Solis Occasum

16

"I want you to do it, Soleil."

Soleil slammed his fists into the tiled wall of his shower as the water rained down on him. Tears of frustration were spilling out of his eyes and down his pale cheeks, it had been almost a week (1) since he started his search for 'Alex'.

Even with all the resources and influence the Odin's Riders MC had, they were coming up short with barely any information.

It was infuriating the blonde man beyond his wildest dreams, he could not fathom how this man seemed to be essentially a ghost.

To him, it felt as with the lack of any progress in their search for Ophelia's ex-stalker, he was failing her and that if this continued she would never truly be freed from his perverse grasp.

Wiping his face clean of the mixture face wash, shampoo, tears and warm water, he quickly rinsed off the rest of his body.
As he stepped out of the glass cubicle, his cellphone that was laying on his bed in his bedroom, started to ring.

Grabbing his towel, he swiftly wrapped the fluffy material around his lean waist and rushed into the joined room.

Practically diving for his mobile, he managed to hit the green answer button before the ringing could cease.

"Hello?"

"Soleil Walsh, get your Irish ass down to the King's office right now."

"But I jus-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the line went dead and his friend hung up. Rolling his eyes, he tossed the cellular device back onto the plush comforter and made his way over to his large wooden wardrobe.

Slipping on a pair of dark grey boxer shorts, the blonde suddenly could feel a pair of eyes watching his turned back.

He made no movements that gave away that he knew that
someone was looking at him.

Continuing, he slipped into a pair of light blue distressed jeans, a scarlet red shirt with the first few buttons undone and his signature leather jacket.

Kneeling, he reached for the shoebox that was under his bed, which held his favourite black combat boots.

Unknown to the person watching him, he also grabbed a small steel throwing knife and tucked it into his jacket sleeve.

After making sure the blade was secure, the Irishman calmly sat on his bed and discreetly surveyed his room as he pulled on his shoes.

He saw that his bedroom door was had been pushed slightly ajar, but it was such a tiny gap that one would not notice it immediately.
Once he had finished tying the lacings, he walked out of the range of view of the small space.

Almost immediately as Soleil disappeared, he reappeared in the corridor, with one (1) of his pale hands wrapped around the young man's throat and the other held the knife just below his ribcage.

His grey eyes narrowed as he glared into the fearful green orbs and he tightened his grip on the peeper's neck.
Hands clawed at his wrist's skin as the person desperately tried to replenish some of the oxygen that was rapidly depleting from his air supply.

"Who the fuck are you and why were you spying on me?"

The purple-haired boy tried to form words, but all that came out were strained gasps. Rolling his eyes, the Irishman relieved some of the pressure, however, he still kept his hand wrapped around his airway.

"I-I'm a n-new thrall a-and I was sent to e-escort y-you to the King's o-office, sir."

"If that's the truth, why the fuck were you looking into my bedroom. You would have fucking knocked and informed me of why you were here."