Leira [Completed]

Chapter Twenty Nine

"If you want to see the sunshine, you have to weather the storm."

—

LEIRA'S POV

The ongoing storm ripped the skies and the inside of my chest. It was fuming and raging. The sky, once the colour of the arctic was now a shade of black.

It was unbearable to see those I recognized now lifeless. This was how enemies formed. Those that worked for Andrew might have families of their own. They would be shattered and would feel aversion towards my father.

My breathing was shallow and I bent close to the pile, letting out a string of curses as I confirmed they were indeed dead. A gaping gun wound was punctured in their bodies, some stabbed. In the east, murder was occasional. The unstable breathing of the guard beside me could be heard. These souls that sacrificed for Andrew were once his friends.

Something was hitched in my throat. It was as if a glacial, icy hand gripped me, obstructing my breathing. Though death was so incessant in this world, it would never be something I could acquaint with.

Hope was lost. The drumming of my heart quickened.

I wish I could hate my father, I really did. But it was impossible. There were too many recollections of him and I loved so many of them.

However, just before a despondent tear dropped, an abrupt cough sounded. It was barely audible, but I caught it.

With the littlest drops of hope I had, I stood and stepped inside the mound of bodies. There, lying down and scrunching his face in pain, was one of Andrew's most trusted guards. His stomach, oozing with profuse blood, showed that a weapon was thrust into him.

But more importantly, he was alive.

Slight relief settled within my chest. I gestured to a few guards, whose solemn expressions lit up by a tinge. My boots were soaked with the metallic-taste liquid, but I could care less. I needed to save this man, one better than none.

"Damon, stay with me. You're going to be safe," my voice was pleading. His eyes were drooping. "I promise. You'll be okay."

"The boss," he croaked. Weak and hoarse, his voice almost impossible to be heard

"Don't talk. Save your breath. You're gonna need it," I advised.

"Beside warehouse," he murmured, softer than a whisper. It was fortunate that I understood him.

I called in some men to help support him. Damon jerked and stumbled, eyes weighted with heaviness.

"Bring him home to the private nurse. Drop off the weapons as well." My issued edict took place instantaneously. I passed the bag to one of the few who was willing to help.

"He must be alive when I visit him in a few hours. Or it will be you who shall serve the consequences." They were avoiding a life-stealing situation by leaving the east for home. The most I could do was inject pressure and fear for those who would be venturing with me to the face of death.

My father was told to be beside the warehouse, just a few meters away.

I instructed myself to only feel grief after everything was over. After my father was safe at home.

I was leading a team. They were out from their spot of concealment, where they would be discreetly protecting me. It was not the time to mourn. I blinked back my tears, then released a long, unsteady breath.

My father was taken and he was not someone who could be effortlessly captured. No locals could commit such action without being killed. Hence, it must be a person with status.