Xavier's eyes stung with the sharp metallic smell of blood but he walked unfazed toward his gang's den, his only friend by his side. Their boots thumped against the cobbled alleyway lit only by the full moon, the gate a few feet away.

"You shouldn't have come to the hill," said Xavier, "She knows about the gang now, and I don't know if I'm ever gonna--" He sighed. "You shouldn't have come."

Stewart walked beside Xavier, hurrying with his long strides. "What was I supposed to do? Sean was flipping! You didn't even attend the meeting."

"What meeting? It's a shit-show discussing new strategies to assault, murder, and steal. What kind of weekly torture is that?"

His friend shrugged. "I don't know, man. But it's mandatory. Why do you keep trying to rile him up?"

"Because he's a piece of shit and deserves to suffer."

"I agree, but you need to lay low. That Sasha business was enough for him to lose his mind."

Xavier gave his friend a sharp look. "Sasha was not my fault."

Stewart raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, you don't have to convince me. I'm on your side."

"But not in front of Sean," said Xavier, instantly regretting his retort. Nobody owes me anything, he reminded himself. Why should I expect anyone to stand by me when it serves them no purpose?

"I don't wanna lose my head, mate," said Stewart, "especially not for your routine arguments. And the steady flow of money isn't that bad, either."

"Or seeing Ashley."

He grinned. "What can I say? I'm a man of simple pleasures."

Xavier shook his head. "Sorry to break it to you but unrequited love, or whatever it is between you two, looks far from pleasure."

He paused for a few seconds. "She'll come around."

He wondered how his friend had the heart to endure the advances Ashley was making at Xavier, or everyone for that matter, or how he was patient enough to wait for her, but as long as it didn't concern him, he couldn't bother. He changed the subject before he could suggest Stewart get over her. "What does Sean want?"

Stewart shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Just be grateful I'm coming with you for moral support instead of hitting the whorehouse."

Xavier threw him a dirty look. Out of all the gang members, Stewart was the least disgusting, and that said a lot about how filthy the others were.

They belonged to a gang that earned enough to make a fortune for themselves, but world domination wasn't in their plans for the foreseeable future, so they kept themselves out of the mud as much as possible. Sean liked to keep everyone in line, but Xavier thought of himself as a free bird in his cage. He was good at what he did, and if the gang leader wanted to keep his best assassin, he had to put up with him.

They stopped at the gate as the guard opened it for them. The town's sheriff walked out the same time they entered, his pockets bulging with money--a payment for his undying support and turning a blind eye.

They entered the house. It reeked of cigarettes, alcohol, and bad decisions. Sean was playing cards with Rais, his glass of bourbon sitting on the table in front of him. Ashley sat in the farthest corner with Jake, probably planning their next heist.

"You called?" Xavier's voice echoed through the house stopping the murmurs.

Sean's bald head was still dropped toward the table his cards were placed on as he squeaked, "Xavier! My boy!"

"You," his voice lingered with irritation, "called?" Sean had a weird way of breaking bad news, and it always began with him being too cheerful.

"Yes!" Sean left the game in the middle, got up, and his forty-something-year-old self walked toward Xavier.

Despite the wealth he possessed, his button-down checked shirt was torn where there had been a pocket over his chest. Nobody understood why he loathed them enough to tear them from his shirt. They usually wondered why he didn't get shirts with no pockets at all. Weird is what he was.

Sean's head tilted, his green eyes studying Xavier who let out a sigh and raised his eyebrows at how overdramatic the bald man was being.

When the leader continued examining him without a word, Xavier said, "What?"

Sean smirked, looking at him from under his eyebrows. "You've received a humble application. Three thousand dollars. Cash."

Again with the same horseshit. "No."

Sean's right eyebrow rose and his smile faltered. "Pardon?"

"I know, you're all worked up about your fifty percent, but she is here. You know when she--"

"Ah..." Sean licked his lips. "Your plaything is around nowadays. Xavier, wouldn't you offer the acquaintance of your girlfriend with your gang mates?"

Xavier cringed. "Are you done?"

"Hmm," said Sean, "Father used to say that there are two types of people everyone should avoid. A woman that holds you back and a friend that stabs you in the back."

Xavier closed his eyes, battling himself on the inside whether it was okay to strangle Sean only because he was lame and annoying.

"Social job," said Sean after a few seconds.

"I won't when she's here. I think I've made this very clear." Xavier took a step toward the shorter man.

"What if I order you to do it?" asked Sean calmly.

"Then I would refuse and leave the gang." Xavier turned on his heels, glancing once at Stewart who was looking at him with wide eyes.

Before Xavier could take a step forward, Sean spoke, "Aren't you familiar with the fact that whoever withdraws from the gang usually ends up in a coffin?"

Xavier turned back around, his eyes burning. "Are you threatening me?"

"Giving you a fair warning." Sean smiled.

"Keep it to yourself. The job can wait a few days."

And with the tone of 'that's final', he walked away.

~*~

That night, Xavier tossed and turned in his bed, his chest aching from the pain he refused to take over him. How had everything fallen apart again? Giselle had been the only good thing in his life, and he'd lost her. Wondering if she'd ever listen to his explanations, he contemplated sending her a message, but then stopped himself.

Two days. She'd asked for two days, and he had it in him to endure for that long. The pain wasn't unfamiliar; he'd just forgotten how it felt to be truly alone after Giselle entered his life.

He wasn't proud of who he was or the things he'd done, though he always had his reasons. He had to save them. He had to avenge. He had to survive. All were valid reasons for him. Then why couldn't he forget the look of extreme disappointment in Giselle's eyes?

Xavier sat up straight on his bed, roughly rubbing his face, and took in a deep breath. He stared at the painting hung on his wall; the woman, the eagle, the wolves, and the deer were still there, none of them free. And then his eyes fell upon the picture hanging on the opposite wall; the blonde, the baby in her hand, and a younger Xavier behind the borrowed camera.

With a growl, Xavier threw his legs off the bed which creaked with his movements. His shoulders were slumped as he walked toward his lavatory. Pain, he'd realized, was the only thing that numbed the pain. Poison cured poison. Torture defeated torture. Torment healed torment.

He halted as his phone rang and made a run toward it. Disappointment washed over him when he saw that it wasn't Giselle.

It was from Amara Orphanage. He picked up the call, "Yes?"

An urgent, small voice spoke, "Sir, it's Alice here. The electricity is out. We tried to call you earlier but you didn't pick up. I'm sorry to disturb you at this moment, but can you please look into it? It's getting chaotic with the children."

"Since when?"

"This morning."

"I'll do something," said Xavier.

"Thank you, sir!"

He cut the call off, contemplating to ignore it, but then sighed and dialed Stewart's number.

"Hello!" chirped Stewart. A girl giggled behind him.

Xavier asked calmly, "Did you pay the bills?"

"What bills?"

He cleared his throat. "You tell me."

"What are you--oh! Amara Orphanage? Shit! I forgot."

"How long till it gets fixed?"

He laughed at something the girl behind him purred, then distractedly said, "Uh, I don't know..."

Xavier couldn't stop himself from roaring, "Stewart!"

"You don't have to yell, mate." Stewart chuckled, then said to the girl, "Give me a few moments, baby."

Xavier resisted the temptation to throw his phone across his room. "How long?"

"I'll go pay the bill right now."

"And make sure the electricity is supplied instantly."

"Fine," said Stewart, sounding annoyed.

Well, if he's already annoyed... "Make it up to them."

"I'm not taking chocolates there."

"It's your fault. You have to make it up to them."

He groaned. "I hate your rules."

"Go. Text me when you've fixed your mess."

"Fine! You're so fuzzy on the inside, I almost feel bad for introducing you to the gang."

"As you should."

"Meh. If I hadn't, we wouldn't have discovered a killer like you. Anyway, text you in a while." He cut the call.

Xavier closed his eyes, his friend's words hanging in the air. It was as if he'd punched him in the gut with them. Xavier didn't take pleasure in killing people. Being called a skilled killer wasn't a compliment. It was a reminder of the things he'd endured throughout his life.

And with that final pang, he ran toward the washroom. Taking his shirt off with one quick motion, he picked up the knife from the corner shelf. He looked at himself in the mirror, his chest heaving.

The older cuts tingled painfully as he placed the knife on his arm, hoping for it to heal the wounds inside.

He was right, he thought as blood dripped down his arm, pain was the only thing that numbed the pain.