𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

48 || Served In Love & War

Hurt You - The Weeknd

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Adrik

Decisions.

They define us, they destroy us.

And mine, although done for the greater scheme of things, have proven to be my demise.

I'd gotten to where I am now because I'd made all the right decisions. I'd gotten what I wanted and was hardly ever denied anything because I knew how to make hard decisions.

Decisions that earned me power. Decisions that transformed that power into a weapon strong enough   that those subjected to it would kiss the dirt beneath me if I so much as looked at them like I wanted them to.

And when that power was questioned in the slightest, I had to solidify it in the only way I knew how to.

"Kotoryy strelyal iz pistoleta?"
(Russian | Who fired their gun)

The stillness that'd fallen over the room doesn't dare break, but I catch it crack with the flicker of a lone gaze.

Three out of the fifteen positioned outside were carrying guns. Now, as they stand before me in the manor foyer, one stands along the left wall, the other along the right and the third stands to the back of the crowd. 

I hadn't seen who'd fired the gun nor was I particularly in the right headspace to have been paying attention to anyone but my wife, but it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Not the plan I'd carefully crafted long before I'd gotten here.

Not how repulsed I'd have been to know that a single being would affect me so much.

Not even the very thing that brought me to America seemed to matter anymore.

They seemed minuscule, nothing but side chores keeping me from the one thing I refused to admit- yet was smart enough to see - I wanted. Something I'd never been looking for, something I didn't even believe existed until someone had taken full control of my every thought, emotion and feeling.

The lone flickering gaze of one of my men moves away from the floor, to the left wall and only when his eyes naturally move to me do mine meet his.

It was rare that any of them looked me in the eye after watching me beat the man they once held to a pedestal of a king, and just as quickly as the gaze of the man with a buzz cut comes, does it slide away.

But it's all the confirmation I need.

My patience has long been worn thin, and it's so bad I don't even have enough to count my steps as I approach her.

I stop a foot away, only to step back when the man next to her steps in my path, far too close for my liking. His eyes frantically bolt up to mine while the crookedness of features stand strikingly similar to hers. "Please, my sister didn't mean any harm-"

His words spoken in a slurred rush of Russian die when his eyes trail to the pistol in my hand. I toss him the collectors item and only when he catches it in his hands do I spare him enough to speak.

I nod at his sister behind him, while my eye's stay glued to his. I knew if I looked at the traitor, I wouldn't see a crooked nose and a face that'd scar children for life. I'd see deceived green eyes, messy black hair and smeared red lips that'd trembled when she flinched away from me.

She'd flinched.

As though my touch had seared a deeper wound than the bullet that the woman standing infront of me had shot.