How We Are: A MFM romance

Present

TW: Graphic Violence! Read at your own risk.

Ezra

I lounge in my room, and the door opens, revealing a dismayed Cain. His eyes dart to the door and he shuts it.

Then he stares at me and frowns. I nod my understanding. He shrugs, pointing to the door forcefully, his hands waving as he explains his predicament.

I shrug again, nonchalantly.

Cain heaves a sigh. We don't talk here, not about anything real. The whole house is bugged, always has been since we were kids.

"Are you gonna tell me the information I need?" He asks again. "Who's after us—"

I wage my hand. "We're back home for the first time in 5 years. Let's not talk business tonight. Tomorrow morning," I tell him. "Let's talk about it in the morning."

He sighs lays next to me and closes his eyes. I don't sleep though. I play with the knife in my hand, twirling it between my fingers.

This is my home technically. But it's more his than anything. They love him. No, she loves him. Cain's the son she wanted. I'm nothing more than emotionless demon like him.

All she sees when she looks at me is him, I know that. I swallow the acid in the throat. Oh well. Who cares what she thinks. I put it against my tongue, the knife and taste the metal.

Cain takes a while to sleep deeply but if he will do it anywhere it'll be here. In his childhood bed. Father has gotten older. It's not likely he'll do anything to Vera after a certain time. He takes a deep breath, making me look over with a smirk.

He's out. REM sleep. He'll get it up with a commotion, though, of course.

I stand, and edge toward the door. I don't bother closing it. A door closing that close to him will wake him.

I pad toward my destination. There's silence in my mind but my blood is rushing. I stop at the door looking at it and then opening it, stepping in, shutting it behind me.

He looks up at me groggily. Always ready. A made man. A Vitale. A failure.

His eyes dart to the knife in my hand. He goes for the gun under his pillow. I throw my smallest knife through his hand, making him flinch. I'm quick now, silent, deadly, my blood boiling with excitement, as I quickly climb on top of him.

He struggles in vain, as I pull the gun from under his pillow,throw it away, and put it over his face. I hold it, as he claws at my arms, reaching for the other hidden weapons in the room. If this was twenty years ago, hell maybe even ten, he'd have bashed my skull into the headboard and blown my brains out.

Oh well.

Finally he goes limp. I remove the pillow. Tie him up with his sheets, 1000 thread count the good stuff not easy to just rip through.

then I wait. I scavenge the room for every weapon I can find—knives, guns, stun guns, mace, pepper spray all of it. I shake out the sheets. Bastard sleeps with a knife next to him.

Guess he forgot.

He comes to, narrowing his eyes.

I sit on the edge of his desk chair, turned around backwards, my arms resting on the top. He grins.

"Oh you little piece of shit."

I grin. "C'mon pops. No need to be so cruel."

He spits at me. It lands on my cheek, warm vitriol. I wipe it away, raising my brows. "My my. So testy. You know when I came here, I wanted to do one thing."