Sade

Prologue

"Ain't gonna be movin' aroun' da place like ya own it, lad." Peter turned cautiously to see who had spoken. A young man on a horse smirked at him but Peter, not too well, turned to live. Plus he hated his accent very much. It was nauseating to him, like literally.

"We all know yah British faces. Ya take our taxes feed on them, an' when they ain't enough no more ya increase the taxes like ya the government. Ya'll sick frauds, looking posh and all. Acting high and mighty." The lad continued mounting off his horse standing very close to Peter.

He had his bowler clutched on his hand while the other was in the pocket of his breeches. He had a smirk on his face which forced Peter to force suppress the urge to jump him and tear his throat apart.

"If you knew what was best for you, you would have left." Peter said with deadly calm. It however got the lad laughing, his bowler being moved back to his head, his arms folding on his chest in a condescending gesture. He probably was from the wild west, considering his hair, the way his muscles bulged on under his shirt. He was however not intimidating to Peter who found him rather disgusting.

Peter's silver eyes became colder they actually looked like ice. His hair now looked lighter. The blonde was barely visible since he had not dyed it in days forcing its original silver colour back on.

Peter had dyed his hair blonde to convince his psychologist that he was now fine. His silver hair gave him a crude look that had made him fail in etiquette school and forced him into college, not that he hated the freedom of college. His temper too had gotten him suspended a little more than four times in college if that is even possible.

"Whatcha thinking about lil' British? Ma speech cut deep now did it not?" Peter ignored him and just turned to leave. He was walking to the parking lot with a sense of pride in his step while he jingled his car keys on his index finger. He was honestly getting irritated now.

"Silver suits and leather shoes while our taxes are rising. You are getting grants and rise in salaries while you flourish your wives with cakes and parties. Coming out party, get together party, Thanksgiving,, dinners, masquerades and all. Now they ask you who beat you up, tell them it is a concerned citizen."

"Well if they ask you tell them it is a pissed off British man who found your political talk a fucking bore." Peter responded keeping his calm firm. The concerned citizen jumped at Peter and pushed him onto a wall. Peter's eyes lightened and his jaw ticked.

He knew he had huge temper problems but he did not like them just flaring at every little puny irritation. He would hurt him and he knew it, he did not want to be in prison right now and ruin his chances with Helena. Firmly he held the citizen's hands and shoved them off the collar of his shirt.

"Why? Are you scared? Coz Imma-"

"Jeff, you're scaring the balls outta him. Leave him go. He's probably just a normal citizen, nothing up with him." One of the horsemen said smoke rising from his face due to the dunhill stick between his fingers.

"He's British, is why I won't let him go." The Jeff retorted pulling Peter into a dark building. To be honest Peter would have pulled away if he wanted to but right now he did not want to cause trouble and unnecessary attention towards him.

The two got into a long corridor that led to a metal rusty staircase going downstairs. There was a room with a small metal door in front of them which led to a dim small room.

Peter observed it with interest. Looking longingly at the chains that hung to the wall. There was a small small cabinet that was kept wide open showing different sizes of knives.

When he looked behind himself he saw a wide stage, more like bare ground whose floor was smeared with blood. Some of it dry and old, some of it stale and clotting while some was fresh attracting flies.