Page 38 of Deviant Illusions

The roar of the engine bounces around the cement garage as I pull forward without any care for the vehicles around me. Fuck that when I don’t even have any for myself.

As soon as I pass the gates, I’m made aware of just how vulnerable my body is. There’s nothing stopping the elements or a car from slamming into me. My t-shirt is plastered to my chest as I increase the odds in my favor and I weave between the cars. A side mirror brushes the side of my arm, so I go faster.

My eyes dry without the protection of a helmet. The dying sun stops any headlights from blinding me. As soon as I hit an open stretch of road, I straighten and slowly let go of the handles. Stretching my arms out, I roll my wrists and wait for something to topple me. Anything that proves that I shouldn’t be here because even though I don’twantto die, I can’t prevent the call to death. It’s a perplexing thing to have one foot in life, yet never really feel like living. Yet at the same time, I don’t want to die.

The human condition is to suffer and want, hope, dream, fucking battle myself to breathe just once more because life isfickle and the Fates are only ever predictable in their ability to surprise everyone, so it might change. There’s no guarantee for good or bad in life, but even when it continuously shows me that things can be worse than I possibly imagined, that hope doesn’t die, forcing me to stay alive on the chance it may change because I am a fool. A hopeful fool that believes the lie that each new rock bottom I find myself in is the worst that civilization has to offer.

And fate is a bitch, a merciless cruel cunt that laughs in the face of that hope because rock bottom doesn’t exist. That’s an earthly invention that people tell themselves to feel better about their shitty circumstances, because if there was a rock bottom, there wouldn’t be a Hell. Even Hell has levels, different pits that range in depth to extract more of one’s soul while relentlessly punishing them for the simple act of existing.

I’ve envisioned my death countless times, some of them as a comfort, others as a deterrent. But I can never make my mind up on what I want. Spending the majority of your life wanting to die is a mindfuck. I am no more in love with life than I am death, but life I know. I’m used to the way it ebbs and flows, but death is a huge question mark. The means are right there but there’s always an excuse to stay alive. Hate, love, fucking spite. Anything. The smallest morsel of hope drags me back from the edge every fucking time, and I grab the handles again. No doubt, the guardian angel assigned to me is laughing at my hypocrisy.

The signage for the hangar comes into view, and I don’t slow down as I turn. Rubber burns against the tarmac and the bike wobbles due to the abrupt turn, but I don’t fall. The fucking universe and all its cursed wisdom has decided to save me. A-fucking-gain.

The jet is already waiting as I pull up. Someone steps down the stairs. His pale blue eyes and dark hair make him look creepy as fuck with the sky darkening. I don’t know who it is, whetherit’s Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. Not until he stops in front of me at an angle and I see that he doesn’t have a scar on his nape.

Lennox places his hand on my shoulder and lightly dips his head. “Little shadow,”—he squeezes my shoulder,—“you won’t ruin this, will you?”

“Ruin what?” I ask as I turn off the engine and hit the kickstand with the back of my foot.

He doesn’t answer. Like fucking always. If he’s attempting to be a caring mentor, he has some work to do because I never know what’s going on where my uncle is concerned. It’s ten steps above secretive and annoying as fuck.

Swinging my leg over the bike, I go to walk up the stairs when he digs his fingers into my shoulder, dragging me back. “You need to fix your mistake first.”

The weird fuck pushes his two forefingers into my pocket and pulls out my phone. Two blinking dots are still on the screen, but they’re right on top of each other. Placing it in my palm, he says, “Get ready. Know that if you fail again, I’ll be the one to give your punishment.”

I pull away from him, disgust and confusion warring together because he can’t fucking mean it. I know what Rowan’s version of punishments are, the sick cunt. I’ve lived through the punishments he arranged with the rapist pieces of shit he secured freedom for. But Lennox can’t be the same.

Only he is, and remorse pulls his features down as he whispers without moving his lips, “Don’t think it is my choice. A man born into servitude knows only the master.” He gestures to a helicopter further ahead, taking a fortifying breath. “I suggest you move quickly so no one sees your face.”

Lennox leads me into the hangar and hands me a duffel bag. The weight is too light for it to be a weapon. His dress shoes tap against the concrete floor as he stands at the edge of thebuilding. He seems to grow in size, his shoulders broader and spine straighter.

I slowly unzip the bag and take out the mask on top. The color is deeper than black. It’s a fucking void. The tech t-shirt and pants are the same, as though I need to slip out of existence. A warning siren should be blaring, telling me to run, but it doesn’t. All I have is another vague warning added to the long list that my uncle has given me.

18

KANE

The whirring of the helicopter blades rings in my ears long after we land in the non-descript field. It doesn’t help that I’m stuck in the dark with two fuckers who seem to have their mouths sewn shut, because they haven’t uttered a peep on our journey, or even now while we wait for the targets to get closer to the trees surrounding the derelict road.

Their silence allows the sound of the crash to carry through the winding road. Four points of impact if the crunching and shattered glass are anything to go by. But there are no screams. They’re probably dead, which will make my life harder since we’re under strict instructions to take them to Rowan alive. He never stipulated no injuries, and the two silent fucks move with too much ease as though they’ve done this thousands of times before. They don’t even twitch at the discomfort of wearing a mask. Whereas I have Delilah to thank for being accustomed to hiding myself.

Leaves crunch under our feet as we walk in a line towards the last sound of impact. The smell of the surrounding wood doesn’t filter through the mask and the tinted frame covering my eyes blurs the outside of my vision, only leaving a clear view if I lookdirectly in front of me. It’s disorientating and my breathing is louder when the other two move out of my line of sight. I turn my head to each side, checking where they are as I slow.

They’re not focused on me, stopping ten paces in front of the wreckage. The front of the car has taken the force, the hood crumpled and smoke billowing through the bent edges. But one of the silent fucks takes a gun from his waistband and I quickly step forward as he raises his arm.

“The goal is to take them alive,” I remind them.

He doesn’t turn or react to my voice. He simply squeezes the trigger and sends out three shots. The already splintered windscreen shatters, fist-sized holes opening up between the spiderweb cracks. I grab his wrist too late and the ping of rubber hitting the metal casing relaxes me. A loud boom and heat blows past my ear, and milliseconds later, glass tinkles and loud hissing fills the night air. The other guard sends a second canister flying, the fizz of the gasses escaping alerting me to its proximity, and I tilt my head out of its trajectory.

Fucking crazy bastards. One is enough to knock them out. They don’t need to add more chemicals to the air.

I stay back, allowing the smoke to dissipate to avoid inhaling it despite the ventilation in the mask supposedly being there to prevent it seeping through. The other two walk ahead and they still don’t speak. The only sign of communication they have is their heads turning. Once they’ve finished their glance, they speed up and carelessly drag a man and woman out of the car. Disgust burns through me when the one holding the woman places his hand between her legs.

“Put her the fuck down.” My voice booms through the trees and little pieces of mud kick up, sticking to my pant legs as I storm towards him. He opens his arms, carelessly dropping the woman to a heap at his feet, causing her dress to ride up. I can’t see the motherfucker’s eyes to know if he’s looking at her.

“Go help Zippy over there.” I gesture to his friend and drop down to my haunches. Slipping my arms under the woman’s knees, I look straight and pull her dress down. Her head rolls as I gently wrap my arm under her shoulders and deathly cold prickles my nape at the sound of a fucking zipper.

My head snaps to the side at the same time as a metallic thud. These sick fucking cunts dump the man on the crumpled hood and one of the guards has his fly undone.

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