Chapter Text
“Mr. Breston, your complaints do not entirely concern the rest of us.”
Richard Breston’s face seemed to grow redder and redder by the minute, almost matching the bloody glint of his eyes. Still, his voice was oddly low for a man who seemed to be on the verge of losing his shit entirely.
“We’re all in town, aren’t we? I figured it would be good to talk about this during our fun little gathering .” The man stretches his shoulders, revealing a hint of a gun holster strapped sturdily to his chest, just beneath his Tom Ford jacket. He flashes them all a toothy grin, almost like a dog baring its canines. “Come on, I missed all of my good friends!”
Despite his overly jovial tone, Riftan knew it was only a thin layer of deceit over a mountain of malice. Everyone in the room, however, does not move a muscle.
“This meeting is supposed to be about the quarterly earnings of - .”
“And as my good friends, I believe this matter at hand can directly affect all of us. Are you all telling me that none of you are even concerned about this blatant breach of security?”
Chief Executive Officer Elnuima Reuben III, who clearly did not like being cut off, gives the man a stony glare.
“It is not our fault that your carelessness has led you to lose information of great significance. All we can do is wait for you to compensate us for our respective losses.”
“I didn’t lose shit!” Slam ! Breston has finally lost the little patience he held, letting it drip out of the fist he slammed on the vibrant mahogany table. “The documents were stolen from me! Stolen!”
Reuben scoffs. “Obviously. But why should your incompetence matter to the rest of us?”
“I am demanding an internal investigation! The thieves should be brought to justice as soon as possible, and yet none of you bastards are doing anything about it!”
“Are you insinuating, Mr. Breston, that one of us is the thief?” Sejour Aren says lightly, tilting his head to the side. As much as Riftan found the other man annoying, he said what they were all thinking.
“Hah! It’s the only explanation why you’re all so calm right now.”
“Watch your tongue.” Reuben drawls, smiling innocuously. “I did not fly all the way here just to be accused.”
Breston’s jaw clenched, like the tightening of a rope. Riftan nearly cracks a smile. Even Richard Breston couldn’t throw a temper tantrum against one of the richest business tycoons in the world. His next words held the restraint of a snake that had a fist around its throat.
“I am here to question the validity of our partnership. How can you all expect me to stay complacent when a thief has managed to breach my impregnable defenses? And are none of you even remotely concerned that any of you could be targeted next? Your complacency honestly astounds me!”
It was Riftan’s turn to scoff. “Impregnable?”
“Whoever the thief is,” Breston snaps, giving Riftan a pointed glare, “they managed to breach my main office’s building, evade over hundreds of security cameras, incapacitate two dozen guards, and leave with my archives without leaving a single trace!”
“It’s obviously an inside job.” Kuahel Leon murmurs, monotone and uncaring. It only made Breston’s face further flush with rage. He hisses the next word scornfully, looking at Riftan with a fire in his eyes.
“ Exactly .” And even after all of that, Riftan doesn’t even blink, cool as an aforementioned cucumber.
Any outsider would think of why that querulous albino - the son of Balto INC. who lacked the forbearance of his father - would even bother involving the rest of the continent’s most powerful men into the fruit of his own incompetence. Shit like this was the reason why Riftan was the last man to sign a joint agreement on their respective companies. The current situation they were in was the exact reason why he didn’t want to be involved with them in the first place. Riftan hated group activities outside of his own organization; why he didn’t like the after work drinking or the droning conferences with these men he couldn’t trust. But it was the world he was forged into, and such a world involved having to put up with people who were born into power that they absolutely did not deserve.
It seemed like Reuben wanted to put an end to the jabbering as well. He sighs, places a clunky ring clad hand on the table.
“Do you want me to contact law enforcement, Richard?”
“No!” Of course. Not a single person in the room wanted to contact the police. Not even at gunpoint.
“Then what do you want?”
“For all of you to let my investigators do their job.”
“This is preposterous! Your investigators keep asking for confidential information of my investors and shareholders. What you are asking for is a breach of our privacy!” There is a furrow in Aren’s usually relaxed brows. Breston only lifts a dimpled chin haughtily.
“It is a private investigation. You don’t have to be wary if you have nothing to hide.”
A smirk lifts the corner of Riftan’s lips. “Even you must know that’s a stupid excuse to spy on us.”
Riftan doesn’t need to look to know that Breston was rearing his head to snarl at him like a dog again. But before he could make any brainless insults about Riftan’s heritage, Reuben’s powerful voice cuts through the modernist conference room.
“Fine. I shall help you with this… oversight.” The man pinches the area between his brows in exasperation, clearly annoyed. “All I ask is that you wait until after tonight’s festivities are over before I assist you in your investigation.”
“But - !”
“That is my only request. I’m sure the son of Heimdall Breston is courteous enough to respect my wishes.” The patient smile on Reuben’s lips only further agitated the man, but Breston uncharacteristically clenched his jaw shut.
With a flourish, Reuben finally calls the meeting to a close. Breston exits the room with a huff, trailed by the battalion of men he brought with him. Riftan notes the respective guns inconspicuously strapped to their bodies. Kuahel Leon, who was sitting quietly next to him, leaves without a word. Reuben gives Sejour a lilted smile when the brown-haired man proceeds to make some small talk, asking about the older man’s flight and whatnot - the jetlag must be terrible! He chirps - before he takes the hint and finally leaves.
Then it was just the two of them.
The older man doesn’t do, or say anything, for a solid minute. Just… stares. Riftan fixates on the ornate clock on the wall, not because he couldn’t meet Reuben’s gaze but because he was just a little tired of looking at the man. It was like staring at an old nutcracker - soulless and a little creepy. After a while, Reuben calls for someone outside, and a handful of men enter. They swept the room, looked under chairs and tables, one even had a device that could detect electromagnetic waves or whatever the fuck. Riftan knew Reuben was checking to see if anyone had left any recording devices and suppressed a huff. Looks like he wasn’t free from tedium just yet.
After the men have left, Reuben sighs and continues rubbing his forehead, much like an annoyed parent.
Riftan only leans back against the leather chair, wanting to rip off the tie around his throat for the past two hours now. “You told me you wanted to speak with me after the meeting?”
“What the hell did you do, Calypse?”
“Nothing.”
Reuben’s lip tilts a little. “Far too casual of an answer for my liking.”
“You'd prefer I act like Breston then?”
“You must know that it would cause concern for anyone if they had been slighted the same way.”
Riftan nods. “Of course.”
“I found out what information has been stolen from him.” The older man says impassively, but the look in his eyes said something otherwise. “Bank account statements, names, transactions…”
“Do you think the feds did it?”
“No. If the police had their hands on such information about the Breston family, it would have been enough for a conviction. It must be somebody underground.”
“And you think I stole from him?”
“I don’t know. Did you steal from him?”
“No.”
Reuben huffs again, clearly tired of Riftan’s bullshit. Riftan gives him a little sardonic smile.
“You promised to help him. Will you make me a main suspect?”
The man looks at him, golden brown eyes glinting like molten amber, before he shakes his head in disapproval. “You heard him. He has little to no evidence about the thief.”
“So why do you think it was me then?”
“I know you. You’re slippery.” He was right. Riftan worked from the bottom up, and that involved the importance of tactfulness. Sometimes it involved acting as a high-end investment broker’s bodyguard before shooting a bullet through his head a week after. Even after all of that, there he was years later, talking casually with a billionaire. Unscathed, undetected, as free as a bird. All in all, he knows how to lay low and be undetectable. “And I know of your shared animosity, especially after the deal Breston signed and with whom… ”
Riftan holds his breath, but Reuben doesn’t notice. He keeps talking.
“With Croix signing that agreement, Breston’s continuous hostility, and the absolute leverage that kind of information would give you… Mistake me for no fool, Calypse.”
“You think too highly of me.”
“I think you’re conniving.”
“And I think I’m innocent.” A smile lifts on Riftan’s lips. From the corner of his eye he sees Uslin enter the room. “Tell me the truth, Mr. Reuben. Why do you want me to be involved so badly?”
He looks at the man, all bushy beard and simplistic, slicked back hairstyle with an equally unassuming maroon suit to match. On his lapel sat an enamel pin of a roaring lion. It was most likely a gift from his children, and it was the only glamorous aspect of his outfit. It didn’t betray the absolute power the man beheld. In all honesty, the only one who was capable of stealing anything under anyone’s noses was Reuben.
But he didn’t steal from Breston. Riftan knew for sure.
“Those documents can help us dig our heels in Croix’s momentum. His shareholders will second guess him, and then he’ll grow weaker.”
“You want those documents for yourself.”
“Of course I do.”
“Just to gain leverage over Croix.”
“Correct.”
“Very incriminating of you.” Riftan is smiling now, full and wide. It was a twisted smile. “And if I were to have them, I can give them to you. Correct?”
“Would you?”
Riftan leans in a little, looking at the man squarely in the eye. “You know that I am at your service.” Reuben laughs.
“I had no idea that a man of your power was capable of such humility.”
“I am only telling the truth.” Uslin, who was idling by the door, finally found the strength to approach them. He shoves his phone screen in front of Riftan, just out of view from Reuben’s men.
It was a message sent by Hebaron. Beneath a gif of Jim Carrey doing the thumbs up was the picture of a man, illuminated by the solitary light of a warehouse.
Riftan knew it was time to go. “I assure you, I do not have those files. All I can do is promise you that I will try to find them in your stead. Now, will you promise me that you will get off my back?”
Reuben looked like a bristled porcupine, spikes up and brows furrowed. Still, the man knew he was unable to do anything. He waves a hand and Riftan takes the cue to leave.
As soon as he left the room he promptly yanked the tie off his neck, letting it slide off his collar before stuffing it into his pocket. He feels his men - Elliot, Gabel and Lombar only. He didn’t need too much security - trail him as they exit the room, down the halls, and outside the glistening hotel. Just outside the lobby sat a discreet black car beneath the marble plated porte-cochère. He slides in the backseat. The rest of his men are on motorcycles behind the vehicle, and they drive off.
His hotel grows smaller and smaller in the distance as they drove off.
Thirty or so years ago, Anatol wasn’t the massive thirty-nine floor hotel complex that it was. Back then it consisted only of the rickety five-story apartment building of his childhood home. There was black mold on the walls and rats beneath the stairs. His stepfather only worked just enough to keep their heads above water, just enough so Riftan wasn’t left on the streets, while his mother struggled to keep afloat. Then she eventually drowned.
After school he would always head straight to town. While fellow youths were free to play in their lawns or hang out at the nearest strip mall, Riftan had to bounce between odd jobs just so they would have dinner that night. The people pitied him, but secretly, they were all glad they could pay him below minimum wage. He was thirteen when a woman in a bright green trench coat approached him and asked him if he wanted to make some money. Stupidly enough, he followed her into an apartment, thinking she would ask him to move her dishwasher or something. But all that greeted him was another woman, a mattress, and a camcorder. He never really liked hanging around women after that.
He couldn’t afford the third year of high school, and subsequently, college, and the knowledge alone was enough to make any army recruiter’s eyes sparkle. He was tall and strong and didn’t fear anything; and they were desperate enough that they basically made him lie about his age - they added three full years, and nobody even questioned him - when he signed up. Riftan blinked and found himself as a Private, and sooner or later, he had shoved a knee into his commanding officer’s stomach after the man tried to grope Riftan’s crotch while they were alone in the infirmary. Lots of men in the army were homophobic, but even that didn’t work to Riftan’s advantage. The man had tenure and was a good enough liar. Riftan threatened to leave the army if they didn’t let him move to a different squad. They processed his request, which was honestly fucking baffling. But he was too much of an asset. They couldn’t lose their strongest soldier.
Then he was in Balto, and then Livadon, and then he was promoted to Colonel. There were some other men who complained - about his race or his standing or why he was promoted so quickly. His commanding officer told the rest of the battalion that those who were against his rise to power shall deal with Riftan physically, and then nobody complained after that. When he tries to remember these things, it all seems like a blur. He officially left after eight years or so. He felt like a husk of a man, but he didn’t want to return to the army either. Sometimes he wonders if he has PTSD, but Riftan has never had nightmares of gunfire or violence or the faces of those he has killed. His nightmares were calm, eerie, quiet.
When he returned to his hometown, most of the old buildings had been bulldozed to the ground. Residents were displaced for the sake of Ezion Croix’s shiny new infrastructures and parks sodded with fake grass. His stepfather was nowhere to be found and he didn’t know where to go.
And then Elnuima Reuben III rings his phone, raves on about how someone is trying to kill him. That he needed protection.
Riftan snaps out of his reverie when the car hits a speed bump. His phone was in his hand, mid text. Oh right.
Going to make a detour. Someone might be tracking us. Keep him waiting.
He hits send, sees that Hebaron has immediately read it, and shuts his phone. Outside the window the familiar sight of train tracks and a soaring mountain skyline meets his view, alongside the quaint housing development that was built not too far away.
When the car is finally parked on the sidewalk, Riftan saunters to the nearest door. It opened before he could ring the doorbell.
“Come in.” Rudis says. He does. Few seconds later, he is seated on a cushion embroidered with lilac flowers. A little kid, Rudis’ eldest child who was one of the very few children who were not afraid of him, gives him a mug filled with tea.
He places the mug on a nearby table. “How have you been?”
“Tired.” She was on her second week of maternity leave. Riftan offered to give her more time to rest, but she promised to be back to help Rodrigo in the management of the hotel soon enough. She did the same with her first pregnancy too, had the baby strapped to her chest while she oversaw the lobby cleaners and everything. “How is the gala tonight?”
“Everything is set.”
“Are they managing well over there?”
“The staff are surviving, but it’s not the same without you.” A wry smile lifts his lips before he gets to the point. “Have you picked up on anything?”
“Those men from Balto are up to no good. They were spotted going around town and asking questions.”
“About what?”
“About you.” She doesn’t miss a beat. “And Reuben. And what you have been up to.”
“Figures. Are they threatening civilians?”
“They’re definitely pushy, not so subtle. Very bad spies in my opinion.” Rudis shakes her head as if she was disappointed in them. “But your men pick up on things quickly and the patrolmen have kept us safe.”
“Monitoring the entirety of town is difficult during this time. Having people suffer from interrogations or abductions for my sake is the last thing I want.”
“I don’t think anyone wants that either.”
“I want you to spread the word. If they threaten violence and nobody is around to defend any of you, just give them the information they want.”
“That's very bad advice coming from a syndicate leader.” The way her eyebrow raised signaled to Riftan that she thought he was crazy. He probably was.
“I’m serious.”
“And I’m sure that not a single soul in this town will ever turn their back on you.” Rudis cuts, smile soft. “Not even with a gun to their craniums.”
Riftan, for a second or so, doesn’t know what to say at first. He thinks of the futility of man, hopes that it won’t aid in his downfall just yet. But the possibility was always there. With the right reward, or the right beating, anyone will be more than willing to sell another out.
But he held an affection for this town and its sleepy citizens, from the butchers in the market to the money launderers by the backalleys. They had a hard life, just like he did, and were making the most of everything. Riftan always tried his best to contribute to said everything, and they always made him know that they were grateful.
“I don’t want things to escalate to that. Tell everyone to remain vigilant at the very least.”
“You don’t need to tell us that. Everything is going to be fine. Plus, there was an incident by the train station this morning when we were out to buy pies…”
Riftan feels his brows furrow. “What incident?”
“There were - “
“A buncha’ dudes tried to start a fight!” Rudis’ child - aptly named Noah - steps in excitedly. “They were all like ‘hey man why ‘ya running away?’ and like ‘leave us alone!’ and then one of them got kicked in the balls!”
He feels his brow raise. Rudis frowns at her child. “Language. But yes, something like that.”
“Are they Breston’s men? What did they want?”
“I am not sure if they are from Balto. I think they were just harassing a few people and making too much of a ruckus. Then they got offended when us locals didn’t want to talk to them.”
“Did they hurt anyone?”
“No. I mean, they tried to grab this one person, and then - “
“This one dude totally beat him up! All like pow, bam! ” Noah returns with much gusto, waving his fists in the air and making crude karate noises. “There was flipping and punching and flipping, like that Jack Channie!”
“It’s Jackie Chan.” There is a silent warning in Rudis’ eyes, promising the child she’ll whoop him later. “But one person managed to incapacitate over five men. In all honesty, it was quite the scene.”
“Who is he?”
“I didn’t see his face. He was wearing a beanie and a face mask. Left in a flash too.”
While Riftan is deep in thought, Noah takes Riftan’s mug and drinks from it. Rudis barks at her child, but the kid only looks at Riftan with an excited gaze, clearly thrilled with the action he witnessed in person. “He had creepy eyes though, Mr. Calypse. They were like - big, and glowin’ in the dark and stuff.”
The child’s statements only made Riftan more confused. Rudis sighs. “They were silver.”
All Riftan could do was nod slowly. “I will have to get CCTV footage from the station. What time did this happen?”
“Around 8-ish.”
Right when the guests started arriving. He makes a mental note of this vigilante. He couldn’t take any risks.
He chats with Rudis for a while longer. Although he doesn’t like staying idle for too long, speaking with the woman was always a fruitful endeavor. Rudis ran a book club that encompassed nearly fifty women, all of whom had eyes and ears around town. They had an active group text too. Silly facebook reels were often sent alongside certain codes and messages.
Riftan remembers the first time he returned to his childhood home after being discharged from the army. The apartment building was one month away from being razed to the ground. He witnessed Rudis and Rodrigo trying to remove a couple of cocaine-riddled squatters who had broken into the first floor apartments. Riftan had grabbed the junkies by the collars and threatened to snap their necks if they returned.
Rudis and Rodrigo thanked him that day, gave him a cup of coffee and let him stay the night. Even though the building was a shit excuse of a home, they told him they were glad that it wasn’t going to be demolished just yet.
And then four or five years later, they stood by Riftan’s side as they watched a wrecking ball destroy it into nothing.
He bids her a short goodbye, not minding the little kid that kept asking him if he could hold Riftan’s gun. Uslin, Gabel, and Lombar were all waiting for him outside.
“Anyone trailing us?”
Uslin shakes his head.
And with that, Riftan wordlessly slides into the car. He nods at the driver through the rearview mirror and they drive off.
He was successful in appearing as nonchalant and composed as he could be all throughout the day. Truth be told, however, Riftan was as tense as a tightrope. It could be seen in the way he clenched his fists beneath the table during the meeting earlier, or the way he couldn’t stop bouncing his knee up and down right in that very car. It was uncharacteristic for a man like him, who was described to be as stoic as a fortress. Or as boorish as a bear - according to others.
Now that he was one step closer to retrieving the one thing he wanted most in the world, he felt his throat tighten like a coil.
Nearly an hour later Riftan spots a barn, standing by its lonesome in the middle of the sprawling planes by the town’s outskirts. He notes that there was only one other car there and two motorcycles.
He slides out of the car and casually walks into the abandoned building, not betraying the rapid beating of his heart and feeling the air inside be drastically different from anything outside. It smelled musty, like the inside of a shoe. From his peripherals he could see his men waiting idly by the side and staying within the shadows. The man in the middle looks at him expectantly.
“Mr. Calypse! Took you longer than I expected…”
Chuckling nervously, the man takes a step or two back when Riftan begins to approach him.
“I-It’s all here, as you can see. I bought a shiny new envelope for you. It’s made of leather too! Who woulda’ thought?”
He feels his lungs constrict a little at the sight of the envelope in the man’s grip. It was indeed made of leather, but Riftan didn't give two shits. His fingers twitched in anticipation.
Hugo was the man’s name. A brown-nosing middle aged man with a bald spot bigger than his charisma. The type of person Riftan would so readily despise - if he wasn’t of some use. And now, he very much was.
Riftan does his best to conceal his emotions, smoothly unclasping the envelope’s ivory buttons to grab the wad of papers inside. His eyes skim over the text greedily, fingers rifling through the documents with the determination of a starving tiger.
“So, will the five mil be wired? Or is it through cash…”
Not a single word registered in Riftan’s head. His heart began to beat loudly in his chest, as if he was the greediest man alive and he had just found out that the world was at his disposal.
“Personally I think cash would be preferable, what with all the new different ways they can track us ‘n stuff. Didja’ know that they could trace you just from a burger you buy? Fuckin’ bonkers! Right, Mr. Calypse?”
“Shut up.”
Thankfully the man does, lest Riftan would have throttled him then and there.
But he wasn’t mad, really, just…
Riftan reaches the last page. Checking them all felt like an eternity, but it was all there.
The most private, bone-chillingly confidential information of Balto Incorporation was right in the palm of his hands. The very papers that Richard Breston was losing his shit over just hours ago. A feeling so sweet and unsubtle rushed through his organs, and for the first time in a long time, Riftan felt hopeful.
He exhales, finally raising his head to look at the stout man in the eye. He flinches a little under Riftan’s sharp gaze.
“Does anyone suspect you?”
The man shakes his head. “Nope! The higher-ups aren’t even investigating much into my division. No stalkers either, that’s for sure.”
Of course. If Richard Breston even had an inkling of who amongst his men betrayed him, Hugo would have been tortured to death before he even managed to step foot in Anatol.
“And does anyone know you’re in Anatol?”
“Nadda.” He didn’t really need to ask. Riftan knew he had no family, and according to the bugs he planted in the man’s home and office, his coworkers and neighbors think he was on a ski trip. Hugo thought he was safe enough to not tell anyone of his whereabouts, like the absolute fucking idiot he is.
Riftan silently slips the papers back into the envelope. A smile stretches on his face.
“Congratulations on a job well done. What do you plan to do with your newly acquired wealth?”
The man’s face lights up, the yellow shine of the lightbulb above making his bald spot almost look like a porcelain plate.
“I’m glad you asked, Mr. Calypse! First thing I’m doin’ is headin’ straight to Livadon. Their strippers there got the biggest tits any bastard will see in their lifetime!”
Riftan’s smile widens. He reaches into his pocket.
“Then ‘imma head south and buy this swanky ass penthouse, probably get a tiger as a pet - “
Riftan’s matte black pistol glinted deadly silver as he began to point it at the man’s head.
“And then - “
BANG!
In the next second Hugo has fallen to the floor, with little bits of steam leaving the hole in his cranium. The bullet wound is precise, clean, smack dab in the middle of his wideset forehead.
Riftan had killed him so swiftly that the man was unable to react, dying with that same old shit-eating grin on his face as he imagined a life of luxury he will never have.
His men are quick to move. Oftentimes they dispose of bodies the easy way - buried, thrown in oceans, and occasionally even exploded into pieces. But Riftan ordered for no traces of Hugo Vernos to be left, which is why one of his men was currently lugging around a large vat full of chemicals. As they went and swarmed the body, Riftan turned to leave the dusty warehouse before things got gross. Hebaron was quick to follow after him.
“Did you really have to kill him? Couldn’t he be of some use?” Uslin asks as soon as the setting sun pierces their eyes.
“He’s a weak link - ”
Hebaron snorts. “An idiot, more like.”
“ - and he would have been caught. We can’t afford to be suspected in the slightest.”
Granted, Riftan cleared his tracks up well. Even if Hugo managed to rat him out - if he were to still be alive, that is - there was no physical evidence that Riftan was involved in the thievery. Still, he knew Richard Breston played dirty, and the man already despised Riftan. He didn’t need more reasons to have someone shoot a bullet through Riftan’s head.
Well it’s not like anyone can at this point. But Riftan didn’t want his own hubris to cause his downfall, as it did with a lot of other men.
Uslin sighs, and then he looks at Riftan curiously.
“Do you plan on giving those documents to Reuben, then?”
Again, Riftan is reminded of that old geezer’s haughty face. He feels his gut twist a little. “Perhaps.”
“Don’t you think it would cause us less trouble if we bring down Balto and Croix with some help? It would cause more suspicion if we do it ourselves, but people wouldn’t bat an eye if a man like Reuben did it - “
“I’ll have to wait and see.”
“If you want, I can call for Agnes and have her - “
“You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
Without another word Riftan slides back into the car, hearing Hebaron chuckle at the dejected look on Uslin’s face before slamming the door shut. His mind is swirling.
The car begins to move, revving and speeding down the abandoned road. He closes his eyes, almost clutching the documents to his chest.
He really was going to give the information to Reuben. Really . The man has helped Riftan and Anatol in more ways than one - well, in the way a man gives his pet treats after it performed a trick - but he had some things to do first. Things that didn’t involve Reuben, or Anatol, or the rest of the underground network that he had entangled himself into. This was just for him and his peace of mind.
He looks out into the peaceful scenery, watches the darkness of the night begin to slowly bleed in the heavens like ink. Not even the tint of his windows could hide the majestic oranges and reds of the sunset. He swallows the lump in his throat, feeling parched.
Riftan allows himself to think like an idiot for once. That this is his last shot at happiness. He thinks that once he finds her, sees that she is happy healthy and alive , that it was enough for him to move on. He would give up the documents to Reuben and the grandpa could do whatever the fuck he pleased with them. And he would leave her alone forever, that he’ll do his absolute fucking best to stop thinking about her, and he would be alright. Yes, he would finally be alright.
With a faint tremor in his hands, he takes the documents out and looks for the Croix insignia.
His vault at his home was more secure, but he couldn’t return just yet. Instead Riftan and his men headed straight for the hotel. After ordering them to help in the preparations, he heads straight for his penthouse suite at the top.
Like a jackass, Riftan had his very own private elevator. Rodrigo insisted they install one while they were building the place - for your privacy! the man said - and the small lift betrayed the glamorous, semi-minimalistic design of the entire building. Personally, he didn’t really give a damn. Riftan was a man of singular taste and could honestly survive in just a cardboard box, and if it weren't for a certain someone he was sure he would have done a terrible job of setting up the hotel’s aesthetics.
On cue, the elevator doors opened on the twelfth floor. Ruth’s eyes narrowed at him from the other side, unmoving.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Riftan snaps.
“Didn’t you see the maintenance notice? They say this elevator is having some issues!”
“I was told the issue has been fixed.”
“I refuse to enter that death trap with you of all people - !”
Ruth yelps when Riftan promptly yanks him inside. Amidst Ruth’s complaints and grumbling, Riftan had already closed the elevator and sent it zipping all the way up.
And then the man notices the envelope in Riftan’s hands. It shocks him enough that he pulls away the hood of his crumpled 2007 Champion hoodie, his gray hair stuck out every which way like a raggedy broom. “Is that - “
“Has the safe been installed?” His fingers keep fidgeting against the envelope, as if it was made of fire. A part of him wanted to throw the thing into the sun.
“Yeah, but Rodrigo had to oversee it.”
“What the hell have you been doing all day then?”
An offended look crosses Ruth’s face. “Excuse you? I’ve been keeping an eye on our guests’ whereabouts like you ordered!”
“Hm.”
“The only ones who left the hotel are Mr. Robern’s and Mr. Godfrey’s teenage children. They went sightseeing, I think.” Which was not surprising. Apart from the rumbling underground activity and violence, the town was well known for its sprawling mountains and scenic views. “Also Sejour Aren.”
“Where the hell did that bastard go?”
“He visited a boxing match. He also tried to coerce Mr. Leon into joining him.”
Riftan didn’t need to be told to know that the blond hardass didn’t come with him. So that leaves - “Reuben and Breston?”
“Mr. Reuben is in his suite. Richard Breston has been in the bar all day.”
Fuck. But it was better than having the bastard tromp his way throughout town. “Nothing else?”
“Everything is set. We just need for this night to go smoothly.”
The doors open with a ding! and then the lavish and vast space of the penthouse greets him. Black and silver furniture settled neatly against the whites and wooden accents of the interior. It was all bougie enough that there was a fucking firepit in the middle of the room, one that Riftan never bothered to use. There are no picture frames on the walls and little to no personal items littered about - but the room was packed and complete with furniture and appliances and tacky fur rugs. The place always seemed overcrowded to Riftan, yet it felt empty at the same time.
He liked the floor to ceiling windows though. Sometimes he felt like a Bond villain, staring out at the people beneath during cold and lonely nights with a glass of Jameson in his hands.
“We need to verify the documents.” He saunters inside as if he owned the place - he did - while Ruth plopped onto one of the massive sectional couches as if he didn’t care about Riftan’s presence - he didn’t.
“Do you think he might’ve given us fakes?”
“I checked already, but we can’t be too complacent.” Even if Hugo had given him dupes, Riftan would’ve found a way to get the real documents eventually. He was that duplicitous - or desperate.
While Ruth puts up his sneakers on the nearest coffee table, Riftan rounds the corner of the massive kitchen island and grabs himself a drink. He watches Ruth swiftly pull out his laptop - there were stickers from Livadon stuck to the back - and get to work. The rapid clacking of the man’s keyboard sounded like an army running to battle.
Ruth Serbel was a man on the run, which contrasted greatly with how he acted and carried himself. No one would be able to guess that the youthful looking man with constant bedhead and a fashion sense that rivaled the teenagers who stole from Urban Outfitters was almost ten years older than Riftan - or that his whole clan wanted his head. Riftan wasn’t sure if they wanted it to still be attached to his body.
But Riftan can understand their frustration. He was the smartest kid in their generation - a genius , Ruth would say, before Riftan threatens to smack him upside the head - but Ruth didn’t like the constant hands that threatened to puppeteer his life. Plus, his family was traditional in a weird, suffocating, nearly incestuous way. The type of old money people who wouldn't like it if their children married a poor person. Or if they wanted to go to art school. Or if they ran away from home to make weapons and work as intelligence for the military before meeting Riftan and eventually forming a semi-legal underground empire with him. Cliche shit like that.
“I need you to help me look for someone first.”
“Who?”
“An associate of Croix.”
Ruth huffs when Riftan plops the documents on his lap.
“All records of that person have been erased almost twenty years ago. No database on this planet has her information, not even a glimpse on any public footage.” He knows. He checked. Repeatedly. Riftan takes a swig of bourbon, feeling parched yet again.
Ruth looks at him strangely, as if Riftan told him that he was found under a rock. “ Her ?”
And then he feels his ears burn. He hopes it was because of the alcohol, but he knew. Not even a day in and he was crumbling under his desperation. He swiftly avoids the question.
“The transactions from Breston’s joint agreement with Croix could be a possible lead.”
“ How, exactly?”
“The latest supply shipments Croix had were from the south, so it forced him to use his personal money instead of the company’s funds. From there we - “
“You want me to find a way to access Ezion Croix’s personal information? Are you not aware of how many alarms that will set off?” Ruth sputters.
“I don’t care. Just do it.”
“Just - Just do it ? Are you hearing yourself?”
“Are you hearing how goddamn whiny you are?”
“Why can’t you just open his Wikipedia page or something?”
Riftan had to close his eyes and count three imaginary sheep in his head. He had been so high strung he almost threw his glass against the wall, but he steels himself. He couldn’t let his anguish get the best of him - in public, at least.
“If you are as good as you always say,” Riftan makes sure to punctuate his words the way a saw cuts through wood, “then you can handle this job without having whoever twat they have working in Croix’s IT department detecting you. I need that information.”
“Look, it’s not that simple! I - what do you even want to get out of him, exactly? That’s a start, right? Instead of having you barge your way through things half blind like you always do - “
“Family. I need information on his family.”
Ruth blinks, confused. “Family? What are you - Do you plan on associating yourself with Rosetta Croix?“
“No, Ruth - “
“Like I get it, she’s a socialite, and I heard that the insurance of one of her sunglasses alone could solve world hunger, but I don’t think you guys will have the best chemistry - “
“You know what? Fucking forget it.“
“I’m sorry! Fine, I’ll do it!”
Riftan was already so hesitant to involve other people in his quest for knowledge. Having Ruth dig into his motives was almost enough for him to drop everything completely, which was a surprise. Since he usually didn’t give a damn about what other people thought. If he could, he could have tried to look for her himself, but he couldn’t. Riftan needed Ruth for this. The man was able to bring down a whole call center scam ring with just an iPad once.
He knocks back the rest of the bourbon like water and turns away, trying to simmer the bitter feelings in his chest that mingled with the alcohol. “If all you’re gonna do is be goddamn annoying - “
“Look, look!” Ruth leaps off the couch. He had the stance of a zookeeper trying to appease a furious tiger. “I’ll do it, alright? But I’ll need my computer. It’s not like I can make a Facebook account and catfish Croix into giving me his social security number.”
Riftan wishes it was that easy. He actually considered a similar option, but it involved hiring a hooker to try and wiggle her way into Croix’s adult diaper. Knowing how the frigid old man was probably incontinent, he decided to spare the fates of Anatol’s local prostitutes.
He resists rolling his eyes, silently deciding that he’ll deal with the documents later. “The safe?”
Ruth nods, dashing to the adjacent bedroom. Everything in there was exquisitely furnished as well. The king sized poster bed in the middle always made Riftan feel like a perverted medieval nobleman whenever he slept in it.
Soon enough he is face to face with a sizable safe, embedded deep into the back of a sparsely filled closet.
“Picked it out myself.” Ruth puffs contentedly. “The biometrics system was customized too.”
“Biometrics?”
“It’s more secure than a passcode.”
Riftan doubted that. Still, he lets Ruth program his fingerprint and iris scan - Riftan never would have thought he would be exposing his eye to a metal box’s nearly blinding laser - into the safe.
When he slips the envelope into the metal box and Ruth locks it shut with a mechanical ding, Riftan felt empty. He wanted to snatch the papers back and begin scouring the earth, comb through its plains and mountains and riversides.
But Rodrigo has been texting him for the past hour and the catering team still hasn’t found a proper flow within the hotel’s biggest function room. Also he was 90% sure that Breston will find a way to smuggle a whole battalion of strippers into the party later even though Riftan declared that the event was strictly formal. He just wanted the night to end even before it began.
He didn’t like to play host much.
Which was ironic, since he built and owns a literal hotel. But Rodrigo and the staff mostly handled things nowadays, and Riftan was better off intimidating gang leaders than sitting and smiling behind a counter.
But he could do little when Reuben insisted that they host their bi-annual get together at Anatol, and he couldn’t do shit when he had to host an afterparty. Something about a bunch of tuxedo clad degenerates in one room, sipping Bollinger and making half assed comments about Riftan’s race, doesn’t exactly sit right with him.
Yet he did all he could. The guests sat, drank, talked, ate. He gave a speech he honestly couldn’t give two shits about and told the staff to make sure the alcohol was always readily accessible - for his sake, but the three full flutes of champagne he downed were proving no effect as always.
He blinks away the low thump of the monochromatic lights that danced across the room, already feeling nauseous.
It was half an hour to midnight now. The droning, polite party ended an hour or so ago and many of the multimillionaire geriatrics have retired to their rooms. What was left were their multimillionaire bastard sons and daughters who transformed the function room into something similar to a rave. The DJ gave him a look of terror from across the room and only played EDM when Riftan gave him a tired nod. Like Riftan had predicted, he spots a dozen or so scantily clad women he never saw before prancing about, giggling and laughing at things that weren’t exactly funny. Riftan felt an impending headache.
“Some party, Mr. Calypse.”
Agnes Reuben had a talent for sounding so smug even when she hadn't done anything noteworthy. Riftan turns and sees her in a feminine cocktail dress, which was different to her usual corporate hipster getup. Her golden hair was curled ever so slightly, simple pearls around her neck and a faint shimmer of body glitter on her bare shoulders.
The blonde woman, 5’8 without heels and a fanged smile without fear, was not from old money. Agnes Reuben came from old old money. Money so old it was probably engraved on ancient Roemian tombs and crudely drawn on cave walls. Even speaking of her name was enough to open any door that might have been in her way. And just like her father, she hid the terrifying ordeal of her power well. She was responsible and smart, unlike other trust fund babies, even though her deceitful nature isn’t obvious at first.
And working with her was fine enough. She’s annoying and couldn’t keep to herself, but could get down to business when needed. And he could tolerate her - most of the time - and everything was manageable to Riftan’s already sparse temper. Except for that one time her father tried to rope them together. Marriage-wise. Riftan refused, much to his men’s bafflement, and so did Agnes, on account of the fact that Riftan lacked certain… body parts.
“Where’s your father?”
“He’s in his room, probably doing crosswords.”
“Crosswords?”
“Makes him feel grounded.” Agnes’ smile stretches, as if she was aware of the irony of it all. “Now, something tells me the girls aren’t your idea.”
As if to prove her point, a woman from across the room shrieks in delight when one of the men begins to do body shots on her fishnet clad belly button. Not even the loud, thumping house music could drown out their debaucherous jeers.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Agnes hums. “You could. But who would be left to take care of these lovely young women?”
“I’m sure you would be more than happy to accommodate them in that lesbian themed yacht of yours.”
“Excuse you? It’s a houseboat, Riftan.”
“I honestly don’t care.”
She laughs, bright and loose with a red flush to her tanned face. Riftan makes a quick judgment and guesses that the lost bottle of cognac was probably her doing, but at that point of the night, it could have been anyone. “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t shut the party down. Have you found enough doctors who are capable of removing that giant stick up your ass?”
It’s still there, Riftan wants to retort, but he steels himself. Hebaron, Gabel, and Elliot were playing quarters with some of Sejour’s men. It has been a long time since he saw them that loose, all wide grins and booming laughter, as if they didn’t have their intrinsic moralities questioned everyday. He’d hate to get sentimental and shit, but he didn’t like being a spoilsport either - most of the time. But it wasn’t their fault that Riftan was incapable of having any fun.
“Hello, handsome.” On cue, a bejeweled hand crept up from behind, sliding up the vast expanse of Riftan’s suit jacket and nestling neatly on his shoulder. He turns and sees a woman smiling up at him provocatively. She wore a red dress that was way too short for a party and he has never seen her before - oh, wait, she was a sister of someone equally as unimportant.
“What are you doing idling by the sides Mr. Calypse? You are the star of the night, after all.”
He wanted to throw her against the wall when she began to rub his trapezius with her fingers. “You don’t need to mind me. Just enjoy yourself.” The thump of the music made him sound less grievous than he did.
“Aw, but I think I’ll enjoy myself more with you. You seem to be the type of man who has a lot on his plate…”
He wanted to point out that she was beginning to add more to said plate. But despite the blatant furrow in his brow, her smile only became more excited.
“Ooh, your muscles are tense.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on his shoulder as she began to squeeze his back. Every movement made him want to crawl out of his skin. “Did you know I’m a masseuse?”
He gives her a wry smile. “I’m not interested. Piss off.”
Like he predicted, the woman steps away from him with an offended expression. She was brazen and straightforward, but it also seemed like she was very prideful. Maybe she didn’t handle rejection that much. Granted, beautiful people always don’t.
Agnes leans towards the other woman, smile sweet and eyes wicked. “Forgive him. He’s sick, you see. The doctors are having a hard time removing something from his body.”
Riftan resists rolling his eyes. The woman, lips pursed and expression confused, looks between Agnes and Riftan before stalking off in a huff. He hears a crash from somewhere in the room, probably a bottle smashing to the ground, followed by loud hoots and hollers. Riftan now fully rolls his eyes.
“Excuse me. I have to reinstall new security.” His current guards would probably get piss drunk and he couldn’t afford any chances tonight. A well manicured hand stops him from swiveling around.
“Come on now, you’re going to make this place feel like a prison ward.” Agnes tuts. “Would it kill you to have some fun?”
“It could.”
A smirk lifts her lips. “What’s there to worry about? I thought you were undefeatable. What’d they say again? That you can sense if a gun is pointed at you no matter how far away it is?”
He could sense more things than guns, actually, but he didn’t want to play into Agnes’ game. “Look, Miss Reuben, I’m sure you can find other things to play with other than my patience.”
“I sure can.” She wiggles her brows. “But I don’t like these northern girls. They’re too… excitable.”
“I thought you encouraged the expression of women’s sexuality?”
“Hah! So you do read my tweets! And yes I do, but I prefer to keep things classy, y’know? I’m a wine and dine type of woman.”
Riftan doesn't even bother answering.
Agnes only shrugs at Riftan's blatant dismissal. “But hey, they seem glad to be here at least.”
They sure did. Half of the women were finding their homes in the laps of different men and nearly thousand dollars worth of money bills were being haphazardly thrown around. Everyone else was dancing and doing other dumb shit. It seemed like the alcohol, near-deafening music, and the dim lighting managed to strip away any pretenses. To think that everyone in that room had a net worth of not less than 2 million.
He has lost count the number of times he is reminded that he does not like parties. Maybe it was something about the vibrating bass of the music reminding him of the thumping of an M60 MBT, or it could be his innate loneliness. Something about the way he couldn’t have a woman touch him without him wanting to turn his skin inside out. Perhaps he should see a shrink, but he didn’t have the time, or the capacity to open up to someone like that. He didn’t like the reminder, that he still felt so alone even amidst a crowd of people. But he didn’t like the quiet solace of his room either. Riftan didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Maybe he was just tired of living
And then he hears Agnes whistle, low and slow.
“Oof. Except for her I guess.”
She nods in a direction. Contrary to his usually aloof attitude, Riftan follows her line of sight to one of the velvet couches by the bar -
Sees a woman that drowned out the noise.
Almost like the DJ was shot dead, or the lights were finally fixed to a setting that didn’t make him nearly epileptic. Like everyone else disappeared; the cheering men and dancing women dissipated into smoke. The floor didn’t feel as sticky as it did and the thorn in his heart wedged loose.
He never saw her before, and he knew they weren’t introduced either. He wouldn’t forget a face like that.
She blinks, thick lashes dropping and lifting like delicate feathers, and Riftan wanted to smash the stupid fucking disco lights just to properly see the color of her eyes. The woman had the features of one of those fairies from one of those storybooks, down from the gentle curve of her delicate nose to the faint dust of freckles on her face. She chews on her bottom lip a little, and when she lets go, Riftan’s breath hitches when he sees how full her lips are.
Her hair, coiled up into a tight bun, shone - orange brown purple red - against the lights.
“Poor thing.” Agnes croons. The blonde woman’s voice doesn’t register to Riftan at first, as if he was underwater. As if everything else didn’t matter.
But then he notices some things on his own.
Her body language alone betrayed the truth of Agnes’ words: she absolutely did not want to be there. Just from the way she looked around the room like a deer during hunting season, wide eyed and afraid , could encourage anyone to start filing for a human trafficking case. Her shoulders were tense and she flinched whenever somebody touched her. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth again, this time out of perceived nervousness. Riftan wasn’t sure if that was lipstick or blood.
She didn’t seem comfortable in her own skin. The dress she wore - tantalizing black silk against the creamy paleness of her complexion - was tight and short. She must not wear such clothes most of the time, given how tense she seemed in them. She was hunched over and her knees were firmly stuck together, almost painfully.
When his tunnel vision finally wore off, he could immediately sense the source of her discomfort.
Agnes clicks her tongue in disappointment. “I didn’t think Breston would be this depraved.”
“What do you mean?” He asks absentmindedly, his mind not exactly where it was supposed to be.
“Mr. Calypse, you need to take note of affairs outside of business!” She tuts, before leaning closer against his ear. Her breath is hot and low. “She’s Richard’s newest arm candy. Has been parading her around even after the meeting, although I’m pretty sure he bought her.”
“ Bought her?”
“My guard told me her daddy had a debt he couldn’t pay, so he gave his daughter as an escort. Anyways, she’s been a hit with the northerners. I think it’s because they say she’s still a virgin. You know how creepy they are about purity and other pedophilic shit like that.”
The woman almost jumps out of her seat when Breston promptly wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him and almost onto his lap. Around them were nearly twelve or so other men that consisted of Breston’s friends and personal security detail, all of whom were eyeing her as if she was a medium rare steak.
Seeing the terrified look on her face ignited something within Riftan, something so primal and intense and powerful that it nearly scared him.
“How old is she?” Riftan’s voice sounded tight even to his own ears.
“Who knows. She could be fifteen for all we know. Poor kid.”
“And she’s his? He’s planning to marry her or something?”
Agnes laughs, head thrown back and lips stretched mockingly.
“I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Riftan! Or perhaps… ignorant ?” Riftan was too focused on the furrow in the woman’s brow to listen to Agnes’ teasing. The churning, dreadful feeling within him continued to bubble.
“No, Riftan. He’ll probably throw the poor girl into another whorehouse once he’s done with her. I thought you’d know, of all people.”
Of course he knew. But it was odd that he didn’t want to. For a man who didn’t like hiding the atrocities of the world behind a curtain, he didn’t want to think of the horrible fate that awaited this woman.
Agnes pats him on the shoulder. “Oh well. Imma’ look for a way to sneak a few of these girls into the infinity pool before you eventually shut everything down. Cheers, Mago.”
The woman slinked away before Riftan could reprimand her. She was agile and swift despite the death contraptions she wore as shoes. But at that point, he honestly didn’t care anymore.
His gaze returned to the corner of the room that beheld the source of Riftan’s newfound torment. The men from Balto were all laughing, with Breston chortling like a pig as he caroused with his friends. The rough arm around the woman jostled her and she squirmed in discomfort.
As if the floor managed to grow hands and firmly clasp Riftan to his spot, he couldn’t move for a moment. For once in his life, he is idle, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like himself.
Desperately avoiding the truth about his newfound feelings, he takes a first step towards Breston.
The man spots Riftan approaching. At first there it was, the familiar look of animosity, seen in the way Breston’s jaw tensed and his plum colored eyes sharpened. Men like Breston never gave Riftan the benefit of the doubt, and so Riftan has learned to do the same.
Like wiping off a dry erase marker, the man lets out a cheery grin.
“Our gracious host! Took you long enough to finally join the festivities!”
He finally reaches their posse, and for some reason, Riftan couldn’t bear to look at the trembling woman by Breston’s side.
“Cut the shit, Breston.” Riftan snaps, trying his best not to look at the woman by his side. “You do not have the right to bring over a band of strippers to my event.”
The man gasps, clutching a hand to his chest as if he was deeply insulted. “Mr. Calypse, I had no idea you were so sexist! These girls are my guests!”
Rodrigo had informed him earlier that two vans from an entertainment company called ‘Sluts & Mo.’ arrived earlier that night, with a payment directly made from a certain Richard Breston just that morning. The man didn’t cover his tracks well.
“I’m the goddamn host of this party and I was told to keep things respectable - “
“Ugh, you are such a dog!” Breston groans, flopping back into the velvet couch. From the corner of Riftan’s eye he spots the woman’s pale face, albeit he couldn’t discern her expression. “You wanna know why this party is such a blast right now? It’s because I knew you were gonna’ be an ass kissing mutt as usual and I thought ahead! You’re fucking welcome!”
He feels his temper flare, more than the raging wildfire than it actually was, and he grits his teeth before he collects himself. A small smirk tugs at his lips.
“You know, for a man who is on the brink of unemployment, I’d expect you to be less cheerful.”
And there it is. He hit an open wound, bloody and painful and harsh. The man’s shit eating grin began to drop from his face, dropping into a proverbial glare like ice sliding off a windshield.
Riftan heard his voice despite the deep bass of the music, felt no fear even when Breston’s men began to look at him with the same amount of menace.
“I ain’t getting fired, Calypse.”
“Sure you won’t. I’m guessing your father wasn’t furious at all with the company information you just lost - “
“It was fucking stolen from me!” Breston bellows, slamming his glass of vodka neat on the ground and sending an explosion of glass everywhere. The woman next to him jolts and lets out a squeak at the suddenness of it all. Riftan doesn’t move an inch despite the spray of glass on his shoes and trousers.
“And I won’t have you talk to me like that. Not when you’re what you are,” he follows, eyes almost glinting red against the limelight, “a fucking halfbreed nobody who laps at the crumbs thrown at him by Elnuima Reuben.”
One of his men looked at him warily. “Boss, you might have drunk too much - “
“But alcohol helps you speak from the heart ,” Breston croons, smile now back and as malicious as ever, “and my heart says this dog dares to talk to me like we are on the same level! I’ve never been more insulted in my life.”
“Not as insulted as your family must feel after you’ve failed them, yet again.” Riftan says smoothly, not missing a beat.
It was hard to get hit by the man’s insults when he knew that Breston’s most important secrets were hidden in Riftan’s safe, just a handful of floors up above.
Breston clenched his jaw so much Riftan thought he was going to snap the bone. The larger man rears himself, ready to attack, before Riftan takes an ample step forward.
“Let me make one thing clear, Breston.” Riftan drawls, slow and clear, just in case the man failed to understand him. “I don’t give a damn about what you think of me. What matters is that you’re in my territory. Mine . So you follow my rules and my orders.”
“I don’t have to follow shit - “
“You know damn well that you don’t even believe the very words that left that cesspool of yours you call a mouth.” The news of the band of Dristan gangsters Riftan had eliminated months ago reached every corner of their underground network, even Balto. If he didn’t fear him, Breston would have pointed a gun at Riftan’s moment the very first chance he had. But he didn’t, and he had a damn good reason not to.
“You have no power here. So we can either act diplomatically, or I can do what I’ve always dreamt of doing to your face…”
On cue he could feel his own men crowd behind him, obviously alerted by the commotion caused by the northerners, and have now rallied to Riftan’s side. Hebaron gives him an imploring look from the side, letting Riftan know that he was ready to go full out, guns blazing, and Riftan was sure that everyone else is too. Even Breston’s men began to tense, ready for a full on fight.
But Riftan could sense their hesitation. They knew what the Remdragon Syndicate was capable of, and were probably justly afraid. Good.
Even their pathetic leader had a hard time coming up with reasons to fight Riftan’s men. Riftan holds Breston’s gaze, unflinching and steady. He could see that the other man was trying to be as menacing as he could be, but Riftan could detect the slight waver in his gaze. He despised cowards who pretended to be ferocious. Sheep crawling into a wolf’s hide.
But then finally, he takes a good look at the woman at his side -
- sees the wide eyed, horrified expression on her face, now only directed at him.
As if she knew she wasn’t safe with these men. As if she knew she wasn’t safe with Riftan.
Riftan began to feel bad. Which was fucking baffling, since he shouldn’t. In the sense that he shouldn’t care. Of course he felt disgusted at her situation, but compared to the depraved bullshit he encounters almost constantly, her case wasn’t something new - no matter how sad it was. And she’s right to think that Riftan was dangerous. He just couldn’t understand why the thought hurt him.
After what felt like an eternity, before Riftan could spiral any further into a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t understand, Breston let out another wide grin.
“Seems like Mike was right. I have simply drunk too much tonight, Mr. Calypse. Forgive me for my transgressions.” He made a little hand gesture, mocking a bow.
Riftan wanted to say something, anything , but he couldn’t. His gaze flits back to the woman and she flinches, as if Riftan had personally stabbed her himself. He looked away before she crumbled further under his gaze.
The reminder of her happenstance and position in life further ignited something within him. Riftan wanted to punch something all of a sudden, and the cruel smile on Richard Breston’s face seemed like a good target.
But before Riftan could say or do anything, Breston curls his arm around the woman once again, looking at her the way a beast would look at a piece of meat.
“All I ask is that you extend your kindness to my dear guests. We wouldn’t want these lovely girls to be stranded in the middle of the night now, do we? There are a lot of terrible people in these neck of the woods…”
With a dangerous grin, Breston’s large, clunky hand suddenly went ahead and grabbed one of the woman’s breasts.
Riftan’s eyes widened in shock, the air around him suddenly crackling with electricity and his lungs tightening as if all the air inside was vacuumed out. It was as if he saw everything in slow motion, but he was too powerless to stop anything.
The woman screams, jolting out of her seat and accidentally kicking the glass table in front of the couch, sending bottles of Mojito tumbling to the ground. Richard’s men all laughed at her reaction, as if she were a jack in the box that they had successfully tormented.
Riftan’s fist was clenched so tightly he nearly felt his palm bleed. But before he could rush forward and bury Breston alive, the woman scurries out of the room as if it were on fire. The last thing Riftan saw on her face was a tearful, pained expression.
Still laughing, Breston takes one unturned glass of alcohol from the table. “She’s cute, but she’s definitely a jumpy little bitch.”
“You want me to go get her boss?” One of the men piques. Breston shakes his head.
“Let her hide in a little mouse hole for now. You know I love a good chase.”
Hebaron places a hand on his shoulder, murmuring lowly in his ear. “Should we do something about him?”
Riftan turns back to Breston’s posse and sees that they were immediately back to their round of shots and pretending like Riftan wasn’t there. As much as he wanted to choke the ever living shit out of the northerner, he couldn’t risk his men’s integrity like that. Sighing, Riftan turns back around.
“I can’t have an altercation while Reuben is here. Just make sure they don’t cause too much of a mess.”
“Of course.”
“And I expect you all to still be lucid at the end of the night.”
Hebaron clutches his chest. “Have you no faith in us?”
Riftan gives him a look that directly translates to a solid ‘no’. Hebaron nods at the silent answer before following it up with an innocent “And the girls…?”
A flash of red resurfaces in his memory. A strange feeling overcame him, something similar to having yourself tied to a concrete slab as it sank to the bottom of the ocean. He remembers the horrified look on the woman's face again, and it took a few seconds for him to realize that what he was feeling was actually guilt. That he didn't move fast enough to keep that man's greasy hands off her. He figures it must have been some form of chivalry that had been buried deep inside of him - a debased, wicked knight in shining armor - but he knew he was not a kind person. He was no different from Breston. He was no different from any man.
Gritting his teeth, he levels Hebaron with an unimpressed glare.
“They’re Breston’s responsibility, but let them stay the night if needed.”
Grinning with satisfaction, Hebaron gives him a salute before turning around and stalking back to the party. It was now back to full swing with the DJ playing the most obnoxious EDM known to man.
He sends a knowing look to each of his men around the room, silently warning them to stay alert.
Still, he himself didn’t feel like he was in the best state of mind. It was like he downed a whole brewery. His ears were ringing as if his tinnitus had returned and his feet felt sticky, probably from all the spilled alcohol and broken glasses.
His gaze returned to Richard Breston, and the empty spot next to the giant man made his stomach churn. Riftan leaves the room, feeling uneasy.