Breaking Nirvana.
1397 Words
The wind howled through the pier, sending ripples across the dark water. Adrian exhaled, the tip of his cigarette glowing red in the night. His fingers curled around the stick, tightening as his mind wandered back to her…Nirvana. He despised the way she carried herself now, all confidence and defiance, no longer the naive little doll he had once manipulated so easily. It was infuriating.
"That bastard..." he muttered, smoke curling from his lips as he thought of RAyNe St. Trinity. The man was a menace, a force no one dared to trifle with. And yet Nirvana had somehow slipped under his protection. How had she managed that? It was laughable.
Footsteps approached from behind, and Adrian turned slightly, casting a glance over his shoulder.
"Mr. Holt..." the man addressed him, voice low, cautious. He was a wiry figure, not particularly tall, but sharp-eyed and efficient. The type Adrian paid well to do his dirty work.
Adrian flicked his cigarette into the water. "You took your time."
The man didn’t reply, merely waited. Smart.
Reaching into his coat, Adrian pulled out a thick envelope and tossed it toward him. "Five hundred grand. There's another 1.5 million waiting once the job is done."
The man caught it, flipping through the stacks with practiced ease. "Target?"
Adrian smirked. "Jordan Castillo."
A beat of silence. The hitman’s brows lifted ever so slightly. "The guy’s locked up."
"And?" Adrian challenged, voice dripping with ice. "Make it look natural. A prison accident. A medical emergency. I don’t care how, just get it done."
The man hesitated. "That might take some time."
Adrian’s jaw ticked. "You have twenty-four hours."
The man exhaled, slipping the money into his jacket. "You'll have your news by tomorrow."
Adrian nodded, but as he turned to leave, something bitter clung to the edges of his mind. Nirvana. That damn woman who should have been broken by now, crawling back to him. He had expected her to shatter, to be desperate, but instead, she was thriving. And he hated it.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. She had been so naive before, so easy to mold. Her big, trusting eyes had once looked at him like he was her whole world. She had clung to his every word, followed him blindly. And yet, she was never supposed to shine brighter than Celeste.
"She's prettier and smarter than Celeste even..." he murmured, his lips curling in self-disgust.
He had told himself for years that he never loved Nirvana. That it was all an act, a game of manipulation and vengeance. But a sliver of doubt had always remained buried deep within him. Was it a lie? Had he really felt nothing for her? Even now, when she stood tall, defiant against him, he felt something tighten in his chest. Was it anger? Frustration? Or something far worse?
A gust of wind whipped across the pier, and he clenched his fists. It didn’t matter. She was a pawn that had slipped from his grasp, and he wasn’t about to let her stay that way. She would fall again. He would make sure of it.
He stepped away from the water’s edge, his footsteps echoing against the wooden planks. "Remember, Swanson," he called back without turning. "If anyone asks, you were never here."
The man nodded, but Adrian didn’t wait for a response. His mind was already on the next move, the next way to bring Nirvana crashing back down. Because if he couldn’t have her, then no one could.
Jordan Castillo sat in his prison cell, his fingers gripping the worn-out pen as he scribbled on a sheet of paper. The dim light from the overhead bulb flickered, casting eerie shadows on the cold, concrete walls. The evening air was thick with an unsettling stillness, but he paid no mind to it.
He wrote with a quiet determination, his mind filled with memories of his daughter. Nirvana. His little girl. His reason to keep going. He smiled faintly as he thought of her, remembering how she had once clung to his hand as a child, her eyes bright with curiosity and trust. She had been just ten when his wife…her mother, Juleen Castillo..had passed away. He still remembered the way she cried in his arms that night, her small fingers clutching his shirt as if he were the only anchor left in her world.
"Juleen..." he whispered, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer. His heart clenched at the thought of his late wife. The vibrant, red-haired woman who had been the light of his life. She had been full of laughter, the kind of woman who could bring joy to the dullest of days. Nirvana had inherited her mother’s fire, her sharp wit, her fierce determination.
Reaching into the chest pocket of his prison uniform, Jordan pulled out a small, worn-out photograph. Juleen’s face smiled back at him, her eyes sparkling even through the faded image. His thumb brushed over the picture, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel the warmth of her presence.
He exhaled shakily, turning his eyes back to the letter. The words on the paper blurred slightly as tears threatened to spill, but he quickly blinked them away. He had to be strong. For Nirvana.
"We’ll be united soon," he whispered, sealing the letter with a quiet resolve.
The sound of metal scraping against metal made him stiffen. The prison bars groaned as they were pushed open, and three rough-looking men stepped inside. Their expressions were unreadable, but Jordan recognized the look in their eyes. Predators.
He straightened, his fingers subtly folding the letter beneath his palm.
The tallest of the three, a man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, took a step forward. "Jordan Castillo?"
Jordan’s gaze flickered over them before landing back on the scarred man. "Who’s asking?"
The man smirked, his teeth flashing under the dim light. "We’ve got a message for you. From Mr. Holt."
The mention of that name sent a chill down Jordan’s spine. His blood turned cold. Adrian Holt. And where Holt was involved, trouble wasn’t far behind. He had raised that bastard like his own, even after he had grown and was old enough to be on his own, he had still let him stay and not cut him off because of his daughter Nirvana.
His fingers twitched over the letter. He knew what was coming.
"You bastards don’t waste time, do you?" he muttered, his voice calm despite the hammering in his chest.
Scarface chuckled. "Time is money, Castillo. And you, my friend, have run out of both."
Before Jordan could react, pain exploded in his chest.
A knife.
His breath hitched, his body jolting as the blade plunged deep, right where his heart resided. A sharp gasp left his lips, but there was no time to process the agony before the knife was yanked out and driven in again.
And again.
And again.
Eight times. Eight deep, merciless strikes.
Jordan's body crumpled to the floor. Blood gushed from his wounds, pooling beneath him, staining the letter that had been meant for Nirvana. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as his life drained away. He choked, his mouth filling with the metallic taste of his own blood.
The men stepped back, satisfied.
Scarface wiped the blade on Jordan’s prison uniform. "Job’s done. Let’s get out of here."
They turned without another word and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the broken body of a man who had once ruled an empire.
Jordan’s breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. The world around him grew distant, hazy. He could no longer feel the pain, just an unbearable cold seeping into his bones.
Memories flickered through his mind like a fading film reel.
Nirvana’s laughter as a child. Her little hands wrapped around his finger. Her teenage years, her stubbornness, her brilliance. The last time he had seen her before all of this…before and after his empire crumbled, before Adrian’s betrayal, before everything had gone to hell.
His fingers trembled as they reached for the bloodstained letter. He tried to clutch it, tried to hold on, but his strength was failing him.
His baby girl…
He was never going to see her again.
A tear slipped down his cheek as his final breath left him, and the darkness swallowed him whole.
- Writer
