Project Mercy

Chapter 4

When we got back to the house, I was directed to stand in the centre of the living room, just in front of the coffee table. Hans sat on the sofa facing me, the once adoring eyes now replaced with hate and disgust.

When we’d got out of that room Lady had to go back in, this time with armed guards. Hans shouted angrily on the phone to, I assume was Denzel, a vein pops out of his wrinkled forehead as his face gets redder as he listens to the deep voice on the other end of the line. 

He’s probably majorly confused why he was seeing a man who was meant to be dead, trying to take the serum and me away from him.

Even though I hate these people and what they do, it still pisses me off when I save their arses then get a bollocking after, perhaps it’d slipped Hans’s mind that I’m the one who saved his ass from whatever Graycen’s group calls themselves. I honestly can’t with this guy.

 If I’m honest it was refreshing to see an old friendly face, though I didn’t like him in my head. I had a feeling that after years of pulling the wool over the Elite’s eyes it would soon bite me in the arse, Graycen’s fake death seemed to be the last trick I could pull. 

When I first met Graycen, I was set the task of getting rid of him. He’d hijacked one of the Elite’s cargo ships when it was making its way to America from the Caribbean islands. 

So, Instead of completing the mission, I made the brave decision to keep him alive. I had intel from other sources that he was a part of a rival organisation that was trying to cease the actions of the Elite. I admire their confidence, but they’ll need much more than weapons and one magic dude to take down a worldwide terrorist organisation like the Elite.

Suddenly I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a hard punch to the face that causes me to fall on my knees. The balls on this guy, honestly.

A hot, bitter and salty liquid collects into my mouth causing me to spit violently as the taste made me gag in disgust, as I did this the looming shadow of Hans cascaded over me. His hand grabs my neck with a tight grip pulling my face up to his, his foul breath wafts into my face making me cringe in distaste.

“ You are so god damn lucky that Denzel’s put you in for a correction, I would’ve f*****g killed you for what you pulled today, but fortunately for you, I’m not in charge of what happens to you” 

Another pool of bitter liquid collects in my mouth again so I take the perfect opportunity to smother him in it, I smirk as he lets go of my neck and wipes his face with the white sleeves of his shirt. As he turns he knocks a metal case over causing the loud sound of glass clashing together.

“You b***h, do you know how much this shirt costs?” Hans shouts, turning back around. 

 With his face smudged with my blood and his shirt sodden, his hand still balls into a fist. He scowls, then swings back building the momentum of his upcoming punch, but as it comes inches away from my face I catch it using it to pull myself up from the now bloody floor. The white butterflies were now stained with blood. It’s quite a fierce look if you ask me.

Hans tries to pull away, but my vice grip stops him. I tilt my head with a mocking smile, “Shocked, sir?”

I forcefully push his wrist back earning a painful click indicating it was broken, he screams in pain falling onto his knees.

 “It seems that we have swapped roles, perhaps I should treat you the way you have treated me all these years. It sounds fair. Does it not?” I stare into his fearful eyes, twirling my magic around in my hand. 

Swiftly I tap his head, causing his eyes to turn a shade of grey.

I let go of his broken wrist as he fell back onto the floor with his face holding no expression at all, his mind filling with all the painful memories,experiences and loss which I’d had over the years. 

People say that pain is the worst feeling that can happen to a person, but until you experience it, the worst feeling is grief. This is because it shatters a person into thousands of pieces. Sometimes that grief can be accepted, letting you move on with your life, perhaps making you stronger, but I could never let go of that grief.

 It consumes me, making me unable to think straight or even be myself. Everyday I feel the urge to let go get stronger and stronger, but I stubbornly choose to bottle it up, making me a bomb waiting to explode. 

One day I will let go but today I’ll be good with giving him that pain.