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05 | The Underground: part two

You can't destroy what is already broken. Can't kill something that no longer exists.

My heart is long gone, hardened into stone, carved by the ghosts of a childhood that stole away every trace of innocence and hope a boy should have.

I don't live for myself anymore.

I live for revenge.

For him.

For Kade. The brother who sacrificed himself for me.

"Run, little brother. Never stop, because the second you do, you're dead. Forget about me, but know you'll be etched into my soul, the memory of you branded into my mind for as long as I breathe. You are what I live for—that's why I need you to survive. That's why I need you to run and don't ever come back."

His last words. Ten years ago.

I listened.

I ran.

And I never stopped.

Until the day—three years after parting ways with my brother—a stranger found me and changed everything.

He saved me. Gave me a purpose.

I had just escaped from hell and went back to the only home I knew— the streets.

I was starving, bleeding, barely holding myself together—just a shell of the kid I used to be. The cold was constant, gnawing at me. I heard footsteps before I saw him. The instant he reached out, I swung, not thinking, just reacting. I didn't care who he was, I just knew I couldn't let anyone get close. My blade flashed, and we went at it.

He didn't back off, though. He fought, but there was something almost patient about him. Like he was waiting for me to tire. He didn't want to hurt me.

Eventually, he had me pinned, my wrists in his tight grip, my body frozen, unable to move.

"Let go of me, you sick fuck!" I shouted, struggling to break free.

"I'll do that if you promise to stop attacking me," he said, calm, almost amused.

Then he added, his voice sincere and gentle, but still powerful and sure. "I only want to talk."

I didn't have much of a choice. I nodded, and he let me go.

I stood up, blade still ready. I wasn't about to drop my guard.

He wiped the blood from his lip and chuckled, his voice rough. "Damn, you pack a good punch, kid. You lack technique, but we can work on that."

"Who are you? What do you want?" I asked, still on edge, my grip tight on the knife.

He looked at me for a long moment, then said, "I'm your uncle. And I'm here to take you home."

Apparently, he had been searching for me ever since he found out that the sister he thought was dead—taken by the river's currents right before his eyes—had actually survived. She'd gone on to become a stripper, married an abusive alcoholic bastard, and gave birth to two boys. But then, she'd died in a terrible fire that took her, her husband, and their oldest son.

My uncle, Jake, thought his sister hated him because she never reached out to tell him she was alive. When I told him the truth, I witnessed something I never expected—a cold, intimidating grown ass man break down and cry.

My mother, Claire, had amnesia. She had no memory of anything before waking up in a hospital, barely alive, just outside a place called Crestwood Hollow.

Everyone thought I was the only survivor, but I knew that wasn't true. When he sent me away, my brother was still alive. And I knew, deep down, that he was still out there.