Beyond The Fury

Chapter Two

(Song- Stressed Out by Twenty One Pilots)
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Hardin's POV

I smack my fist across his cheek. A loud crack soon following as if his jaw has pathetically snapped.

Blood shoots from his lips and pools down his shirt. I smirk evilly, grabbing him by his collar and pulling his face close to mine.

"Where the fuck is my money, Leon?" I growl out lowly and tilt my head as I take in the fear in his eyes alongside the blue bruises that are beginning to appear on his face.

He spits onto the floor beside my boot, a pant leaves his throat as he tries to maintain consciousness.

"I've told you. I'll get it." He winces, like a coward.

I laugh psychotically, like what he said was actually comical. This bastard! Who the fuck does he think he is?

"Not good enough for me, unfortunately."

I let my brows furrow as I pull a black hand gun from beneath my t-shirt, click the safety off. I tauntingly wave the gun in front of his face before pressing it firmly onto the skin of his forehead.

"You know, my father always told me to never point a gun at something if I wasn't going to shoot it." I trail off, a wicked smile toying on my lips as my grip around the gun handle tightens. My finger playing with the trigger.

"So pick a God and fucking pray to it."

And then.. I pull the trigger.

As his brain scatters out over the wall behind him my jaw clenches at the sight. I nod towards my men that linger behind me and they immediately begin to clean up the mess I have made.

This will never get easier. It all begins and ends in your mind. What you give power to, has power over you.. if you allow it. That's why whenever I do something as horrendous as this, I do whatever it takes to drown it out.

Even if that's means having emotionless sex with a whore I will never know the name of. Or getting my dick professionally sucked for an extra bucket of change.

Whatever it is- either it be drugs, booze or sex. It all seems to help numb the nightmare which is the reality I live in. They aren't the healthiest of coping mechanisms but what can I do?

This business is a vicious cycle of domination and death. It is always a fight to stay on top, to be feared by all and by many. Weakness isn't an option here and it never will be.

I find myself seated on a blood red leather chair, my jeans and boxers are around my ankles and my legs are spread out, both feet planted securely on the ground in front of me. A warm red light casts down from the ceiling, darkening my skin and the room in a hellish glow.

I groan out, my hand roughly fisting the hair of a worker that's bobbing her head up and down my length.

But it isn't enough.

The memory flashes back to mind. The smeared blood on the walls and the echo of the gun shot still rings through my ears. The look on his face when I pressed the barrel to his forehead. I clench my eyes tightly closed, eyebrows furrowed angrily as I begin to harshly fuck up into the sluts mouth. Gagged slurps fill the air as I unforgivingly continue to thrust until my body falls limp to my orgasm.

Heavy pants puff out of my mouth, my head is threw back against the chair as I breathe heavily. It takes me a moment to even realise that the girl has now up and left the room.

Leaving me once again captive to my own thoughts.

I have lost every ounce of goodness that I once saw in myself.