Page 5 of Scarred in Silence

“Here,” she tosses a make-up bag in my direction.

I catch it, but immediately hold it back out to her.

“I know, I know. You don’t like to wear make-up,” she says in a mocking voice.

She places her hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me, but myskin crawls at the contact. I stopped doing everything I once loved when I came here, and I’m not about to open old wounds to make her happy.

“Seriously, just put the make-up on. You will drive away customers if you look like that.”

My free hand clenches into a fist at her words. Fuck her. I take the bag and throw it across the room. It crashes into the mirror, sending shards of glass crashing down on the nasty tile.

She flinches, immediately removing her hand from my shoulder.

“Fuck you,” my words spoken through gritted teeth.

She stares at me in disbelief as I shove past her, cleaning out my locker.

“W-what are you doing?” She asks quietly.

“Packing my shit.”

The room is silent as I shove my belongings into my duffle bag. I have no idea where the fuck I am going, but it’s sure as Hell better than here.

I slam the locker door shut, as the sound echoes around us. My heart races in my chest, as adrenaline courses through my empty veins. My lifeless veins.

My footsteps are heavy, pounding into the floor as I storm out of the club. Not bothering to look back. I’ve always wanted to run, but I was too scared before. Now, nothing can stop me.

I head towards the bus stop, my bag thumping against my hip with each step. My lungs burn from the emotion building up inside of me. I need to go somewhere that I can be free. I only have a limited number of options from New Mexico, but I have the perfect place in mind.

Isit down at the bus stop, resting on the wooden bench. The streets are quiet, with the soft glow of streetlights illuminating the desert sky. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I envision where I want to go.

I feel the heat radiating on my skin, sending a tingle over the delicate flesh. The air is humid, and gusts of wind flow through my hair, whipping it around as if I were driving in Evelyn’s convertible. The salty aroma warms my core. Sand curls under my toes as I step into the water. The water is powerful. The water flows as it wants to. What would it be like to be water?

A soft smile makes its way across my lips. I know where I’m going. And nobody can stop me now.

2

Lucien

3 Months After Dante’s Wedding

Blood splatters against the concrete before me. The man convulses as the crimson lifeline spills from his worthless body. The sounds of gurgling fill the cell before us. The smell of death is upon us.

Ronan comes to stand to my left, and Jared to the right. They successfully captured one of the rats that Bastian Cross had on the outside when we swarmed them in Texas. We have been following their movements for months, but Dante and I don’t kill on a whim. We are calculated, unlike our fathers were.

I don’t usually prefer to get my hands dirty, but after killing our fathers, I’ve gotten a lot more involved in all areas of the business. I still handle most of the drug operations, but I’ve taken more interest in executing what needs to be done these days.

Ronan is 20 years old, and while he may be arrogant, he knows what he’s doing. Jared, on the other hand, is still learning. Jared is 17 years old, and he thinks he can use his charm to his advantage, but that will get him killed.

They are the only two additional men we have hired on for direct business relations. We decided that it would be beneficial to have an in-house physician, Dr. Ives Marlowe, to assist us with our new methods. Our fathers used to keep him available on call in case anyone was ever injured, but we haven’t needed him since I got shot in the shoulder when I was 20 years old. Not until now.

After we tortured Dante’s father, we decided we would use that particular torture technique more often. Not being able to hear them speak is better for everyone. People get pathetic when they are about to die, and no one wants to hear them sob like a little bitch.

Ronan holds the knife in front of him, letting the blood run down the smooth metal. He prefers to torture his victims with music playing. I can appreciate the sentiment.

The song “Change” by Deftones blares on the speakers around us. Jared stands with his back pressed against the wall.

“We done here?” Jared’s stoic voice calls out over the song.