"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown."

~ William Shakespeare

The overhead light fluctuated, casting an irregular shadow of my figure on the tainted concrete. My forearms rested on my thighs, my head hung low, and my bloodied hands fettered. Dirt-stained walls, rusted grills, and crackling paint. The putrid stench of rotting rats coupled with piss loomed in the air. I ground my teeth together and snapped my eyes shut to tame my anger. With a stinging pain in my finger-joints and a pesky itch in my soul, I continued doing the only thing I could; I waited.

Tracing the crusted scabs on my knuckles, I was reeled back in time. At fifteen years old, I had busted my forehead open, having hit it hard against a glass table during a school fight. I remembered ripping open all my stitches, one after another, to feel the stabbing sensation of my wound. An eternal imprint of the memory had been seared into my mind like branded flesh.

My thirst compelled me to finish what I had started, to claim the driver's life, but I couldn't. Had I spilled blood, the consequences would have been catastrophic. All my efforts would have been wasted if I had slaughtered that pathetic scum. Whenever I fought, I became delirious with a vengeful hunger. I never thought ahead, never weighed the damage.

And that was my hamartia.

The driver wasn't as innocent as the bystanders had made him out to be. Granted, I was attacking him like a ravenous bear, however, it was because the man was no ordinary driver. He hadn't just volleyed a wrench at my car out of spite, it had been a calculated, premeditated attack. He was Kiara's man, he had to be. I was certain of it.

My ears perked up when I heard indistinct voices. I squinted, concentrating on what they were discussing without raising my head.

"With all due respect, who the fuck even are you? Do you have any idea what'll happen if you don't release my brother right now?!" Andy growled.

Brother?

"Sir, I-I can't just let him go. It's protocol. I'm sorry." I recognized the second voice as the officer who had cuffed and shoved me into the back of his car, the clean-shaved macho fuck.

I never forget a voice.

"My father will have you fired all the way to hell." Andy threatened. "Where the hell is Sherrif Rudolph, anyway?" he asked.

"Her daughter when into labor, sir," replied the officer.

"You should gather your things before my father gets here." Andy scoffed.

I heard footsteps approach the holding cell, my head rising to meet Andy's furious visage. He gripped the metal rods with white knuckles, his usual carefree attitude nowhere to be seen. His body language represented everything I was confining inside me, pacing back and forth, on edge. Tough features, lips pressed into a straight line, creased forehead lines.

I clenched my jaw, feeling pathetic that I couldn't even acquire a get-out-of-jail card on my own. I lowered my head once again, not wanting to give anything away. Achieve to deceive. I couldn't afford to let Andy discern my intentions, my vulnerabilities.

The tapping sound of expensive dress shoes resonated through the police station, breaking me away from my thoughts. The cavalry had arrived. When the sleek leather of his black Oxfords appeared in my line of sight, I didn't move a muscle to acknowledge his existence, not until I felt like I was being watched.

On hearing him clear his throat, I met a pair of striking blue eyes. His grey suit was as crisp as a newly printed banknote, his hair dyed a perfect shade of ebony, not a single strand out of place. The collar of his pale white dress shirt was ironed to perfection, his facial hair freshly razored. He stood there with an aristocratic countenance, stiff as a horse and radiating an aura of sophistication.

He was a true figure of power.

Without uttering a word, his presence communicated volumes. It reminded me of the first time I had met him, at the LH Rooftop Restaurant in the city. It had been one of the toughest decisions I had made, but it had been critical. Despite the blow on my manliness, I did what had to be done. For months I had faced dead ends and roadblocks, my patience had run dry.

I knew he was powerful. I knew Mom trusted him. So, I buried my ego and extended a hand. I hadn't expected a warm welcome but Mr. Decker wasn't the conventional millionaire. He lit up every room, a charming smile paired with his fancy attire. His personality maintained an equilibrium between empathy and a very masculine form of strength which was rare.

"Ah, there he is." His voice was a husky drawl. With the flick of a finger, he compelled the officer to undo the locks and release me from the fetters.

"Come along now, boys." He enunciated each word, taking slow strides towards the exit.

Unlike a typical man of his standing imprisoned by time, Mr. Decker was calm and collected; not once did the man glance at his watch. When we reached the limousine, I clambered in last. Andy and I sat opposite Mr. Decker, waiting for him to say something.

"Do you know why I'm successful, Tobias?" He broke the silence, pouring a glass of scotch for himself.

I maintained eye contact but didn't respond.

"Get ahead of the competition. Never let anything or anyone get under your skin. Always, and I mean, always, befriend the enemy before you strike," explained Mr. Decker.

I responded with a curt nod. Mr. Decker was aware of fragments of my past, enough to supply the required information. Having exhausted all other avenues, his assistance was the only thing pulling me through. I didn't trust him but uncovering Mom's association with him made the whole ordeal tolerable. When we reached, Andy got off hastily, disappearing behind the walls of his house.

I was about to exit the vehicle when Mr. Decker said, "Son, you're smart. You don't need this kinda extra heat. What you need is to be discreet." He sipped his drink, "The man you're looking for, he's not going anywhere. But at this rate, you might find yourself in a six-by-six cell instead."

"I, uh, thanks," I said quick and low, suppressing a grunt.

He placed a hand on my knee and I stiffened, not liking the physical contact, "You're like a son to me, kid. Family isn't just blood, it's sticking together."

"No offense, but the only family I had was my mother. And I intend to keep it that way," I scoffed, my anger resurfacing as I got to my feet.

"You do what you gotta do, kid. But just remember one thing: when the storm clears, we'll still be here," Mr. Decker replied as I began walking away.

----

Crash. Thud. Crack.

Without a shred of control over my impulsivity, I began feeding my rage; throwing things, banging doors, and crippling my fists against the cemented walls of my so-called room. There was no technique, like when I was in the ring, there was just sheer rage and it was coming out in the form of insanity. 

Kiara wasn't supposed to be reacting. I had made sure of that. Something wasn't right.

"He'll never stop."

Kiara's warning echoed in my head and I scoffed. The bitch didn't know how wrong she was. I was going to turn the heat on them, even if that meant burning myself. Her smug visage appeared in front of me, embedded in the wall, urging me to smash my fists repeatedly against the merciless wall. 

Panting. Grunting. Clenching.

I wanted revenge. I wanted answers. I was chaotic.

"This game you're playing...Tobias, you'll lose."

"You won't survive this."

Her words kept playing on loop, tempting me to stray from my course. Both my knuckles and the wall were blood-stained when I stepped back to catch my breath. 

"The man you're looking for, he's not going anywhere. But at this rate, you might find yourself in a six-by-six cell instead."

Mr. Decker was right. I was my own demise. Destructive. Toxic. Hot-deaded.

Suddenly, Andy barged in unannounced, his mouth ajar and his eyes wide when he scanned the room. He came to a halt right in front of me and yelled, "What the hell are you doing?" 

I didn't respond, walking towards the door instead but he blocked my path, "Where do you think you're going?"

"What the fuck does it look like?" I deadpanned, stepping around him with the shove of a shoulder to descend the staircase.

"Why can't you just talk to me, man?" He raised his voice. "You wanted a place to stay. I let you into my home, no questions asked." 

For the first time, I was witnessing Andy's rage. His frustrated hand gestures and deep scowl almost mirroring mine. 

He continued shouting, "Ariel got assaulted by some bitch, I fucking said nothing. And now, this? Why is it that you can't stay out of trouble, huh?" 

I felt my veins pulsate at the sound of her name, my jaw clenching, my fists tightening. 

"What the fuck is this really about? Because I refuse to believe that any sane-minded fucker would throw a wrench at a random car." 

Andy's words reminded me that I had to pretend to be oblivious. He was smarter than most, he would have caught on if I didn't put on a facade. I shoved him hard, darting down the stairs before he could question me any further but he was quick on his feet.

"How many more times before you finally fucking tell me what you're up against?!" Andy barked, slamming the front door shut as I attempted to pull it open. 

Don't do anything impulsive.

I gritted my teeth to swallow my brewing rage, a humorless chuckle escaping my lips, "What do you want me to do, huh? Share my fucking feelings and cry on your shoulder?" 

That seemed to calm him down.

"No, but you might as well drop the lone wolf act and tell me." He retorted, pacing back and forth. "You being here..." He gestured with his hands, "...means we're all already involved. I'm right, aren't I? You knew coming to Father for help wouldn't be easy but I'm guessing you didn't anticipate that there'd be a gir--"

"You want me to leave? I'll fucking leave." I bit back, marching towards the front door, my blood boiling all over again.

Andy scoffed, "For fuck's sake, man. You're so fucked up you'd rather fight alone than actually believe that anyone will stand by you."

"Do you blame me? The men in this family aren't exactly dependable, now, are they?" I narrowed my eyes bitterly, "Just admit it, you want me gone."

"Then why'd you even contact us?" He sneered, clearly offended, "Aren't exactly dependable, my ass. Father's been doing whatever he can to help you and this is what he gets in return? Hell, he came all this way to bail your ass out of jail."

"I should've fucking known better than to come knocking on doors," I growled, and with that, I tore through the front door, slamming it shut behind me.

The engine of my battered car roared to life as I stomped on the accelerator. Within seconds, I was shooting down the road, like lightning. Not looking back, not stopping.

What the fuck was I thinking?

How could I have stooped so low?

Pathetic. Desperate.

A bastard, a failure.

When I reached one of the less posh bars of this pathetic town, I stormed inside to drown myself in a ton of alcohol and smoke. As soon as I stepped into the pub, all eyes were on me and I hated every second of it. I responded with split-eyed glares, my countenance making it abundantly clear that I was a force to be reckoned with. Slumping down on the barstool, I gestured for the bartender to serve me.

They didn't know me. They didn't know what I was capable of. They didn't know my darkness. They weren't aware of the things I had to do. The screams, the blood--

"What's your poison?" The bartender asked, a shaker in hand.

"Vodka." 

She stacked three shot glasses in front of me before pouring them with Vodka. I downed them one after the other, the stinging sensation calming my nerves as the liquid traveled down my throat.

"You do what you gotta do, kid. But just remember one thing: when the storm clears, we'll still be here."

"Bad day?" She smiled, leaning forward on her elbows to deepen her cleavage. I shot her a disinterested look and she tilted her head to the side, pouting. "I was having a bad day too, but then this incredibly broody and sexy guy walked into the bar..."

"Does it look like I give a fuck." I spat ferociously.

"I like it when you play hard to get," she bit her lip, "It turns me on." 

"Fuck off."

Immediately, she poured me another three shots. I grabbed them greedily, chugging them down. With a hiss, I swallowed the last one, feeling my throat burn. I could feel my sensations becoming numb as I stared at the shot glasses blankly. I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget so fucking bad.

"I can make all your dreams come true." The bartender hopped onto the bar, sliding the glasses away. She placed herself right in front of me, her legs wide open, a smirk dancing on her lips.

Disgusting.

I stood up frantically, getting away from her before she could touch me. Slowly, my vision became hazy. I staggered in my step when my head began pounding, my hands rising to my head instinctively. 

Thud, thud. Thud, thud.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor little Tobias." The bartender strutted towards me with a devilish smile and a hand on her hip.

The bitch fucking roofied me.

"You don't know who you're...fucking with," I slurred, my words coming out strained and jumbled.

Rubbing my eyes, I tried to resist the mind-numbing feeling but it wasn't humanly possible. My palms began sweating, my heart thundering in my ears. My vision was indistinct and out of focus; a chaotic mess of undefined silhouettes and blurred lights. Huffing and puffing, all I managed to do was throw a punch in the wrong direction.  Within seconds my legs buckled and everything became dark.

----

Writing from a man's pov is so hard. I hope this was okay.

Please don't forget to vote, comment, and share if you enjoyed this chapter.

Love, Ari