Two years.
It had been two years since he had seen the boy. The optimistic, cheerful, smiley, and buoyant teammate was now right in front of him, on his knees secreting so much blood that it started to burn his retinas.
He could have laughed at the irony, but he only wanted to cry. Two years ago, the last time he had seen him, he was bleeding and covered in yellowing bruises, only this time Ellis' eyes were not bright with any form of hope for safety.
They were dull with the tranquilizers that had filled his head like an overflowed cup of water. His lids dropped slowly yet frantically trying to make sense of what was happening.
"He-l-p." He let out a shallow sounding and abrupt breath, finally his shaking eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed into Nick's chest, the gigantic mutilation on the side of his face staining his shirt crimson.
It was his entire fault. Every slice in his golden skin, all the embodying marks. All of it was caused because of him, not zombies this time.
Why did he even take this job? He could have stopped all this. He could have if he had not let it all go to his thick head.
"Mr. Vitale sends a message to one of his best men." The man had secret written all over his face, even over the dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. He was wearing a suit that would be expected from a federal agent or something of the same department.
The government was the last thing this man was working for. Nick knew that right when the hidden man had stepped into his run down condo. He had this familiar aroma that he had grew to know over his years pre-infection.
"Tell him I don't give a shit."
He waited for some reason before answering, his hands folded in front of him and his stance straightened competently.
"I cant do that. He's dead, Mr. Bianco." Nick looked up at him from his stained sofa. His raised eyebrows drew out his surprise.
"In his will he has left a Nick Bianco to take his place in the family. His superior position." He said with his cheekbones rising underneath the glasses, prompting that he was squinting at Nick with some sort of resentment.
Nick wanted to introduce the asshat to his middle finger, but kept his palm flat on his stomach. He knew he should have felt awkward that a stranger was in his home while he was in nothing, but his boxers lying lazily on his ratted out couch watching some god-awful jersey show.
Then again Nick should have cared about a lot of shit going on his life. Whatever, it's not like it was anyone else's life. It was his and if he didn't want to do anything then he wasn't going to do anything.
"Fuck off. I don't want it." He turned back to the dancing pictures and colors on his television.
The man's lips uplifted into a unnerving looking smile. He took off his sunglasses and wiped them on the collar of his shirt casually so. "Mr. Bianco, I have traveled a long way to come and find you. Mr. Vitale's wish was that if you didn't accept, then his men are ordered by my command to come after you."
Oh you old bastard, still trying to break his life in two even in death.
"Mmhmm, I am so sure that you would do that. Cute gesture really, but I quit a long time ago and I feel like I have worried about the safety of my life enough through the flu, so buh-bye." He swatted the air motioning for the man to leave.
If Nick had been looking he would have noticed that the grin was still spaced out on the man's face.
"Sir, I just send out one text message and your house will start melting like candle wax. Please don't make me ask again.
Nick recognized the meaning behind the graveled syllables instantly. This guy wasn't playing around nor wanted to play around. Then again he thought really hard. So what if he died? Not like he had anything he wanted to do with his life…or anyone.
Woman had been a lost interest over the past year and a half, they used to line themselves up at his door in an orderly cue to just bring out Nick's guiltiest desires.
Then he got bored with them, relationships were complete and utter bullshit, and so that was a no go for his life.
Then he thought about his gambling, now that was some fun. That was some meaning to live.
Nothing like getting those dopamine glands pumping full blast every time he won a hand or rolled that sweet pair of dice and it landed with a gentle thud expressing how lucky, or skilled, he was through a pattern of dots. Now that was worth living for.
All that power had to come with a substantial amount of money, enough to get him out of the rat infested and cockroach holding apartment. Okay maybe a whole boatload of money wasn't too bad sounding.
Maybe even some free samples from the merchandise wouldn't hurt.
Vitale was always good to him too, almost like a father figure. Only instead of giving homework help he was teaching him where exactly in someone's skull the bullet could penetrate, but keep them alive.
God damn it he was going to regret this, he knows he's going to regret this.
He rolled his eyes and stood up from the couch, giving out a tittering groan from stretching out his locked joints.
"Let me put on some damn pants." He muttered out the words lazily moving to his bedroom.
Talen, he learned his name the same day as he had learned that the man was now his faithful second hand man. If he had to be notified of something urgent, Talen was the first to report to him. He always had the Intel on the drug sprees, the chemists, the negotiations and prices, Talen handed him all of it.
Nick would probably have been shot if he hadn't had Talen with him.
Over the span of several months, he learnt to trust Talen like his own left eye.
That is the only and whole reason as to why he had agreed to fix a situation that led to his old teammate's rock bottom down fall.
He had no name, no picture, no information until it was too late.
Nick had been sitting at his desk in the paid off secluded housing unit near the city of Boston. He was shaving through some files about the new meth labs near the area. Checking out the men's background info incase anything fishy came out to his eye.
Talen had just walked in unannounced, the snaps of his heels on the concrete directing he had come in at all.
"We had a small problem with the shipments, but to my knowledge I think its being handled accordingly." The warning in Talen's voice was enough for Nick to lift his head and swallow back the nervous stutter.
"What do you mean problem?" He masked his unease with an angry growl, hoping that he didn't seem too obviously anxious.
He normally didn't get so braced over anything the family had to go through, but when he hears that wary tone in his assistant's voice, he knows that something is terribly wrong. Something had really backfired or never even fired.
"Spencer went down to Georgia to pick up the eight kilos," He said with a stiff jaw, "…turns out he had some car trouble. He stopped by at a mechanics and…the kid found the goods when he was under the car," His eyes were now casting to the window above Nick's head, "Spencer said he thought the hick was going to call the cops and he couldn't get enough privacy to shoot the little shit. Too many people watching, instead he ran off."
Nick's fist connected with the paling wood of his desk, the sound of wood cracking and bones slamming creating a cacophony of anger.
"FUCK! So he just left it there?! That was two hundred and twelve thousand fucking dollars of perfect coke and that fucking dumbass just lost all of it! I knew I should have sent Taylor. You even knew we should have sent Taylor! I knew that little fuck would do something like the dumbass he is!"
"Its okay, we got it under control. Spencer called it in." Talen's hands were raised in a calming defense.
"And…?" Nick was getting very impatient now, that was an expensive and tricky deal to figure out and he
did not want to lose it all because of one small car related mistake.
"Conner and Josh got him. They said the kid started rambling about that he told his friends and family. I told them to bring him here, let you shut him up in case he did open his mouth. It'll send a message to the other rednecks about keeping their mouths shut." His associate had a blissful, yet smug, smile coiling upwards.
Nick groaned. Of course they would put it on him to be the intimidating one. He knew that his boys were just being cautious, they couldn't kill people left and right. It would most likely get them in some deep hole of trouble.
Still it would be so much easier to just put a bullet between the southerner's head.
Southerner. His mind trekked to the infection, a giddy hick laughing echoed through his head. He didn't get a chance to reminisce about the memory…or why his stomach hopped up into his chest when a picture of a full-lipped smile presented itself when his main priority was back to the forefront of his mind.
"Get me the prick's file. I want family, friends, where he works and lives, all of it. Give me a whole grocery list of his weaknesses." He was damn good at his job, knowing exactly what buttons to press to get his point across to people.
Sometimes it was just too satisfying to just have someone incoherently blubbering words of mercy literally at his designer leather shoes. The way he could take someone's world and use it against them. It felt absolutely amazing. He felt powerful, in charge, and feared.
It made up three fourths of why he still hadn't bailed on the whole job. That and the money wasn't too bad either.
"Do you want it now or are you still working out with those new labs?" Talen had stridden to a near by table holding various amounts of liquor. He poured himself a shot glass, the liquid watering into it was a background noise to his question.
Nick looked at the numerous amount of papers on his desk and wrinkled his nose. "No, give it to me when he gets here. I'll just skim through it before."
To be frank, he didn't really want to think too much about this whole situation. It wasn't even a situation to begin with and it was a triviality compared to most of the other work he had to finish.
So leaving it to the last minute didn't puncture his consciousness.
That day it scarcely came to his mind; he was riddled in piles and piles of paperwork and research on the meth labs. He had sent a few of his men to check them out and even test the products; they each came back explaining how their visit was.
Nick had been working so hard that by the time Conner, Josh, and Spencer had announced their arrival it had been eight hours.
Talen slapped the manila folder onto his desk, after greeting the three workers. "They have him in the
storage room getting him 'warmed up' for you." His little titter held no cloak of the maliciousness that dripped underneath.
Nick grunted to show he had heard him. Talen merely looked at the contract he was signing then head out of the room into the storage room.
Nick's pen furiously scribbled his curled signature on the last line. He lazily dropped the pen and leant back into his chair, the chair creaked and squeaked as he shifted.
He stared at the manila folder, then hunched back over the desk with a frustrated sigh.
He opened the folder gently.
His chest started caving in on him, his breath caught in the air around him. He could feel every pulse down his body speeding in time with the lurid thumping in his chest.
This was a mistake. No, this could not be right, something had to be wrong.
No, no no no no. This can't be right.
Underneath the confines of the beige folder was a small picture of Ellis.
It was him resting his back against some cherry red pick up, his mouth in an agape smile coincident with his eyes that were still brilliant with streaks of joy. In front of him was a red headed man, crossing his arms and laughing along with the blonde.
The chair rolled back and hit the wall violently, he wasted no time running around his desk and sprinting to the storage room.
He got to the closed door, nearly about to kick it down. Instead he turned the knob and it slammed off the wall.
"STOP!" He bellowed forcefully and urgently.
Spencer, Conner, and Josh were standing over Ellis, in their hands were blood covered knives and dripping bats. He was on his knees, his hands tied behind his naked back, sweat, blood, and tears running down his whole quivering and lightly twitching body.
His mouth was gagged with a ripped piece of black cloth and he could only let out pitiful muffled whimpers that broke through his metaphoric barrier.
"El..." Nick carefully crouched down in front of him, his hand on Ellis' shoulder keeping him steady. There were no bruises or swelling on his face.
No. Instead there was a gigantic, gruesome, and cleanly cut slice starting from the outer edge of his brow and descending in a 'c' shape to the corner of his mouth.
Christ, what had he done?