with the boy."
"Don't hurt him! Ah...fine, I...I'm coming."
"Perfect."
"Y/N, don't listen to him!" The chair quaked violently. "I'll be fine! I- Mmh!"
A handful of cloth was shoved into Asher's mouth. Bob tied the ends of the material into a tight knot at the back of his head, which muffled the rest of his protests. The stout thug solemnly whispered into his ear, "I'm sorry, Asher. I'm sorry it had to be this way." He knew to avoid meeting his gaze, for it was sure to be blistering.
"Well then, Y/N, just wait there until you see two lowly fucks at the main door."
Before the girl could reply, Wellington cut the call.
He pocketed the device and peered over his shoulder at Asher. Still thrashing, wide eyes darted in all directions until they zeroed in on Wellington's form. His outcries were suppressed by the gag - 'The only useful contribution Fatso made,' he thought. Heels clicked against the cement floor as his shadow gradually consumed the boy.
Towering over him like this, Wellington felt his ego piece itself back together. His heartbeat settled back to its usual slow rhythm and all traces of fear evaporated from his chest. Times like this called for a cigarette, but talking to Y/N was a well-needed kind of catharsis in itself. A special kind that reminded him of the power he possessed; the ability to incite fear in any lowlife he comes across.
Except for the bastard in front of him.
Asher was one of the first people in a long while who had not expressed even the slightest submission towards him. Perhaps, that was what threw Wellington off at first. That made the first small crack in his pride, that later conjured the delusions that a boy half his age could kill him.
As if he would allow that.
Between purple bangs, Asher glared daggers at him.
Wellington sneered. "Pfeh, don't give me that look again. It won't work anymore." He placed his hands on top of Asher's, bound to the arms of the chair, and dug his fingernails into the skin. "Actually, while we wait for Y/N to come, I might have a little payback for what you did, hm?"
A muffled growl was his only reply.
Wellington's sadistic grin widened. A part of him hoped that the expression on his own face triggered unease in the young man. At least, a shred of what he felt when he witnessed that demonic smile.
He lifted one arm to suddenly pull at Asher's hair, eliciting a faint grunt under the gag. Wellington forced his head to tilt upward as they made eye contact.
"Yeah." A nefarious chuckle. "As long as you're in those ropes, you can do nothing to me."
----
*Call ended*
You stared at the message blinking on the screen, the phone just inches from your face. The arm holding the device trembled and made the two words blurry. Chapped lips quivered, drained of words; they evaporated from your tongue and were expelled in puffs of shallow breaths. Instead, a chorus of intangible voices screeched wildly between your ears.
'Cyril was in contact with loan sharks...? Why? How? Since when?'
'Did he say $800,000?!'
'What did they do to him? Are they the reason why he didn't call me yet? Or rather, why he couldn't?'
With a clunk, the phone fell onto the ground beside you. Your fingers tangled in your hair and clenched into fists, tugging at the roots. Back sliding down the door, you plummeted on your tailbone and ignored the sharp pain that shot up your spine.
'Oh god, what are they going to do to Asher?'
'I should've trusted my gut and stopped him from going with Bob.'
'This is all my fault!'
Your teeth ground against each other. Your heart thundered against your rib cage. The weight of the situation plunged heavily onto your shoulders and dug into the flesh, gnawing at your collarbones.
'What do they want from me?'
'Why the hell did they drag Asher into this?!'
A tingling ache brewed in the back of your neck. You realised the awkward position you were in, with your body folding in on itself, so you reluctantly stretched your limbs and tilted your head side to side. Amid your exercise, your eyes caught your cherished beret just a few metres away from your feet.
You crawled towards the object and knelt in front of it. Shaky hands picked up the woollen cap, the slit widening at the top, as you cradled it to your chest.
It had been a gift from Cyril. Other than the recent gash, the wear-and-tear that permeated the material showed its age, for it was given to you 13 years ago. Back when you lived at the cosy, two-storey house your parents made - now demolished and a mile away from the cramped apartment you and your brother lived in. Back when your father would come back from work to engulf you and Cyril in suffocating hugs, and when your mother would kiss you goodnight - both of their faces you could now barely remember.
Back when your family was still together; when it wasn't a broken home.
You were 10 and Cyril was 17 when he achieved a place into his dream course: a Bachelor of Arts, Major in Journalism, at the prestigious university an hour away from home. To celebrate, he gave everyone a gift, where yours was a beret that was too big for your head. Adding to that, it still had the tag attached inside. On the small tag, it revealed that while the original price was $20, it was on a major clearance - so there was a yellow sticker over it that displayed "Now only $2!!!".
"Cheapskate!" Your younger self had cried as you punched your brother in the arm, who had been dying of laughter.
Grip tightening on the beret, you chuckled at the memory.
Indeed, the beret was a reminder of why you were here. You wore it specifically for this mission because it was all for your sweet, selfless brother. You risked your life coming here for him. After all, you knew that if your positions were swapped, he would have chosen to do the same for you in a heartbeat.
'Cyril...'
Now that you knew the nature of his bankruptcy, a sense of understanding washed over you. From his nervous chuckles whenever you asked him about it - only to evade the question entirely - to his reluctance behind seeking financial support from the authorities, his strange behaviour finally made sense. However, what made him resort to loan sharks out of all people? How did he culminate such a massive debt in the first place?
The throbbing under your skull returned. A turbulent storm of emotions unleashed in your core - frustration, guilt, melancholy and anxiety all devoting their unwelcome counterparts into the commotion. Staring at the precious cap whilst gently rotating it in your hands, your vision started to blur.
"I'm scared, Cyril," you whispered at the beret.
You withdrew a hand and reached deep into your hidden dress pocket, producing a photograph smaller than your palm. The film held the image of a young girl in a yellow dress, that complemented her [h/c] hair, and a taller young boy in a yellow shirt and cargo shorts. Both of whom stood right next to each other. The boy wore a cheeky grin as he held a peace sign behind the girl's head, forming bunny ears, while the girl donned a wide smile showcasing both rows of teeth, with the occasional gaps where milk teeth had been removed. Behind them was a sandy plain, with waves crashing onto the shore and the cloudless blue sky kissing the ocean at the horizon.
It was one of the few photographs that you had of you and Cyril together. In fact, it was one of the few photographs taken amongst your family at all. You had always found it strange how strict your parents were with having as little photos of any family member anywhere - whether it be in the house or in anyone's possession - and this rule later transferred onto Cyril after your parents' divorce. You never understood why. Cyril never told you either; no amount of pleading convinced him.
Your orbs focused on Cyril's form.
In place of the youthful look his 12-year-old self bore, stress lines now marked his forehead and his [h/c] hair grew out, which he ties back in a short ponytail. He also sported a petite goatee, which he defended to no end as nobody else liked it but him. Despite how drastically his appearance had altered, what had not changed over the years was how bright and clear his [e/c] eyes were.
Putting away the precious photo, you pressed the beret against your chest and thought of Cyril. The person who you were proud to call your older brother.
He was unlike anybody you ever knew. With his outgoing yet understanding nature, as well as his blinding smile and contagious horse-like laugh, he drew people in like a magnet attracts metal. His kindness, confidence and incomparable dedication to his profession made him famous in his workplace and in town in general. Simply talking to him would ease the troubles of a hard and frustrating day at work. Your brother glowed warmth and happiness, outshining the Sun on a midsummer day.
...Which was what made his current forlorn state so devastating.
Ever since a few months ago, his light dwindled until only a few feeble embers remained. He laughed less and more of his smiles were forced. His friends and colleagues visited him less frequently until they stopped coming altogether. After returning from overtime work, and in between doing the cooking and cleaning, Cyril would lock himself in his room despite all your protests. Your conversations became shorter until there were periods of unnatural silence that chilled the air in your stuffy apartment. It was as if he built a wall around himself, and each day the wall would get higher and higher.
He was so close, but felt so far away.
The bankruptcy took such an immense toll on his spirits. He was no longer the beaming Cyril L/N you and everyone else knew so well.
Yet he was still your brother, and you loved him nonetheless.
'Which is why I'm going to finish this god-awful assignment...' Your knuckles whitened and fingers shook from how hard you clenched the beret. '...and pay off every last penny–'
A single salty bead dropped onto your hand. Another dropped onto the beret.
'No...' You sniffed and roughly wiped your eyes. 'No, I won't cry. I can't cry. I...I need to be strong, damn it! For Cyril...For Asher...' You released a shaky breath. '...For myself.'
A part of you screamed at your cognisance to abort mission. It hurled noxious arguments that you weren't qualified to handle this and that you didn't know what you were doing. It was the side of you that you mustered all your strength to hide, as you created the illusion of bravery whilst conversing with Wellington. In truth, this side of you desperately wanted to cave in and run away. Run away to the warm embrace of your older brother, who would pat your head and tell you that everything was fine. That he was here for you. That you could forget about the world's problems as long as you had him.
Except, that wasn't true.
You knew all too well that it was only a delusion designed by your fears for your protection - after all, running away from a potential threat was the easy way out of almost any problem. You acknowledged its existence and its bare intentions to prevent you from simply flinging yourself at danger.
But you weren't going to leave your reporting partner in the dust, regardless of how suspicious he might be. And you certainly weren't going to let these criminals get away with whatever they did to Cyril.
You wouldn't deny that you were scared - terrified, actually - but you needed to overcome it.
'You can do this, Y/N.' You nodded to yourself. 'You can–'
A distant knock broke you out of your inner pep talk. 'Are they here already?'
Your fingers delicately pulled the beret over your head, careful not to exacerbate the slit. For a moment, you considered leaving it behind but later decided against it, for it was a symbol of your purpose. It would surely give you the courage and mental strength needed for not just what was about to come, but for the rest of your journey.
Padding through the dim hallway and into the lobby, you instantly caught sight of the bedraggled ruffians. The shorter of the pair was loudly tapping against the window. The jarring sound lashed your eardrums, making you cringe and wordlessly motion for him to stop. He halted upon spotting you. The taller one opened an umbrella and held it above both of their heads.
Heels clicked against the polished floor as you made your way to the main door. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and willed your thudding heart to soothe itself.
With newfound determination, you gritted your teeth and shot the two escorts a fierce look.
For your brother's sake and for your own, you will come out of this alive.
You had to.
No matter what.