Murder Love ||Mafia Byler Story||

Part 11

Third Person POV:

A few weeks go by, and the semi-war between the two Mafia's has been cold.

Karen has been having Mike train from dawn to dusk, no longer letting him eat until her goals for the day are fulfilled.

Lucas and Max are forced to spar with him, but every day he looks worse and worse. Sometimes he can't even stand afterward, shivering despite not being cold.

Today, Lucas and Mike were fighting. Lucas was watching his friend with concern, going easy on him.

"Start," Steve says.

Mike stepped forward, almost stumbling, when Lucas easily gets behind him and knocks him to the ground, holding his hands behind his back.

The boy went limp, and Lucas looks up at Steve.

"Sinclair wins," Steve says, sighing. "Get Wheeler to the infirmary."

Lucas releases Mike's hands and swings the ravenette's arm around his shoulder. He stands up, keeping the unconscious boy from falling. Max rushes to Mike's other side, helping Lucas hold him up.

As they two dragged Mike through the halls, Max spoke up.

"This can't keep going on.." Max says. "He's losing his literal life energy."

The other boy nods, shifting the ravenette's arm on his shoulder. "We need to figure out how to stop the boss from continuing to make Mike do this," Lucas says, looking ahead.

Mike let out a groan, and the two stop to look at him.

"No.. No, I'm fine," He mumbles. "I was just slacking off my training."

Max scoffs. "Yeah, and I'm the Mafia boss," She says. "Seriously Mike, your mother's gone literally mental. We need to stop her or get you out of here for your own safety."

"No.. I said I'm fine," Mike grumbles. He tries to pull away from his friends, but he collapses to the floor. When Lucas bends down to help him, Mike slaps him away. "I'm fine! Leave me alone, I can walk."

But he didn't say when. He gags, holding a hand to his mouth. Lucas and Max's eyes wide and back away slightly as Mike spills his guts on the floor.

"Uh.. Let's get you to the infirmary," Lucas says, refraining from breathing through his nose.

Mike groans, and Max pulls out a napkin to wipe Mike's face.

"Hey! Get us a nurse!" Lucas shouts to a few Mafia members that were down the hall. "C'mon, he needs help."

The guards helped Mike to the infirmary. Since he was the son of the Mafia boss, Mike got a private room. Lucas and Max stood next to the nurse who was evaluating Mike. The ravenette was now sitting on a hospital bed.

"Well, all I can think to tell you is to eat and sleep," The nurse says. "Not eating for a few days is horrible for your health, as is not sleeping."

Mike frowns. "But I can't," He says. "My mom needs me to keep training."

The nurse gives him a look, shaking her head. "Darling, if you even try to start a mission in the state you're in, we'll need a new heir," She says. "I can't in good consciousness let you leave the infirmary without making sure you get a goodnight sleep."

"But I can't!" Mike exclaims. He tries to stand up, almost stumbling to the ground before Lucas helps him sit back down on the bed.

"Mike, you need rest," Max says.

The ravenette shakes his head. "No, I really can't," he says. The nurse moves to a desk cabinet and takes out a small syringe. Mike's eyes widen. "NO!"

He tries to scramble away from the needle, but Lucas and Max hold him in place while the nurse pokes his arm.

"Just a little sleep, dear," The nurse says as Mike blinks rapidly, trying to keep away the black swirls in his vision. "Once you wake up you'll be as good as new, as long as you eat."

Mike grips onto Lucas's arm, digging his nails into skin. Lucas winces but doesn't say anything.

The grip doesn't loosen when Mike's eyes close. It doesn't loosen when Mike slowly lets himself fall against a pillow. It doesn't even loosen when Mike let out soft snores.

"Jesus, Mike has a death grip," Lucas says, wincing.

Max helped him pry off Mike's fingers and Lucas rubs his arm a few times, four bright pink crescent marks on his forearm and one more from Mike's thumb a inch or two below them.

Mike's grip digs into the sheets, his face a permanent frown.

"We need to figure out how to convince the boss to let Mike have a proper sleep and eating schedule again," Lucas sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Max only nods.

...

Will sat in the meeting room with his arms crossed, watching his parents speak to different people and sign different papers.

It's been way too long of waiting, in Will's opinion, and of doing nothing. He wanted to see Mike. He wanted to make sure he was okay. He wanted to apologize. He really wanted to apologize.

And he wanted to kiss him.

But no, he was stuck in the base for who knows how long because his parents won't let him leave their sight.

The meetings were only a few minutes each, but they felt like millennia. Will wouldn't even have to be here if his parents didn't want to keep an eye on him. Jane was sitting right next to him, but she didn't seem to care.

Finally, the meetings ended and Will was allowed to leave for a few minutes.

"Come right back!" Joyce shouts after him as he darts out of the room. He rolls his eyes, running to his room. He looks around, and grabs his sketch book.

He opens the pages to one of his favorite sketches he's done.

Mike.

He had drawn this particular sketch during one of the days Mike was writing at the base of the large tree. Will had sketched him while he was trying to think of words, so he had a half pouting, half thinking face. Will smiles at the image, walking around the room.

"I'm sorry I sedated you," He mutters. "My mom and dad wanted to torture you- No, that sounds weird. I'm sorry, please forgive me. ...No, that's also weird."

He paces around, drawing small details in the sketch of Mike.

Then he stops right in front of his window, his back facing the glass. "God, I'm so stupid," He mutters, scanning the image.

Suddenly, the glass behind him shattered, a person flying through it and latching onto Will's back. They covered his mouth and nose with a thick cloth, and Will immediately recognized the technique: chloroforming.

He tried to maneuver his way out, but the person was skilled. The cloth was stopping his breathing, and soon Will felt his eyes grow heavy.

His energy left him and his limbs started to stop working. He slumped against his kidnapper, barely conscious. He was pulled over to the window, bits of glass nicking his hands and arms.

A rope or something was tied around his shoulders and waist, but then the last off his consciousness disappeared and he completely fainted.

<^> To Be Continued

(1.2k words)

:D