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lance

The thick stack of pages lying on the table beforeI need to know about theblood all over the cool concrete beneath him

“I-I know A-Arthur—”

“Shut up,” I bite out, ash flitting frolance over at the table, noting the tu besidethe decanter, and pour another shot of clear liquid

The logo on the front of the old and crimson It’s been years since I first laid eyes on it, and since then, till now, I feel a sense of pride It’s a place I belong to My life has changed considerably since I became a part of them; The Cavalieri Della Morte have become a family — twelve men and our leader

For longer than I can remember, the word family has been a curse My father killed himself when I elve I walked into the office as he pulled the trigger, and I watched as his brains splattered along the wall of his books, which sat behind his desk

Grabbing the glass, I e where the bullet wound is seeping claret fluid His cries are otherworldly,me smile I prefer torture; it makes the memories ofso like that could break a kid, and for a while, it did

My mother tried her best, but a ard son is never easy for a woht with a different boyfriend strolling into the house as if he owned it

When I couldn’t handle it any and ran from the small two-bedroom home my father had left her in his will I didn’t knohere I would go, but I knew I needed to get out of there or I’d turn out just like him — a brainless corpse

Sauntering over to my array of tools, I pick up the small knife on the table The handle is hand carved froo etched into the wood

S to tell erous, and he can tell fro he tells me won’t save him Not today, not ever

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out, and I’un thudded onto the carpet, the sound was like a dahorn

“Well shit, you have bigger balls than I expected” Pressing ht is on the one foot, causing a wretched scream to fall from his lips

“P-please, I-I-I c-c-c—”

“Please, please, I haveand plead just before I end theh of having so

“I-I-I c-c-can’t—” The voice drags arette betweenthe sweet sers in the wound in an atteony, causing es throughthis piece of shit in pain My inked hands are now drenched in the thick, slippery crimson fluid froainst the wall

Liftingcry of pain There’s nowhere for hi is contorted in an unnatural way fro o

n it I heard the bone crack when my heavy black boot made contact

Reaching behind un from my belt holster I liftas he scrunches his eyes, awaiting the shot, but I don’t pull the trigger just yet I lowerof the shot is loud, and then his sweet, agonizing cries fill my ears

Placing the gun on the table, I glance at the , beggingthat clicks in a person’sto die — survival instinct or resolution Either they’ll atteive up