Gushes of rain lashed on the window casement, jolting Jimmy awake from the clamour.
It was raining cats and dogs outside. Trees on the horizon bowed to the gale, some thin ones teetering on the edge of snapping apart.
It seemed as if the world was about to dissolve into the rain.
Trying to shift, his whole body ached from those bruises. Scenes from just an hour ago flashed in his dizzy mind: him being chased, captured, and beaten to a pulp. God knew how many bones he had doubled—or perhaps tripled—that day.
Looking around, he saw unfamiliar men standing across the room like statues. Not from the rival families, he thought.
At that instant, a brute entered the room, his hands busy coiling metal chains around his knuckles.
Seeing him, Jimmy frowned, his heart skipping a beat at the glint of the chains.
"H-hey, Bushman," he stammered with a shaky grin, certainly familiar with the figure and what he was capable of. Of course anyone looking at the titan could tell that.
"Wouldn't you untie me and bring some ointment for my bruises?" Jimmy shivered as he said it.
"Jimmy," he grumbled with a serious expression, which immediately changed to a smug smile. "I've long anticipated this day to come."
Jimmy thought to himself: *Is this karma?* He remembered the millions of torments he'd done to him—even he pitied the person himself, at times.
*Okay, boy, brace yourself for some crazy visuals,* he thought scathingly.
Immediately, a chain-wrapped punch flew at him. The edges connected first, tearing bits of skin and flesh, hitting the inner bones. Pain surged from ear to ear.
Then again, a similar punch connected with his right cheek—a bit more intense this time.
And again. And again. One punch connected with his left brow, making his sight go dark, only to be awakened by another.
"Enough, Bushman!"
The words sliced through the air, halting the brute midway.
A man stepped in through the entrance. He looked tall and slender, appearing to be in his early twenties. He had brown hair combed neatly back, wearing a blue stylish vest and a red bow tie that complemented his looks—as if he'd just stepped out from a gentlemen's party. Most importantly, he had striking ruby eyes, captivating anyone who met them.
The black-suited men straightened up at his presence. The brute over Jimmy fumbled to the side as the person made his way to Jimmy.
Jimmy felt a crunch in his neck as he leveled his head up to meet the red gaze. He smiled despite blood trickling from his torn lips.
The person returned the smile. "Good evening, Jimmy."
The pain continued to surge in his neck as Jimmy struggled to lower his head.
"Look how miserable you've become," he said. "I would have forgiven you, Jimmy—even if Father doesn't. But how could you shake hands with our nemesis family? They've capsized three of our cargo ships. And not only that—they have intel on all our secret shipment ports and warehouses. All thanks to you. Do you think it's a joke?"
The person shouted.
"Bravo on the act, Max," Jimmy said, turning his head to the side for a sidelong glance upward—he couldn't level his head because of the neck pain.
At first, the person named Max looked confused. Then he abruptly broke into maniacal laughter, holding his abdomen.
"Just trying to be cool. Of course I arranged all of this for you! Hahaha!" He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "But Jimmy... I never wanted to do this. After all, we are brothers."
Jimmy sighed.
"It really puzzles me, Jimmy," he muttered.
"Hmm?"
"Why would you go to this extent? After all, when Father dies from the poison you give him in the name of medicine, this empire will be all yours. So why are you so desperate to kill me, Max?"
"Because, Jimmy, you are harmful to the empire—and to people like you. Do you know how much more the other families make from brothels and drug imports? I've personally contacted the CEO of Alluvial Company. They promised double the revenue of our current operation. But you, Father, old Tom, and the other old guys are dead set on protecting these fucking principles. It's all crap! What principles do we need in crime? ...Jimmy, are you listening?"
"Making a debauchery of our residence? Max, that's a bad excuse," Jimmy said.
"Hey? So what do you think?"
"In essence," Jimmy grinned ear to ear, "you fear me."
Max's eyes bulged. "I don't—"
"I'm not just blurting bullshit," Jimmy broke in. "You really think you can handle the empire with your worthless a—"
A kick flew into Jimmy's abdomen, making his eyes bulge. Then another. And another. Max totally kicked him four times, square in the abdomen, murderous intent flooding his eyes.
"Kuakk…" Jimmy couldn't help it anymore as he vomited a large amount of blood, staining his already torn-up shirt.
Max grabbed Jimmy by the hair and leveled his head, forcing eye contact.
The pain in Jimmy's neck augmented, making him grimace.
"Blurting bullshit won't save you, brother," Max warned, his red eyes glistening crimson.
Straightening and composing himself, Max said, "Well, it's ceremonious for all the family members to be present at the execution of a traitor. Alas, the majority of them chickened out already—and you're not a traitor…"
He frowned, pausing on the word. "You haven't betrayed us in the past, right? Anyway…"
"I expected old Tom to be here, but alas," he said scathingly, "he chickened out, betraying you."
"Don't worry. I'll hunt them for your vengeance. Well, I won't kill his daughter—for obvious reasons. But I can't guarantee that with her baby."
Jimmy snickered at the provoking words, staying still and quiet—partly from the pain.
"Well, anyway, I can't bid farewell to my brother in these rags." He pointed at the tattered, bloodstained shirt.
With that, he unbuttoned his blue vest and pulled it off, followed by the red bow tie at his neck. Then, with a mother's care, he put the vest on Jimmy and tied the bow tie around his neck, making a perfect fit. Jimmy struggled, but he couldn't do anything against Max's iron grip.
"You've always had bad dressing sense. But see? Now you look presentable."
With that said, Max uncuffed Jimmy and dragged him to a nearby stair step. Banging his head on it, he made him grimace again.
Then he grabbed the back of Jimmy's head, hauling it up and adjusting his jaw on the staircase at an angle.
Realizing what was about to happen, Jimmy squirmed and struggled under the iron grip—which forced him onto the stairs, already cracking his jaw and tearing his lips. Unable to bear it anymore, Jimmy's eyes squeezed shut, tears seeping out.
"Previously, when any executions happened, all of us would be present to witness—to engender fear and obedience among the family members. But Father never dragged you there. Because you have a weak heart."
"What a delicious irony, isn't it? You're finally present here for the first time—not as a spectator, but as the convict himself."
A humming mumble escaped Jimmy's throat, but it was unintelligible.
"Alas, you can't say your last words."
With that, Max stood up and stomped on the back of Jimmy's head with his heavy boot.
The crack echoed through the walls, sending chills down the spines of the enforcers—and especially the brute, who jumped in place.
Then, as though not satisfied with once, he stomped again—this time totally dislocating and shattering the jaw.
After that, he pulled out his gun, adjusted the safety lock, and poured three bullets into Jimmy's left back—exactly where his heart was.
Blood pulsed out like water from underground, staining the new navy blue vest a darker shade and pooling on the floor.
Stepping in the viscous blood, Max pushed Jimmy's body with his boot, upending it. Then, somewhat distressed, he adjusted the jaw with his other leg—carefully.
And still not satisfied, he knelt down, shutting Jimmy's lifeless eyes and wiping the blood from his face with his cuff.
Max looked rather thoughtful and contemplative, gazing at the figure that stood out through the battered lifelessness.
Jimmy looked particularly handsome: broad forehead, gaunt face that sharpened his features, and wavy, lush black hair.
The rain outside had reduced. The shrouded sun was finally falling below the horizon. Streetlights
outside flickered on.
The room grew eerily still, as though an artwork frozen on canvas. The dusk outside had taken over the time.