Ready?
Every time he heard that word, a huge jolt would run throughout his body. Why did people always ask that? They should already know. He was Billy Darley, and Billy Darley was always ready, even now. When anyone else in the world would be afraid, he was ready.
Ready?
Again, it was the voice.
He'd always been ready since that first time, since Bones decided that he should become a man and had used him as a punching bag, just to prove that a Darley did not cry. And he succeeded; he didn't cry.
"Not bad, you piece of shit." That was all he ever heard from his father.
Father?
That word always brought with it memories, experiences, open wounds.
Ready?
That's what he heard when the bastard he called a father told him he had to work for him, that he actually had to make money for him. Money or die, those were his options. He had to work to stay alive, and at the time, he chose life.
From then everything was routine: drugs, the gang, make money, give it to Bones, maintain their reputation. Easy sometimes, unpredictable others. Steal, extort and kill had become the only details of his life.
Ready?
The echo was repeated in his head with increasing force. That was the difference between him and his younger brother. Joe had never been ready, would never have been, even if he hadn't died.
But he was ready for revenge, ready to kill the family of the murderer of his brother, ready for the war he had started - because Joe wasn't the cause of all any of it. It had been him - his rules, his reputation, his pride.
Finally, he had been ready to kill Bones, once and for all, and get rid of his constant scorn and humiliation. What irony, he thought. Right now he was free to make whatever choices he wanted with his life.
"I say who live, I say who dies." That phrase was never more true than at this moment. I say who dies …
Ready?
The voice of Nick Hume brought him to back reality. Yes, he was ready. Probably had been ready for this moment all his life. I say who dies ...
Ready.