Christian’s ringtone.
Syndicate’s opening song.
And suddenly, Christian is taking up every inch of my mind again.
His voice. His scent. The colours of his energy.
Until it’s been seconds and my fist is hovering in the air.
And the itch becomes unbearable again.
I snap the rat’s neck with lost patience, and when I turn, the crawler is finally reaching for the axe.
I watch him try to wield it—try to stand.
I give him the chance at least, for a one-legged man, before approaching him calmly. Lazily.
Five weeks later—exactly thirty-six days—and Christian and I haven’t spoken outside of the professional salutes and affirmations.
I hardly see him around the estate anymore, and every time I track him down outside of jobs, he’s with Lucia.
Lucia Ambrose.
If not for how platonic their relationship is, I would’ve disposed of her long ago. Thankfully, after tapping into the cameras I placed in her apartment, I realized quickly that Lucia isn’t interested in Christian—at least not romantically.
They both watch movies, go shopping for clothes and groceries, cook together and go for drinks—
It fills me with such burning jealousy, Baal has had to physically stop me from shooting her between the eyes twice already.
They’ve both become each other’s support—bonded so closely together, to help each other when they’re hurting.
And it’s a different feeling knowing Christian chose her to support him and not me.
It’s a different feeling knowing that when we brush, even by accident, or when we lock eyes, I can see how desperately he wants me.
Yet he steers clear of me like I’ve wronged him.
‘Space.’
Days and days andagonizing daysof it.
When the one-legged rat swings the axe down towards me, I step aside, kick him in his bleeding leg, and watch him fall to the ground. His voice is hoarse now from all his screaming, but we’re in such a remote part of the city, there isn’t even the slightest chance of anyone hearing him.
I crouch over him, reaching for the axe and hooking it under his chin, and the itch in my chest flares to life as he squirms beneath me. His nails against my skin are almost soothing in comparison. When he goes limp beneath me, I feel calmer than before—the erratic energy inside me has subsided.
I swing the axe onto my shoulder as I walk back to my brothers and Baal is watching me with pursed lips. I know he’s been wanting to say something to me for days; thankfully, they’re both quiet as we continue further into the building.
One more rat to find, and I’m hoping tonight’s violence will take me through the week this time as well.
“Reuben, this has been going on for too long.” I’m surprised when Baal breaks the silence, with a worried voice.
“I’m doing my job,” I reply evenly.
“No. You’ve had that look in your eyes since—”
My eyes snap towards his, and my stare is so sharp, his words trail off into silence. His shoulders fall with a resigned huff, “Your episodes have never gone on this long.”
Episodes, huh. Long periods of violence. Unprovoked aggression. Fits of temper.
