Page 231 of Ruthless Kings of Havoc

“Theo?”

When he doesn’t answer, we hear the typing on the keyboard double in speed until Theo’s cursing in Russian.

“KEIR!”

He has to be close because we can hear the footsteps from here before his voice echoes from the distance.

“Fuck, what’s the pro?—”

“Your brother isn’t breathing!”

Wait. What?

My eyes widen, just like Ares and Marcus, the three of us frozen in place before I’m demanding more information.

“Theo! What do you mean? Where’s Zander?”

“West side exit. Alleyway.” The urgency in Theo’s voice frightens me because he isn’t pulling anyone’s leg.He’s fucking serious.

“Go, go, go!” I urge and give up on Marcus’ aid as a new wave of adrenaline hits me with a sense of frightening imperativeness.

“Track Domino!” I urge Theo, as my mind is already moving into overdrive. “Then Eva’s.”

“Already done,” Theo urges and says a bunch of curses. “Fuck… he has her.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I turn the sharp corner, racing straight to the exit door, only to trip and crash into the opposite wall, making me curse in agony because of my arm.

“Fuck,” I hiss in pain, turning my head to see what I tripped on.

Zander.

I freeze for a solid five seconds, taking in his lifeless, wide eyes that stare up at the cloudy sky, lightning shooting across the sky as the booming sound of thunder warns us of the approaching storm.

“Z-Zander?” I breathe, and suddenly, I’m tossing the phone to the ground as I’m on my knees, trying to do CPR with one hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! MARCUS! ARES!”

The door opens not a second later, and Marcus is the next to curse as he trips over Zander, crashing into the wall. The breath is knocked out of him, but when he realizes what I’m doing and who I’m trying to get to breathe, he’s not cursing in English. Ican’t even comprehend anything he’s saying because my mind is fighting desperately to make a fucking miracle.

“Move!” Marcus urges. “Give him breaths! I’ll do the compressions.” I don’t waste any time, taking a moment to get off Zander and sit at his head, where I lean down and breathe into his mouth without delay.

His eyes hauntingly look up at me. Those green pupils are so dilated and glassy, as though his final moments were full of nothing but regret.

I watch as Marcus continues to do compressions, using all his strength, which in turn is breaking ribs from the sound of cracked bone, but those can be fixed.

We can’t fix him if his heart doesn’t start beating again.

I take a glimpse of Ares and wish I didn’t because the devastation in his widened gaze is as clear as day. His whole body is trembling as he looks at his best friend, lying in this alleyway, dead.

His best friend died alone without anyone telling him how much he was loved.

That only reminds me of the guilt I felt with Ren, how his death and the mere remembrance of him killed me from the inside out. That’s what triggered my rage. What forced me to have no mercy on the world because, at the end of the day, who had sympathy for any of us?

We were victims of this bloodshed society. Where carnage is encouraged, havoc ensues, obsession is granted, and vengeance is a blessing instead of a curse.

Then, the cycle repeats.

The loss of life and the triggering of madness that follows from losing that spark of joy.

---