A Blood Soaked Throne - Part Two

Eleven - Damien

I don't think I've ever run faster in my life. Alayah is right on my heels but neither of us have any idea where we're going. There's only one place in this district that I'm familiar enough with to lead us to, and the person it belongs to might turn us in faster than the rest.

My side burns as we approach the flickering neon light above the entrance to a run down bar. The name shines in the darkness with a few of the letters fizzled out. I push through the unlocked door, business hours haven't started yet so an uneasy silence hangs over the open space.

The interior is dark, chipped wooden floors with a variety of suspicious stains and faded brick walls. The bar itself sits high, hiding an unknown number of illnesses on its sticky surface. It's lined with beige barstools, the faux leather on the seats torn and tattered to expose the stuffing underneath.

A dart board is fixed to the wall in the back right corner of the room. Two pool tables sit precariously close, crumbs and spilled alcohol dirtying the floor beneath. An old jukebox is settled between two doors on the right side wall, one labeled with a rusted bathroom sign and the other with the words PRIVATE ACCESS. On the left side is a staircase and swinging door that leads to an employees only space.

I put my hand up for Alayah to stay put, unsure of the situation we're walking into. Quiet movements from the back room pull at my attention, but just before I can open the door it swings outward and sends a static feeling of pain through my nose. My eyes water, blurring my vision as I'm knocked backwards and my spine slams against the edge of the bar. Before I have a second to react a sharp blade is pressing forcefully against my throat.

A man looks down at me. His sandy blonde hair is pulled back into a low bun that matches his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. A gold hoop is pierced through his left nostril, pairing with the double hoops that cut through his right eyebrow. A dozen other piercings are dispersed through both of his ears. The forearm that presses against my chest is covered with black ink, as is most of the visible skin below his face. A flash of recognition passes through his eyes.

"Damien?" he says my name as a question. Unsure of whether or not it's really me stepping into his bar after so many years.

"Cyrus," I respond quietly. He keeps his blade pressed to my throat, his recognition doing nothing to ease his grip. If anything he presses it further down.

"I have half a mind to turn you in now, claim the reward for myself." His words are harsh, and his tone is serious. I hurt him, I can't blame him for feeling like this.

"I wouldn't blame you, but please. I need your help." I plead with him, nodding my head towards Alayah who's standing paralyzed by the entrance. Her hands are covering her mouth and her cheeks are stained with tears.

Cyrus stands motionless for a second before grumbling and moving away from me, sheathing his weapon in a leather pouch on his hip. I reach up and touch the bleeding wound on my throat, the red color staining my fingertips as I pull away. I look at Cyrus and think about how much has changed since I last saw him. Although the last time I saw him he was handcuffed to the pole in my father's torture chamber.

"Why are you here?" Cyrus asks, busying himself with cleaning the glasses at the bar.