Morphine (Complete)

𝟐𝟔

Chapter Twenty-Six

There was a stick in his back.

"Awake?"

Mykel's body slowly woke up. His back ached from lying on a hard floor, his hands were tingling from blood loss, and the fatigue that rocked over his mind felt like lava—but cold lava, very, very cold lava.

A low groan escaped the back of his throat before he caught it. His mind panicked. Kidnapped. He had been kidnapped.

His entire body got dosed with sweat, and his eyes worked tirelessly behind their droopy lids—but to no avail. His eyes remained unopened.

Another light poke to his shoulder.

A low, masculine voice spoke. It sounded like it was made of crumbled earth. "The tiredness will pass in a little."

Mykel's muscles were the first to respond to his mind's absolute panic, tensing and then spinning in place. His hands went to his belt in reflex and grabbed his gun.

Garcia.

His body turned in the direction of the voice. The scuttle of standing sounded from his left, so Mykel turned and fired.

His eyes still weren't open, but he heard a strained hiss erupt from his captor's lips. He tried to kick his leg out, but his legs were caught in place, and before he could move once more, his weaponry was removed and his arms were pinned together with rope.

Mykel got pressed against a wall in a sitting position, and there his eyes opened. First he saw feet, clothed in finely polished black dress shoes. Long legs led up to a tall, tall mass, where a decidedly unhappy frown was set on a solid face.

"That, son, is no way to greet your father."

Mykel glared at the man, fueling all his rage into a single gaze. He growled and tried to tear his arms from the rope, but it was too thick and he only ended up burning his skin.

The man rubbed his forearm. A bullet hole had torn through the fabric, revealing bronzed skin beneath, but no blood seeped from the wound. Confusion infused in Mykel's bloodstream like an unwarranted high.

He'd not been prepared for this. Fuck. He slowly leaned his head back against the wall, breathing frustratedly. Too much alcohol, too much whiskey.

"If you want to kill me, do it already," Mykel snapped. "And make a show of it."

"Kill you?" The man laughed a dark, sinister laugh. "No, Mykel, no. Why would I kill one of my own kin?"

Mykel groaned in annoyance. "Fuck off."

"I'm being serious, son." The man crouched before Mykel, forearms resting on his knees. He slid the gun back towards Mykel, head cocked to the side. "Call me Aziel. I don't like being called dad."

"My dumb fuck dad is probably dead," Mykel replied harshly, nose coiling in disgust. Left his mom in the dust with a baby, the streets, and no money.

"Is that what she told you?" Aziel queried, tone soft as he feigned hurt. His hand came to his chest and he patted it. "Wounded. I never took Romina to be the type to badmouth."

That's when the struggling began. Sure, his mother's name wasn't exactly a secret, but it was hard to come by. It was well kept within closed circles of friends and family. Mykel pulled and pulled at his arms. He slammed his shoulder against the wall, trying to break something. His feet went under his ass to lift him up into a sitting position.