Every morning consists of the same routine. I wake up to the darkness of my room and lay there for a few minutes. The cold sheets feel heavenly against my bare skin. Laying there, a lot goes through my head, it's where I can think to myself. When my body has fully woken up I get up and head over to my bathroom. Not to brag but my reflection in the mirror is never a disappointment. After flossing and brushing the appetizing breakfast smells travel in from the vents.
Today for breakfast I feast on eggs benedict with coffee. Four pumps of french vanilla creamer and 1 spoonful of sugar is how I take it and no other way. Coffee is a must for me each and every morning.
In the midst of eating my father takes the seat next to me wrapped in his red robe.
"Good morning," I say with a mouth full of food.
"Son, you never cease to amaze me," he says while being served his coffee and donut.
"You know dad you may be ageing physically but mentally you get 10 years younger by the second." For the past few years my father has been living his life to the max. He ignores doctors suggestions on his health, travels, and eats only junk.
Chuckling at my comment he grabs the newspaper and begins to read the news. Breakfast was usually just the two of us in the morning. My twin siblings were usually off at school by now, but even on weekends we lacked seeing each other. This was usually caused due to our busy schedules.
"So are the rumors true," my fathers asks in his raspy morning voice. I look up from my plate to try and understand what he is talking about. After seeing my confusion he clarifies. "Are you seeing Adrianna Luna or is she just another play thing? In the end either choice would be smart."
"And why is that," I inquire. I'm aware that her visit last night sparked many rumors around the house.
Folding the newspaper neatly he sets it beside him. "Son your twenty seven and need to settle down. You have had your fun and quite too much of it if you ask me. Adrianna would be a perfect match for you. Although I am aware of our family differences and both reputations but she would still make an excellent wife and mother. She's kind, sharp-witted, proper, and not to mention quite remarkable."
"Father please," I start, "We are just friends helping each other with a few favors. Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Brooks I know that I have always asked so much of you, but know the only thing I ask from you is to make the right choices." I nod at his words but brush them aside. Our meal remains silent until he finishes and goes back to his office.
Alone in the large dining table, I sit back and ponder to his last comment. I'm not looking to settle down soon or anywhere in the near future. Work consumes me and leaves no space for distractions. I'm the head of the drug cartel for the US and for many other countries as well. All my life I have prepared to take my position. And in the end even if I were able to manage a relationship it wouldn't work. What I do for a living can destroy a person. There is too much danger and risk. Getting someone else involved wouldn't just break them but me and in the end no one is worth that much. I would know, I've already learned my lesson.
Blinking away the memories, Lorenzo rushes in. Out of breath and sweaty he leans against the door, gasping for air. "I just caught... another spy... lurking around the shipment docks." Each fragment is said after short pants for air. Standing from my seat quickly I burst out, "Well where are they. Take me to them."
"Yea... follow me,"
We speed walk down towards the basement. Down there is where we hold most our hostages or torture people. Let's just say it's a fun place to be in when in your in my position.
While we walk, I can't help but notice that Lorenzo is sweating profusely. His hair is a mop of messy curls and his white button up is marked with blood.
"Why the fuck are you so out of breath and look like shit?"
Looking down at himself he cringes from his appearance then points his attention to me. His gun is held in his right hand as a madly starts waving his arms around. "That little fucker was fast. Had me running for miles to get him and let me tell you he put up one hell of a fight." My serious face cracks from his remark. "Your just a little bitch," I jokingly add.
"Oh, you'll see," he says.
Once we have reached the room Lorenzo smiles while throwing me the keys. "All yours," he said emphasizing each word. "I'm going to get cleaned up. Have fun."
"Okay," I input sarcastically. Sometimes he exaggerates too much. Rolling my eyes I push the key into the door and open it slowly. In the room nothing but a chair and rope remains in plain sight. Either the fucker got out, which is impossible, or Lorenzo is pulling my leg. Neither would be good scenarios for the two. I pull out my knife and prepare myself for an attack. Taking a few steps in the door slams shut and causes me to turn around. Standing there is a man, not to large, in a fighting stance. Giving me a deadly expression he makes no sounds and begins charging at him. Side stepping he misses me by an inch and almost runs into the concrete wall. "I see we have a little fighter," I comment. I walk backwards towards the other end of the room and point my knife at him. "We can do this the easy way and you sit your ass in that chair or we do this my way, which involves you suffering with your blood splattered everywhere."
The man strolls over to the seat. His eyes never leave mine. Damn it I was really hoping to have fun. But just as I am about to put my knife away the hostage runs towards me and checks me right in the face with his fist. The contact from his knuckles to my skin leaves a sting and has me beginning to fume. My adrenaline has picked up from the punch, which will most likely leave a cut. A sinister smile plays on my face as I retract my hand and swing, aiming at his jaw. He instantly falls back and doesn't appear to be getting up. I hit him hard enough to the point that the skin on my knuckles began to rip open.
Grabbing the man by his shirt I drag him back to the wooden chair and tie him back up. He's still out so I decided to give him a few minutes before I'm at his throat again.
My right side of my jaw aches a bit from the hit I received earlier. Blood steadily trickles into my mouth from my lip. I wipe the blood off with my shirt sleeve and suck on my lip a bit.
After a few minutes have gone by my patience is thin. Stepping closer I lift his head up by his hair forcefully and give him a good backhanded slap with the other hand. His eyes open and his confused reaction changes too pissed.
"Who do you work for," I ask while still holding onto him by his hair.
With a dark grimace he spits on my face. Saliva drips down from my forehead and onto my left eye. If I didn't need information from him, his brains would have been blown out by now. I let go of him to wipe the spit off of me. My jaw clenches in anger and my fists begin to ball at my sides.
"Last chance buddy, who are you working for and what were you doing sneaking around?"
Still no budge. His face is emotionless and his body is still. Taking in a deep breath I retract my knife from my pocket and flick it open. And still no reaction from him. I guess this leaves me with no other option. Quickly, I plunge the knife into the palm of his right hand. Screams fill the room and leave me in satisfaction. Finally, his screams bringing life to my menacing mood.
"You wanna fucking speak now," I threatned.
In a thick russian accent he spits out "Go fuck yourself."
I nodded my head in approval at his words and rip the knife out of him only to plunge it into his other hand. More screams, joy. While watching him suffer I've decided to keep him alive for the next few days to see if he will speak.
As I'm about to pull the knife out he mutters, "torture me all you want, but your shipment of coke is gone. And everybody who helped... has been killed." His eyelids are beginning to droop. God damn it, I'm just starting to get to him. I slap him again and added, "Hey where not done here." At the end of my statement he is out cold. I place my hand over my forehead in annoyance and grab my knife. Walking out I slam the door and lock it. After hearing his accent I believe it's safe to assume that the man is apart one of the local russian gangs. Finding out which one wouldn't be hard, but my only problem was when he said that they had all been killed. Gangs typically never killed their members unless they betrayed them or failed their task, in this case neither of those happened from what he told me. They had to have been helping someone. Now I feel even more confused than before. "Fuck this," I think to myself. I need a drink and hopefully another distraction.