Dalaric "Ricky" Mikael was known for two things; being the country's best assassin and being a silent brute.
His demons enveloped him in darkness and he saw no light at the end of any tunnel.
Until a girl, who's weird and wears nothing but a pair of...
Oops! Ang larawang ito ay hindi sumusunod sa aming mga alituntunin sa nilalaman. Upang magpatuloy sa pag-publish, subukan itong alisin o mag-upload ng bago.
- Two years ago -
Loud chatter echoes from within the house as I enter. The smell of roast and steak hits me right in the damn face. White ass family.
My hand, that's still bandaged from the incident, stays put on the doorknob. I should fucking leave.
I really want to fucking leave. But Emily asked me to stay.
And she deserves that much.
Rubbing a hand down my face, I walk towards the dining room where a few laughs echo. Disgusting.
"Ricky? You made it!" Emily stands from her seat, her eyes filled with gratitude and compassion. Both of which I'm foreign to.
"Just fucking great, mom. He had to come to thanksgiving too? Haven't you done fucking enough for this guy?"
I hold back my already bruised fist from knocking the fuck out of Landon, who sits opposite his father.
You don't disrespect Emily under her own damn roof.
Emily looks at my clenched hands before shaking her head. Her blonde hair is curled perfectly as her blue ass eyes look at me like I'm her son. She takes out a chair for me, her hands eagerly signaling for me to sit as she goes back to mixing a salad.
I take a seat, even though everything in my instinct tells me not to. Just one look at her smile towards me and I start thinking of my own mother, someone I've never met. Would she have been like Emily?
I hate it. I hate that they're so fucking perfect. They're even wearing matching clothes. Emily's dressed in a blue skirt that matches her husband's tie which also matches Landon's shirt.
Almost subconsciously, I look at my own clothes. Black gym shorts and a plain black shirt with gunpowder on it.
Always fucking happens. She doesn't even care that I'm getting filth on her pristine leather dining chairs. She's just fucking smiling at me.
Stop fucking smiling at me.
"I'm cap of the football team now, dad. Coach announced it earlier this morning."
I pick up a breadstick, much to Emily's dismay, who slides over a plate filled with her perfect fucking food.
My eyes betray me and meet my foster father's. He smirks at me making sure to keep the involuntary eye contact as he talks to his son.
"I'm proud of you, son. At least one of you is doing something impressive."
I'll fucking shoot you in the head if that's impressive.
