Have one eye open

8|ACTION

After this chapter the dinamic will change a little bit but still ill try it to be in similar tone

Coco Vargas

The scent of blood? Never disgusted me. In fact, it felt oddly... familiar, comforting. Maybe because I knew it wasn't my own that was being spilled.

My training came with its share of problems, though. The masters had no idea of the... depth of my... appreciation for pain. I say that sarcastically, of course.

But you wouldn't understand. You wouldn't know the nightmare I lived through.

The "want" for torture—if you can even call it that—wasn't real. I wasn't craving pain. I just became numb to it. Sure, I took more hits than the others, but that's because my resilience never wavered. I didn't break like the rest of them. They tried to make me, but they failed. You see, I didn't need to endure; I thrived in suffering. I was a weapon, and I learned how to wield that pain into something useful—to make others hurt in ways they could never escape.

And here I am now, not following anyone's orders. It's strange, though... living this way. Constantly fighting a war that's not my own. Every choice could be my last. But that's the game, right?

Let me explain about the blood. The man I found in the warehouse... He's bleeding out. Fast.

Yeah, I could tell you how I got him here, but I don't want to waste time. It's not exactly relevant.

All you need to know is this: I was minding my own business—just skimming through town when I stumbled upon a hidden meeting. In some back alley, a bunch of men were losing their minds about a "loose assassin." Guess who that was? Me.

Honestly, the odds were slim, but luck was on my side tonight. I fought them. No, I didn't kill them. Not yet, anyway. They're useful—at least until I send a message.

I dragged their leader back, and for some unknown reason, he cooperated. As far as prisoners went, he wasn't terrible.

He spilled some interesting secrets about my family, some truths, but I could tell the lies. I'm calling my brother to find out the truth. Let him extract it from the guy if needed. But for now, all I need to do is patch up the leader—who's on the brink of death—and then wait for Ambrose.

Turns out, I might've just killed the source of my information.

Ambrose was supposed to be here, but I got bored waiting. So, I did what I do best—get creative. And, uh, I may have gone too far with my prisoner. The guy's not breathing.

Not my fault, though. Seriously, it's not.

This isn't on me. Ambrose will figure it out when he gets here. It's his mess to clean up, not mine. I'm not about to start picking up after myself.

When Zozo finally showed up, he took care of everything. His men took the body out of this werehouse like it was nothing. Meanwhile, Ambrose and I talked. To be honest, it was easier than I expected.

This was the third time I'd met him, and yet... it felt different. This conversation was smoother than before. More comfortable. It felt like we shared more than just bloodshed.

"I'm sorry, Coco. It's just... you know, if you'd grown up with us..." Ambrose trailed off. "You wouldn't have a clue who we were. Even Kenzo wasn't ready for this life until he was thirteen. The kid's brilliant, but he almost paid for it with his life."

We laughed. It felt good. Like we didn't have to be the people we were for a minute. I hadn't laughed like this in years. Since before I was trapped.

But eventually, I pulled myself out of the moment. There was work to do. Serious work.