Page 145 of Cain
He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with. I’m not some scared little kid anymore.
I’m what he made—every scar, every cracked bone, every sleepless night.
I want to see him crawl. I want him on the floor choking on his pride while I laugh in his face.
I’ll break him. I’ll ruin him. I’ll make him wish he’d fucking killed me when he had the chance.
This time, it’smygame, and I don’t play fair.
My hand shakes as I bring the cigarette to my lips for one more deep drag.
I need to calm down.
Where the fuck is he? Why is he testing my patience?
I’m not in the mood for his games. Not when every second he makes me wait feels like a goddamn slap.
I swear to God, if he walks in with that smug look, acting like this is all just some joke, I’ll lose it. I’ll fucking lose it.
Because I’m not just angry. I’m wired, ready to break something, and if his face even asks for it when he finally graces me with his presence, I’ll drive my fist through it.
I inhale my cigarette for the last time and toss it on the ground before I step on it.
And right before I call him to curse him for being late, there he finally is. He’s riding toward me on his black R1M and parks next to my bike.
He takes off his helmet and runs his fingers through his tousled hair.
I don’t say a word—I stare at him, arms crossed, clearly agitated.
“Can’t stay away, can you, brother?” He gives me a side smirk. I swear, I’ll punch the shit out of him.
“Can’t be on time to save your life, can you, brother?”
“Save my life?” He takes off his leather gloves and leaves them on the tank. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were threatening me.”
“It’s funny you assume I’d waste a threat on you,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
He gets off his bike and leans against it, mirroring my posture.
“Did you call me here to waste your time, then?”
Look at him. Smug as ever. Clean shaven, hair a mess like he thinks he’s some kind of edgy Ken doll.
“I’m spontaneous. Kill me for that,” I say, lighting up one more cigarette.
He takes out a pack of minty gum and pops one into his mouth. “I can think of plenty of other reasons to kill you, actually,” he says with a smirk.
I drag the smoke. “You can kill me another time.”
“So, what is it about?”
Cut to the chase.
“Remember Father?” I ask, brow raised.
He scoffs. “Father?”
“Psychotic bastard that used to torture me because I wasn’t his son?”
