Page 8 of Wrathful King

“Dislocated shoulder, lacerations throughout her body.” The man’s voice faded before it came back with a vengeance, shooting up my spine. “Have you touched her?”

“No, boss. No, no, no.”

“She’s fine,” another man answered without a hint of concern in his tone. “When do we get our commission?” When he was met with silence, a muttered “never mind” followed.

Darkness licked at me, threatening to drag me back under. My temples throbbed, and I worried my skull was going to crack in half.

Cold fingers pried my eyes open and I let out a moan as soon as I was met with the bright light.

“There she is.”

The blurry image of a man appeared, and I stared into his menacing eyes. Horror shot through me. I tried to form words, but my tongue was dry, sticking to the roof of my mouth.

Good God, what was happening to me?

“What…” I croaked.

“Don’t worry.” The man with the black eyes leered at me. “Heroin tends to be rough on a person.”

Someone chuckled.

Oh my God. They injected me withheroin.

Vicious, primal rage shot through me. Suddenly I wanted to tear these men to pieces like I had Angelo Leone. My chest seized. I was living out some kind of sick nightmare.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I reached for one of them, and by some miracle, I grabbed a cock and squeezed with a vise-like grip, twisting it this way and that.

An angry screech exploded from the man’s mouth. I swung my arm through the air, then began to hit and claw. And the whole time, I choked on agony and hate.

I’d make them all suffer. I’d make them beg for mercy.

Until someone shot ice into my veins, and it was dark once more.

5

AMON

Despite my best efforts to hold on to the sliver of light, I kept slipping.

My body clearly wanted to give up, but my mind refused. It reminded me I had my wife to think about.

I cycled through the promises I’d made her like a mantra, tethering me to reality. Safety. Protection. Happiness.

It was the only thing keeping me from letting go and falling further into this pit of despair.

I opened my eyes and found my brother asleep in the seat next to my bed, his arms folded over his chest and his legs outstretched. He hadn’t shaved and he was donning some Einstein-esque hair.

“You look like shit,” I managed to say. I coughed, and the motion triggered a blinding pain in the top half of my body.

My brother’s eyelids flew open and he jumped to his feet. “Jesus, I thought you’d never wake up.”

His hand came to my forehead and I tried to pull away but there was nowhere to go. “If you start stroking my hair, I swear I’m going to kill you,” I said, my voice weary.

“First you’ll have to get strong enough to kill me,” he spat dryly. “And right now, you’re lucky not to be in a wheelchair.”

“Have you found her?” I hissed as the pain shot through my shoulder and down my arm. “Have you found my wife?”

I didn’t like Dante’s somber expression.