Harper

BAD TIDINGS

Tyrus pov:

The room echoed with the deafening sound of our guards scrambling to find the coward who dared to harm my baby. 

We were enraged, our blood boiling with fury as we barked orders at our men, demanding they bring the traitor to justice.

Our rage turned to disbelief when we discovered that the man responsible for the attack was already dead - Mark White, a 45-year-old drug addict and infamous to the mafia lord.

 He had an adopted daughter named Riley White, born in 1977, but her whereabouts were unknown. The news of his demise only fuelled our anger, leaving us with no recourse but to unleash our fury on the incompetent guards who had failed us.

We ventured to the basement, where the men who had stolen our shipments were hiding. 

My boys, fuelled by their hatred for the man who hurt Harper, took matters into their own hands and dealt with the thieves mercilessly. 

I stood by, watching as they tore apart the traitors, their anger palpable in every strike.

Growing weary of the spectacle, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I approached one of the captives and, with a swift movement, struck him on the nose with my gun. As he screamed and held his bloodied nose, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

"Where are our shipments?" Hades asked, his voice a low, menacing growl as he held the gun to the man's head. The warehouse worker cowered, sweat beading on his forehead as he glanced nervously around the room. The other members of my gang, loyal to a fault, waited patiently for my command.

*************

As I sat in the car, the night enveloped us in its dark embrace. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the world below. We were heading home, our clandestine excursion shrouded in secrecy. The sun had long since set, and we were determined to keep our escapade hidden from Harper's gaze.

Upon our arrival, a sense of deference permeated the air as the guards bowed in reverence to our presence. Hades and I reciprocated with a nod.

 We swiftly parked the car in the garage and hastened inside.

"Where have you guys been?" she asked genuinely concerned. We all looked at Caro for help, as we didn't want to lie to her.

"Mind your business," Hardin said as he ran upstairs, anger filling up in me, but I had to calm down since I was in front of Harper. "Why don't you prepare the table for breakfast and we'll be down before you know it," I said as I signalled the boys to come upstairs with me.

We went upstairs, freaking out a bit. "Where the hell is Hardin?" Hunter said as he barged into his room and held his neck. 

I rolled my eyes at their juvenile antics and retreated to my own room.

Twenty minutes later, we were all downstairs, dressed in new attire, our previous experiences with "cell torture" still fresh in our minds. 

The chef, who had been with us for years, was working on a Saturday and had brought in the food. We all trusted him implicitly, and his culinary prowess was legendary.

The aroma of the food was intoxicating, and I could feel my saliva glands working overtime. However, I knew I had to keep my emotions in check, so I didn't look like I was simply drooling over the food. 

We were presented with a variety of options: pancakes, waffles, and orange juice or coffee. I personally preferred the bold, invigorating taste of coffee.