A Match Made in Hell

67

"I gave you more than you deserved, I'm not going so easy on you for this." He bends down infront of me, hands in his pockets.

"It's not going to be easy, but you're gonna do your best, or I fucking will, and I'll kill both of you."

His deep stare frightens me, I almost want to back away and sink into a corner to cry. Yeah, that's how scary it is.

It doesn't bother me. This, training to kill my brother, it doesn't bother me at all. In fact, I couldn't care less.

Am I supposed to care? Is this even a valid reaction? Should I be freaking out?

"I own you, until this is over." He whispers, tilting his chin up. "You will obey me and only me, until your brother is dead and 6 feet underground."

"Are you done?" I interrupt, my voice tired and quiet. I've had enough of his shit, and I would like to lay down on this cement and drift off to sleep and never wake up again.

Nope. Not happening.

His hand finds its way to my face, leaving a painful slap to my cheek which makes my head jerk to the side.

"You spoilt fucking kid." He gets up, clapping his two hands together in an effort to clean them. I'm spoilt?

I chuckle to myself, hoping and praying he didn't hear it. They tell us we're kids who don't know shit, but they know shit? Has august ever been homeless? In depth? Had 4 jobs? Hell, I bet his dad has never even told him he was a disappointment for once in his life, I could consider him one of the luckiest human beings I've come across.

"Get the fuck up." He slaps a hand on my arm, pulling me up harshly that I almost trip over my feet and fall onto the floor face-first instead of actually getting up on my feet.

He pulls me towards himself aggressively so that I'm looking right into his eyes, and he looks like he could kill me right here without hesitation. I wouldn't be surprised if he did so.

"This isn't a fucking game, Aiden." He nods his head, index finger almost poking into my eyeball. "This is no joke. I'm not gonna have you fucking around. I want him dead. Not injured, dead."

"How many times have you got to repeat this?"

"I'll repeat it thousands of times if I have to, because you don't seem to fucking understand." He looks deep into my eyes, wrapping a hand around my neck. "I will take your whole life from you. I won't kill you, but I'll make you suffer. I'll make it all hurt, and I'll take everything you love."

"How would you know so much about who or what I love?" I manage to mumble, trying to loosen his grip with my two hands but it just leads to him gripping tighter.

"I will kill Ivanov and all your other friends in a fucking heartbeat." He grins. He fucking smiles. What would the shithead do if I did that to him right now?

"No you fucking won't."

"Don't underestimate me, and watch your language, motherfucker." He suddenly drops me, making me fall smack onto the floor with a groan escaping my throat, sweat dripping down my face and my bare chest.

"Can I go back?" I ask quietly, holding a hand over my throat, my voice barely coming out of my mouth. "Please? Have I not done enough already for today? Can I go back yet?"

Just as I thought he would decide to be a bit nicer to me he suddenly turns around, and grabs my arm. "Get up you little shit, you're not going anywhere." He picks me up unalarmed, and slams my body right onto the punching bag, making me fall to the floor.

I wince in pain, my head bouncing against the hard material and blood slowly dripping down my somehow-injured nose.

"I can't." I shake my head, attempting to clean the blood with my thumb but it spills again, 10 times worse. "I can't take it. I can't—"

A painful object finds its way on my back, slapping it hard to the point where it could have left a huge bruise or left it completely red.

I almost scream when I suddenly look up, to see august standing above me with a belt in his hands, getting down on his knees behind me once again.

I almost chuckle, he reminds me so much of my dad, it's unbelievable.

I gently touch my back with the tip of my index finger, feeling it burn slightly. Blood. Yeah, that's definitely going to scar.

And there's no fucking way in hell anybody will ever see that scar. Especially not Zachary, no fucking chance I'll have Zachary begging me to tell him what happened.

"Get up." August whispers into my ear from the back. "Don't make me repeat what I fucking said, Armstrong. This is the last time I'm telling you."

I try. I try so fucking hard, I really do, but I can't get up. My body trembled, all the hairs on my arm rising, my heart starting to pump faster and faster every second.

"Get the fuck up!" He pulls me up aggressively again, and I thought he's slam me against that punching bag again but instead he spins me around by his hands fisting my hair, slamming my head right into the wall.

Fucking hell. My nose was already broken, or something. That wasn't enough to satisfy him? The guy was a fucking sociopath.

I could feel my face heat up in anger. I was tired, so fucking tired that I would have loved to just lay there and fall asleep.

No, not fucking happening. Not now, not today, not ever. He's torturing me? Sure, it's happened a lot before, but that doesn't mean it's going to become a daily thing that august might wanna get used to, I'm not letting it happen.

I turn around instantly, swinging my fist at his face, my bloody knuckles burning when they meet his face, jerking his head to the side.

He pushes me to the wall, a gun pointed in my chest.

I almost chuckle, again. Hell, this is honestly getting kind of funny.

I spun him around, knocking the gun out of his hands as it falls to the floor, giving me the chance to step on it and pick it up with my hand, pointing it at his head as I push him down to the floor.

He just stares at me for a while before pressing something weird and unfamiliar on his suit, making a whole army of security guards to barge into the room.

"Drop your gun!" One screams at me, and all of the guns are suddenly pointed at my head.

"You're done for today, motherfucker." One of his guards help him up, he rubs his palm on his cheek aggressively. "I need you to fight back, not lay on the floor and cry."

"Escort him back upstairs." He says to the guy that helped him up, pointing index finger to me. "Bring him to me at 7 next morning, right here."

1211 words

Next one MIGHT be longer