Chapter 10

Wanted for multiple charges punishable by a life sentence in prison:

-Treason against the government

-Illegal gambling

-Illegal racing

-Possession of a stolen vehicle(s)

-Rape and sexual assault

-Multiple homicides

-Premeditated murder

Rayn looked up from the manila file on her desk with a sigh. Keeping her palm over his picture, she tried to contain all remorse towards the racer, in attempt to get to know him through his crimes. Each and every crime continued to shock her, although she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Still, for one man to have so much dirt in his past, it's all a wonder how he got to where he was now.

It sent a shiver up her spine to think that such murderous, perverse hands were stringing through her hair only days ago. She wasn't sure if her body quaked from fear or something else. It was strange. For that one moment, his hands had felt so gentle, so careful and yet, these were the same hands that committed multiple murders and even rape?

The word 'rape', sent another shiver through her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. The victim - a Marcela something. She tried not to dwell too much on the names and she didn't even want to begin imagining the torture sessions they had set up for the man while he was doing time.

Shaking her head with disapproval, she couldn't help but give into her curiosity and see his picture. Of course, he looked rather unhappy in it – hell, he was arrested, but it was a younger version, what he was like when he was around her age. She slowly peeled her fingers from the picture on the file, feeling as if she were peeking at someone's diary.

His face was younger and his cheeks were fuller. His skin was still pale, except in this picture, he took on a less classy look. He was more rugged, his shoulders broad, and his body smeared with what must've been a mixture of oil and blood. His long hair was tousled messily across his face and his eyes - dulled with what must've been blown out ambition, dulled by cruel reality.

You would expect most mug shots to be hideous, men full of anger and sneering. However, in this picture, he looked lost, and sad.

Rayn soon found that the more she stared at the picture, the more her eyes begun to sting. Was this sympathy? Sorrow? Something about the expression in his picture made her wonder what it would've been like if she had met him at that age. Maybe he was full of dreams, full of goals and just as rambunctious as any other teen. Maybe he was a lady charmer and fan girls flocked around him after every race. Somehow, she found it a bit hard to imagine Razer as a bubbly teen. Judging by the photo, she assumed he was far from bubbly.

Her index finger absently began to trace over the jaw line of his photo and before she could apply anymore thought as to why she was even doing such a thing, a clap of thunder made her jolt upright from her seat. With a startled gasp, a gust of harsh wind breezed its way through the window and onto her bare shoulders, only covered in thin laces of silk. Huddling her elbows, Rayn scurried over to the large window of her bedroom and reached up to slam it shut.

For some odd reason, the moment she had shut the window, the dim light and the wind howling made her feel like she had just shut out something important. Something like a cry for help being carried along the wind to her.

Nonsense, she thought as she shook her head with a yawn. She released the braid of long hair down her back with one last lingering stare at the younger Razer on her desk. She decided it was best to sleep before she had anymore peculiar, philosophical thoughts.

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Razer's lungs dragged themselves heavily from the agonizing scream he had bellowed into the night. Clutching his temples, he growled monstrously. He wanted to stop thinking, stop dreaming of these things. It drove him mad.

The dark sheets in his king size bed only added to the cold sweat he had awakened in. The size of the bed only made him feel lonely and small instead of comforted. To think that he would've traded this lush, silky bed for a space on the floor anytime next to her.

Without another minute's dwelling, Razer sat on the edge of his bed and slipped on a pair of black, initialed slippers. It was four in the morning and although his body beckoned for sleep, it was a call he'd have to ignore. Although he hadn't had much sleep within almost two weeks, he'd rather not invite his body into another episode of convulsing.

Putting the coffee pot into the machine, he rested his palms on the cold tiles of the kitchen counter. Just then, a bouquet of crimson roses caught his eye. He had received them earlier from one of his loyal fans, most likely a woman, considering they were flowers. Earlier, the gift had helped to add cheer to what felt like another gray day. Now, as he woke up fresh from another dream, they began to taunt him.

So precious – so beautiful, like Rosetta had been. Now the crimson petals had only reminded him of what he had done to her, of what he had wished he could take back for years.

It was him – he killed her.

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What is a murderer?

Murderers are those government hounds in uniform, that bark around from house to house, dragging children away from their mothers only to never be seen again. Murderers are those strange, shady men that you see stalking dark alleyways, talking to themselves and eyeing any passerby's that may be their next victim. Murderers are people full of hatred, full of greed, possessed by their corrupted ways that lead them to take another's life.

Murderers are those that seek pleasure in power, seek pleasure in fatality and arouse at the metallic taste of someone else's crimson upon their own weapon, upon their skin. They lash out during a fit of rage or perhaps jealousy, and somewhere inside them, something snaps and transforms them from seemingly normal people, into a killer within moments.

Murderers don't have loving sisters or dreams of becoming the next racing champion. They don't grow up playing pretend games and buying groceries for their neighbor. Murderers don't have aspirations, goals, or dreams of better lives.

The definition of the word 'murderer' seemed too perplexed now. It was as if the fingers rubbing against the sharp blade in his pocket were not his own. Killers are supposed to be dark, devilish people who slide their tongues at the sight of death.

Although he had to admit, he too, had the occasional twinge of pride and power every time he sent his missiles flying at another vehicle during the races. He too, had a slip of the grin as he drove by piles of exploding metal that he knew he was responsible for. He'd even admit there were times he stepped out onto the finish line, blood spattered across his chest and it didn't even faze him. Instead, it was like wearing the skin of an animal you had just hunted and you wore it as a trophy of your accomplishment.

It never occurred to him that the men in the vehicles were men just like him. Maybe they weren't all harsh criminals by choice. Maybe they too, had been dragged into an unwanted life because there was nowhere else to go.

Just like him. He was being dragged into this life and there was nowhere else for him to go. There were no better choices. There was no savior. There was no escape from this miserable life except for a life just as miserable or worse.

Sometimes you had to do things you really didn't want to do for the people you loved. That was something he was beginning to understand and now, more than ever, he was beginning to understand Rosetta.

Although she wasn't his sister, and although his pain was still ripe from their last meeting, he found that upon waking up beside Marcela in the middle of the night, he had longed for it to be Rosetta. He had longed to feel Rosetta's arms around him and as for more, those were feelings that he still forbade himself to dwell on just yet.

Now, it was too late to tell her how much he understood her or how he came to this understanding. Right now, he had a mission to fulfill, and although he wasn't too fond of doing it, he'd do it for her. He'd do it for them and for the money they'd have afterwards. It was worth it, wasn't it?

The words that Burgra instructed him stuck in his head, 'Be stealthy, be slick and be swift'. Those were like the holy words that led to the promise land. Just follow these words and all that you ever asked for will be handed to you. Just don't apply any thought to it and in the end, you will reach gold.

All he had to do was simple, just sneak into Macen's home and get it over with. Macen lived a life of solitude despite the cocky attitude around the swarms of women on the tracks. No one knew if he ever had a family, a wife, or what kind of life he led before his life of crime. He was a man veiled in mystery, a mystery that only Burga held the key to.

He didn't ask Burgra his reasons for wanting this or why he had chosen him for such a task. Razer had only readily agreed to it because of the reward that Burgra claimed was not up to his refusal.

Now here he was, in the bowels of night, beside a shack almost similar to his own. Only this one was twice as big and the windows weren't cracked. He was sure candles didn't light up the inside, either. Maybe he had a real bed to sleep on, as well.

Although Macen was the star of the tracks, he could not flaunt his prize money through his possessions since the sport was illegal and would cause the government to become suspicious. Instead he must settle for this somewhat livable space and use his prizes for other things.

Shaking his head from any further admiration of his home, Razer then stepped into the shrubs nearby. Eyeing his surroundings one last time for any witnesses, he decided it was safe to pursue.

Like a rat steadily making it's way through the holes of the walls, Razer crept into an open window unnoticed and silently. It was quiet and dark. He slipped into what seemed like Macen's bedroom. Just like had had guessed, Macen did have a real bed and not only that, but a bedroom set to match. It wasn't brand new or expensive, but with the kind of life one usually lived here, it was luxury.

He tried not be distracted from his objective and slinked his way to the doorway. The long hall ahead of him was also dark. A dim light at the end signaled that must've been where Macen was currently residing.

A small pile of luggage leaning against the wall caught Razer's eye and intrigued his curiosity. Was Macen going somewhere? Well if he was, he'd soon find that he wouldn't ever make it to that destination.

Swiftly creeping down the hall, back sliding against the walls, Razer slipped the unsullied blade from his pocket. It switched open with a quick ring and he was ready. It was brand new and so sharp that it would tear a hole straight through his thigh if he didn't have it closed in his pocket.

Razer listened closely to what was in the room beside him. Faintly he could hear the steady rhythm of breathing. There didn't seem to be any movement.

It was now or never. 'Don't think, just don't think,' Razer chanted to himself in his head. His palms began to sweat and he was sure that the loud thumping in his chest could be heard in the room and would give him away.

Now!

Within the blink of an eye, Razer spun into the room, blade out and ready to slash. Except once entering the room, he found that the presence he had just felt moments ago was gone.

What? I could've sworn I heard him…

As if confirming his thoughts, the presence seemed to appear behind him and before he could spin around in his defense, he felt the coolness of someone else's blade upon his neck. Razer froze, hand holding his own weapon still in the air.

"Did you think I did not expect you?" Macen's voice was low in his ear and calm. Razer could feel his chest pressing against his back and his blade stinging his skin.

Macen laughed lowly and Razer's brows bent in confusion. What was he finding so amusing? Why hadn't he sliced his throat yet?

"Why don't you be done with it already?" Razer huffed, carefully waiting for a vulnerable moment to catch the prized racer.

"Done with it? Oh, you mean done with you? I apologize. I was under the impression that usually this was the part where we'd struggle because you too, treasured your life".

Razer cringed and then grinned, "Treasured my life? Hmm, hmm, that is where you're mistaken, Macen".

"Oh? Is that so? So tell me, Razer, if you do not treasure your own life, then whose do you treasure? Why do you commit yourself to doing something such as this?"

"I do it for her!" He let out in a grunt before taking a hold of Macen's arm on his neck and sending a quick elbow to his abdomen. Razer spun around and met Macen's fist across his jaw. Both men were sent into a wall where they wrestled onto the floor, eagerly trying to push their blades into the other, but both unsuccessful.

"I guess- this is the end- of our rivalry," Macen managed to say between trading punches and through heavy breaths.

Razer did not answer and instead continued to fight with him. Rolling on top of him, Macen lifted the collar of his shirt and threw him back onto the floor. The harsh impact of his spine on the floor caused Razer to drop his blade. Fumbling to reach it, Razer tried to pry Macen off of him. He even managed a cut to the shoulder without so much of a wince.

"Rosetta-" Razer had said unintentionally under his breath, as he tried to put all his effort into reaching for his weapon. Finally, with a groan, his fingers got a hold of it.

It only took a moment for Razer's fist to go cutting through the air and into the thick shoulder of the man on top of him. Letting out a yelp, Macen keeled over onto the floor, freeing Razer beneath him. He had dropped his blade in the process.

Whoever said that killing a man was an easy task had to have not done so himself. Stabbing a knife into a man was like stabbing a rod into a tree trunk. A human body, built with layers of muscle and bone was not so easily cut, as many would have others believe. It took strength to fully thrust something through someone's body and more strength to pull it right back out.

Razer made this discovery upon pulling the blade from Macen's shoulder. The blade felt like it had put on ten pounds and was stubbornly attached to the bone. The blood making the handle slippery did not make gripping it any easier and the painful groans of the victim in front of him did not make it any easier on his mind.

Finally growing impatient with trying to pull the knife from Macen's shoulder, he took all he had and yanked it from his body, earning another yell from the stabbed man. Razer almost fell back from pulling it out, but quickly regained composure.

He didn't expect to have such a hard time with, but then again, he had only killed using weapons from vehicles. What Razer didn't expect the most was when Macen took a hold of his fist, holding the blade, and stabbed it into his own chest?

"Wh-What the hell?" Razer blurted out as his victim, aiding Razer in his own murder, led his hand. It didn't make any sense!

"Are you mad!" Razer blurted out again as Macen's grip on his fist tightened, setting the blade deeper into him. The white-haired racer surprisingly grinned, blood trickling from between his teeth.

"You'll be just like me kid. Matter in fact, you already are. Such a sad story…"

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Razer yelled at Macen, now lying on the floor as he let Razer murder him.

"Lured in by blackmail, forced by life, you'll someday enslave yourself to a life that you have no choice to live. It's too bad. I had higher hopes for you"

Razer just blinked at the dying man looking up at him. He was speechless. The hand on the blade had gone limp and Macen had released his hold on him. Why? Why was he allowing Razer to kill him?

"Do me a favor, ey? Tell her I said goodbye and that I'm sorry too. You can take over from here"

Razer shook his head, "Her? Who? I don't understand!" He took hold of Macen's shirt, lifting him off of the ground.

Macen smiled again, this time more gently, "And another tip, next time you kill, treat the knife like you're throwing darts. The impact from afar can easily penetrate someone if thrown right, or you can always go for the neck. That's always the-" Macen began to cough, his life now slipping away.

Razer felt a burn in his eyes. A part of him wished they had become better friends in a different lifetime. A part of him wished he had known more about him before he had to take his life away. Did he have some happiness in his life? Did he have any dreams? Were they really so much alike? Now he would never know.

Macen struggled to reach up and right away Razer knew what he was reaching for. Razer set the bleeding man back on the floor and grabbed the cigarette that was lying nearby. It was probably behind his ear before their wrestling match took place.

Using his own lighter, he lit the cigarette and placed it in between Macen's lips. Macen gave him one last appreciative look before his eyes closed and the cigarette went limp.

Razer stared at the body before him for a moment before he stood up. It was too late to regret anything now and technically, he had killed himself. It seemed like he was waiting to be killed by the right person and for some reason, Razer was the right person.

Razer lit a cigarette of his own, in Macen's honor, and calmly walked out of his home through the back door. Just like expected, his reward money was in a suitcase, hiding in the shrubs. Burgra promised it would be there once his spies confirmed that his task was complete. Razer opened the suitcase to quickly scan and approve his reward, before snapping it shut and retreating.

Macen's last words lingered in his mind as he started to walk home, from the assassination tips to the apology he was supposed to deliver to a woman who he did not know of.

A part of him hoped that someone would give him a proper burial, but somehow he knew, in a place like this, that wouldn't happen. His only priority at the moment was to get back home and tell his sister that they finally had the money to do away with their depressing lives.

As he walked home, a knock in the back of his thoughts somehow taunted him that such fantasies were never that easy to accomplish.

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"Rosetta!" Razer called into the small halls of his home, once hearing the familiar footsteps enter. Candlelight pouring through the crack of the bathroom door signaled that she had finally returned. The sun was arriving through the clouds and he was glad she wasn't home at the exact moment he returned from his 'task'. It gave him time to shower and wash away the night's events.

She responded with a content hum. He was sure things were still awkward since their last confrontation where she confessed to him the truth. By now, after all the sins he had just committed, hers were long gone from his mind. Now he just wanted to take her away, take her to wherever she wanted to be. Just the two of them – together.

The bathroom door opened, mist drifted into the room and Razer stepped in with a towel wrapped around him. He could barely contain his excitement any longer. He scurried to the kitchen sink to reach Rosetta.

Her face was hovered over the sink where she was washing away her makeup. Standing behind her as he waited for her to dry her face, Razer smiled at the sight. Once she turned, the sunlight gleaming across her skin at just the right angle could make any sin wash away. No matter how tired he knew she looked or unhappy, when he looked at her, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Upon seeing his jovial expression, she arched a baffled brow at him. "Razer?"

Razer took a hold of her damp hands, still holding the small washcloth. "I have news for you, the best news you'll ever hear".

Rosetta set the cloth on the sink ledge before returning her hand into Razer's. She tried to disregard the fact that her brother – no – this young man was dripping wet and the only thing covering him was a small towel around his tight waist.

"We can finally leave! Leave this horrible place forever! Think about it, Rosetta! Just you and me-"

Rosetta blinked, "Wha- I don't understand. What nonsense are you babbling?"

He pulled her closer. His chest heaved with joy as he lowered his forehead on hers. Crimson heat spread through her cheeks.

"Rosetta, we can finally leave this country. I have the money. We can do it".

There was a moment of silence. Rosetta was speechless. She didn't know how to react. Realizing that Rosetta was frozen with shock, Razer released his hold on her to fetch the suitcase.

"Let me show you, then…"

Her green eyes went wide at the sight of neatly piled bills, layered and wrapped in rubber bands in the black suitcase. She had never seen so much money up front, even in her occupation. There was no way he could acquire such funds in such a short amount of time. It was impossible. He had to have – have done something wrong, really wrong.

She grabbed the edges of the leather suitcase with her trembling hands. She looked around frantically before raising her nervous glare to Razer. Fear took hold of her heart the very moment she laid eyes on the money in front of her.

"R-Razer, how did you get this? What did you do?" Her eyes grew watery and his smile faded.

He closed the suitcase and put it on the table. He didn't turn back to her to see her troubled expression. Her frightened voice neared him, quaking with sobs.

"What did you do?"

Her fingers grabbed his bare shoulder and he pulled away roughly. He turned and Rosetta could see the stern expression through the side of his taut jaw line.

"I finally get us the money so you can leave this job of yours and we can leave this country and this is how you react?" His voice was low and angry.

Another moment of silence passed before she whispered apologetically. "I apologize. It's just that- I'm afraid to ask what it is that you've done in order to get so much. I won't be able to see you as Razer anymo-"

"Just like I couldn't see you as my sister when you told me you became an escort!"

She backed away with the sudden outburst from him. His words shot through her painfully but she knew there was nothing she could say to counter it. It was true. She was in no place to judge him, not after all she had done. Just like she had done all she did for him, it seemed that he had done the same.

"I think I'm just tired. I'm retiring to bed now," she whispered again before he heard her footsteps gently make their way to their bedroom.

Once he was sure she was gone, his palms slammed against the table in anger. He was sure she had heard but he couldn't help it. He had just killed a man! Murdered him just to make her happy and this was how she repaid him? She had no right to look down on him, to lecture him. She had no right.

After a half hour of sulking, Razer decided it was best to head back to the tracks to let things cool down a bit. Before he left, he hid the suitcase in a wall in their closet. He also stopped by the bedroom to take a glace at Rosetta as she slept.

Sitting on his heels beside her, he reached forward to brush a stray black curl on her face. Her shoulders lifted with steady breaths and he sighed.

His thumb brushed against her chin and lightly grazed her bottom lip. His eyes were hot. After all that he had done, after all that she had done, he had hoped that when he returned from the tracks that they could work their differences out.

"I'm sorry Rosetta…" He whispered unto his former sister lovingly, leaving her with a light kiss in her hair.

Lingering his gaze on her peaceful form for a bit longer, Razer left the room with the thought in mind that a race in the dirt would help him relieve some of this stress.

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All Razer wanted was to feel the wind thrash through his hair and feel the heat from the explosions on his cheeks. All he wanted was to thrust the gas pedal and swerve through sharp turns to the point where he felt like he was flying. That was all he wanted and then he would just go home and try the 'good news' thing with Rosetta again.

He never expected the sight he would come upon. He should've sensed it sooner. He heard the dogs' howls echoing through the narrow buildings. Uniforms scattered about and increased as he headed closer to the track hideout.

Razer slipped from wall to wall, just as he had done the night before. He was surprised that such a ruckus was being caused in broad daylight. Something big was taking place.

A familiar voice cried out and he heard it running toward him.

"Marcela", Razer yanked the woman's back to his chest, covering her mouth to mute her cries. She shook in panic for a moment before realizing it was Razer.

"What's going on here?" He felt her tears dripping on his fingers.

Cautiously, he released her shaking mouth. "They found us. The government is raiding the tracks".

"What? How?"

"It seems that Macen snitched Lord Burgra out. The Lord sent someone to dispose of him and anyone connected to him but it seems that he didn't get him in time"

Razer swallowed the dry lump in his throat, "But why? Why would Macen-"

"Rumor is he had found a lover and had wanted to get away. However, he could not be freed from Burgra's chains unless he rid of him somehow".

Razer had heard enough. Everything was falling into place and falling into pieces right before him. Marcela whimpered and tried to shake free.

"Please, Razie, they're going to arrest everyone involved. They have my father. They will find out about you and then- and then-"

He spun her around to face him. He knew she'd be captured sooner or later and when they found her, a thorough investigation if followed would reveal traces of Razer's semen flowing through her system. Surely she was still fresh from him.

Her blond ringlets were frizzy, her dress dripping with mud. Her makeup streaked with blackened tears. The poor woman was shivering with fear.

"Listen to me, Lady Marcela. When they catch you, tell them I made you do it. Tell them I forced you to. They'll believe you. You have beauty and power. Your father surely does not want to ruin his wealthy reputation any farther".

She shook her head, "Razer please, you have to run. Run as far as you can".

He looked down into the eyes of the woman he had slept with only two nights ago. Sure, she was obnoxious at times, and had even caused him a bit of trouble. Yet through it all, she was just another lonely human being seeking the warmth of another as he had done during his hard times without his sister.

Quickly, he pressed his lips against hers. He owed her at least that before he nodded to her and ran the opposite direction. Marcela didn't hesitate before she ran, as well.

The roar of the dogs blurred in the wind as he ran, ran as fast as he could.

Please Rosetta, please be there when I get there. We must run! Now we have no choice!

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Everything – falling – into place and into pieces…

"Rosetta! Rosetta, where are you!" Razer screeched before he even turned the corner to his home. He was sure he had ran faster than his Havoc ever could.

His heart came to a halt once he reached his doorstep. The wooden door was kicked down to reveal a hall of thrashed clothing and wrecked walls. His eyes widened at the sight of blood drops, scattered upon the old floor.

"Rosetta! Where are you?" Razer's fingers followed the walls. Some spare bills were spread about. His reward, that he had hidden, was now gone. It didn't matter though, either way they had to run. They had to-

His knees buckled beneath him once he entered the bedroom. Although sunlight beamed through the windows, darkness clouded the room. Night had befallen his bedroom. Darkness had befallen his life.

"Ros- Rosetta…" Razer sputtered his words before he fell to the floor, reaching out for a body laying in front of him. His sister's body, Rosetta's body. Tears freely flowed down his pale cheeks. This would be the last time he'd shed tears.

"Razer," she whispered as she was cradled into the firm arms of her former brother. She weakly raised a hand to cup his wet cheek.

His eyes stared, stared at her body. Blood soaked through her clothing, puddles leaked underneath her onto the futon in which they once slept in. Her bright eyes were dulling with the life being drained from her.

"Oh, my God," Razer buried his face into her neck. He didn't understand. Why? Why had all this happened?

As if reading his mind, she brushed aside his hair and spoke to him lovingly, covering the pain she was feeling.

"Razer, I have so much to confess. First, I am sorry for earlier. I am grateful for what you had done for me". She was coughing; her voice was low and raspy as she struggled to get her words across to him.

Razer shook his head, sobbing harder into her neck. No, this could not be happening. She was all he had left. There was nothing after this.

"Who did this to you? Who!"

"A man named Burgra sent his men here. Apparently his goal was to dispose of me as evidence connected to someone else…"

In a second, multitudes of words and moments came crashing through his mind.

The luggage in Macen's home. The apology to this mystery woman before he died. Marcela saying Burgra would rid any and everything connected to Macen, who he was sent to finish off. Macen only tried to escape Burgra's chains in order to finally run and the only way to do that was to snitch the secrets of the tracks. Burgra tried to prevent it by sending these secrets to their grave.

Burgra had only raised Razer as a prized racer to keep his business going after he had disposed of Macen, never knowing that Rosetta was not only Macen's accomplice, but Razer's precious sister.

Macen was helping him all along, helping his sister raise the money to run. He had killed Macen and Burgra's men had come to kill his sister.

"I'm sorry, Razer. It was my fault. I was involved with Macen. He said he would help me, help us gather the money to leave, but our plan never got the chance to fall through. I'm sorry…"

"No. No, no, no! It's all my fault! It's all because of me!" He held her body tighter to his, squeezing her fragile hand on his face.

She hushed him. "It's okay now. Hush. Just- just hold me,".

Razer obeyed as he stroked her cheek, his tears mixing with hers on her face. He mumbled all sorts of apologies and confessions as she feebly whispered the same.

"Rosetta please, please, don't leave me," he begged, shaking with emotion, but there was nothing he could do to prolong her withering life.

Oddly enough, she granted him a mild smile. "You'll be a great man someday. I know it. I'll always be with you and I hope- that you can find another love as great as mine".

"No, I don't want to. The only love I've ever desired is yours. Please…"

She hushed him once again. Her palm on his cheek began to fall and her smile slowly stilled. "Live on Razer…my prized racer".

These were her last words before those beautiful green gems had shut themselves off from him forever.

Razer screamed, screamed like a raging animal that'd just gone mad. He rocked her body in his arms, praying and cursing to the heavens. Everything had happened so fast, and in the end, nothing good had come out of it.

Burgra's smug grin flashed through his mind and his new animalistic rage took over.

I'll kill him! I'll kill him, I swear!

He looked one last time at Rosetta's face. She had raised him, fed him, taught him so many of life's lessons. She had cleaned his bruises, wiped his tears and rocked him into sleep. She had whispered soothing words of love to him over and over and he had never gotten the chance to return it.

He wasn't enough to protect her. He wasn't enough to save her.

His bloodied fingertips brushed aside her locks of dark hair from her paling face. Placing a kiss upon the corner of her mouth, he whispered for her to rest in peace.

As he set her down and covered her with the blanket nearby, he thought she had looked just like the Snow White from the fairytales. Her lips were blue and awaited her prince to awake her from slumber. However he knew, no matter how many times he'd try to kiss her, she'd never awaken.

He turned to the door and his eyes flared, flared with murderous intent. And it was aimed at one key man.

Lord Burgra…

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"Quick! Capture that man! He's a murderer!" A soldier yelled to his subordinates. Crowds of men propped up on their loyal steeds chased after the criminal, dogs barking and trailing behind.

No matter how fast their horses trotted or how loud their hounds barked, the Havoc was far superior in speed.

Razer had managed to sneak by the crime scene and get a hold of his Havoc parked outside under government possession. Now as he rammed across the narrow streets in this illegal vehicle, he had one goal in his mind and neither gun nor animal could slow him down.

The sun had already begun to sink. Hours had passed and Razer raced across miles of town and city in which he had never laid eyes on. In time, he was able to seclude himself far enough from them to attract Lord Burgra. Like the rat he was, he was most likely in hiding, waiting for the right opportune person to help him out in a pinch. Just as expected, as Razer drove nearby the popular bars in which Burgra often spoke of, the man came running out and jumped into his vehicle without uncertainty.

"Quick! We must escape!" Little did he know, he had just thrown himself into something much worse than he'd ever anticipate. Nothing would ever compare to the wrath Razer had planned for him.

"Going the same way I am, so it seems. Hmm, hmm," Razer grinned deviously before hitting the gas and driving off once again.

Burgra was so focused on ducking in his seat and looking for soldiers, that he paid no mind to the deadly glares traded to him by his prized racer. In time, Razer had driven into an isolated area, where the road was cut off and under construction. He ran over the orange warning signs and the road beneath them grew rocky.

Burgra bumped in his seat, frantically smoking his cigar. Razer almost found it amusing that he had no clue that he was driving him to his death. He had no clue that the woman who he thought to be Macen's lover, was really his sister. The capacity of what he had done to Razer would never hit him.

"Where- where are we going?"

Razer stopped the vehicle dead center in the middle of a muddy path. In the distance, you could hear horses galloping on concrete. It would take them a few minutes to arrive. Burgra gripped the side of the door.

"Are you trying to get caught! They're coming for us! We need to leave right now!"

"Don't worry, my Lord. This will only take a moment". Razer smiled again as he opened the same switchblade he had used on Macen. His tongue swept across the edge, wet with bloodlust.

Burgra gasped, "Razer! What are you doing!". Before he could squiggle his way free, Razer took a firm hold of his collar. He yanked the man to him. His hot breath fell on his face and Burgra saw the madness in his eyes. He froze with terror.

"Please, please don't! What have I ever done to you! Razer, it's me, remember? We're in this together!"

"The woman you killed was my sister! You made me kill my friend and then you went and sent your men to kill my sister! You expect to live?" Razer teased the blade on Burgra's mustache. The sharp edge sent strings of gray floating into the air with every light swing of it.

"Your sister! I- I- I had no idea! I swear that I never knew!"

It didn't matter whether he knew or not. Razer had a feeling that since the moment Burgra had begun to mold him into his personal apprentice and racer, he had known a lot more than he was admitting to. Now he would pay the price for his snake-like schemes.

He continued to beg for his life and Razer's eyes only widened more with rage. With a sick smile, he lifted his blade. Everything after that blacked out until Razer blinked and realized Burgra's shredded body was still clenched in his hands. The blade was still embedded in his neck and various other objects protruded from his body.

He must've lost himself in his anger and grabbed whatever he could to stab into this murderer's body. Burgra had taken away the most precious person in life to him and now Razer showed no mercy in granting him a cruel fate - just as he had dealt him.

Unclamping his choking grip on his shoulders, he somehow found the strength to lift his round body out of the vehicle. Razer walked towards the sound of the horses, carrying Burgra's body in his arms. As the horses came into view, Razer threw Burgra's body toward them and hoofs mercilessly trampled over what was left of his handy work.

He looked crazed. Drunk with killer intent. Soldiers aimed their tranquilizer guns at him and although numerous darts shot through him, he was too numb to feel it. As his skull came crashing into the mud, Razer did not feel a thing.

As far as he was concerned, everything was over.

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After a thorough investigation, in which Razer bluntly admitted to all the charges, he was sent for a whipping before thrown into the cells. The cells were small, box-like, and cold. The bricks were damp and the futons were few. Too many men were forced into one, causing the most superior to get dibs on the bed.

"So you're the new guy, eh? Seems you think you're pretty tough, racing across the country like that. Heard you were stupid enough to give yourself up when you could've escaped".

Razer said nothing. What was the point? What was he running away to? There was no money. There was no Rosetta. There was no Macen. There was no racing. There was no paradise. He didn't even know why he was even alive.

"Hey there! I'm talkin' to you!" A hairy, stubby hand reached out to threaten Razer but his quick reflexes caught the man's arm mid-air.

"Hmm, seems like the one who thinks too highly of himself is you, rather than me"

The man led a group of three other men, standing behind him with crossed arms and crossed faces. Each had a small weapon ready to use because, unlike prisons in other countries, here it was thought best that such smut-ridden men kill themselves off rather than take up living space.

The man was large, long, black hair curling down his back. His sneer revealed a set of missing, decaying teeth and it was obvious he was trying to make Razer another one of his dogs. Razer was beginning to get tired of being someone else's dog.

To his advantage, Razer felt that his blade was still in his pocket. His now solemn green eyes scrolled over the man before him. Big, ugly, but had a nice blue trench coat.

"I think it is in your best interest to get your grubby hands off me, boy," the man snarled again, twirling his own blade in his other hand.

"Hmm, I think it is in your best interest to let me be. I'm no one's bitch," Razer twisted the man's wrist and he growled.

In seconds they charged at him. 'Just like darts,' Razer said to himself as he shot his blade across the cell at the farthest thug. The groan signaled it had hit him; meanwhile, Razer sent an elbow to this other man's abdomen, still twisting his wrist enough to hear a crack. The blade fell and Razer was swift enough to grab that one and fling it at another just as perfectly and painfully.

In moments, the struggle had ended. Razer had his back against the bars, chest heaving while he held his cheek. They'd managed to swipe his cheek once. His tongue licked the salty blood from the corner of his lips before spitting it onto the man squirming under his foot.

The man looked up at him, eyes bulging with shock. He saw it. Razer was still wild with fresh rage and murderous intent. It wasn't wise to push his luck any farther and even if they could take him, they'd end up with some serious injuries in the end.

A sick smile crossed over the man's features. "I like you, bo-".

"It's not 'boy'. It's Razer".

"Sharp. Suits you well," the man waved his hands in surrender and Razer lifted his foot off his chest to free him.

The man got up, wiping the dust off his pants before slipping the long coat down his shoulders. He handed it to the young man before him as his partners pulled the blades from their body.

Razer arched a suspicious brow, "And this is?"

"Means you get dibs on the bed tonight, and every night afterwards, if you keep handling yourself that way".

He nodded with understanding. The one who survived the most, the one with the most wits, not only strength, led the pack in each cell. He didn't need bulging arms like the men in this cell to be superior, he obviously had a lot more than they did.

He swung the trench coat over his broad shoulders and slipped his arms into the sleeves. It was a bit big, but kept him warm in the fifty-degree cell. Sinking his hands into his pockets, he lowered his head to the concrete.

Rosetta…

"Anyone have a fix?"

Four different hands eagerly reached out to hand him a pack and he shook his head. Perhaps, this was the way fate had planned it all along. You were born into a cruel world, dreaming of goals you'd never achieve. No matter how hard you tried to escape destiny, it caught up to you with its shackles.

Now it was either rot in prison or hope to die. His sister and racing were all but a distant dream.

Years had passed and nothing out of the ordinary happened in Razer's life. He kept himself occupied in the weight training room and from time to time, if he behaved, he was even allowed to modify government vehicles.

The trench coat never left his shoulders and at the most, the only thing that changed was the hair growing down Razer's eyes and his arms firming on a daily basis. The four men in his cell loyally obeyed him, trying to soak in Razer's wisdom on cars and combat racing.

They were all like naïve children, who had never heard of such a thing. From time to time, they'd even trade their dreams, what they had once wished to become before somehow, that 'thing' snapped inside them and made them criminals.

At the age of twenty, all Razer could ever expect for his birthday was a load full of nicotine pushed through the bars from cells across and beneath him. Men had learned to follow him, at times even challenge him, but none had ever gotten far. Razer was a man of not only strength now, but also a mind that no other brainless goon could ever comprehend. It was no wonder others were drawn to him.

He had taught himself to be cold underneath his slick smile. He had long hid away his broken desires and love for his sister Rosetta. He had given up all hopes of sitting in another Havoc again until a mysterious letter came to him one day.

"It's for you," his lead henchman grunted as he handed Razer the letter. The envelope was long and stamped in an embroidered wet mark he did not recognize. All it said on the addressee was 'Mizo'.

Razer shrugged and sat on the futon to open it. The letter was in script and long. It held one photo that made his jaw drop and an old passion ignite.

It was a Havoc V10, the newest edition.

The letter was an introduction letter. Mizo was a headman in the World of Combat Racing, in a country where it was being legalized. He needed the best drivers that hands could get a hold of, no matter where they were from and he had somehow heard of Razer's reputation.

News of Razer's rampage across his state as he escaped with Lord Burgra in his passenger seat apparently reached farther than he had known, as well as the details of the fame he had gained while racing in the illegal track. His crimes were also made known to others, but apparently his history had only proved more convenient in this Mizo's eyes. Mizo ranted on about how he needed a man of his caliber to bring combat racing to its highest pedestal.

He offered him a life of luxury, a life of fame and most of all, a chance to get his hands on a Havoc again and feel the wind.

The only catch was, he'd have to escape prison on his own and Mizo would meet him on the other side. Razer had thought long and hard on the proposition, but as he looked around the aging walls surrounding him, he figured a change of scenery might be a good thing.

He didn't have family. He didn't have friends, but if he could at least have racing, that would be all he would ever need.

A few nights later, his henchmen helped him form a plan. A few nights later he could escape prison a new man. The next time he'd see daylight, he'd wake up inside a garage hidden in the underground and wearing a new trench coat.

That was how Razer, the famed racing champion who mercilessly killed and ignited fires across endless roads for more than a decade after, was born.

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"Damn it!" Razer cursed under his breath. He grabbed the handkerchief in his pocket to wipe the small spot on his collar in which he had just spilled some beer.

"New coat, I presume?" The bartender asked as he eyed Razer cleaning his expensive red and blue trench coat.

'Amateurs', Razer thought. It wasn't new at all actually. He just took rather good care of it.

Not feeling like explaining, he just nodded with a grunt and drank the last of the golden liquid in his mug. His lip curled slightly as the cold liquid burned its way down his throat. He had more of a taste for wine than beer, but after the sleepless nights and haunting memories lately, he needed whatever he could get during the races.

Just as he was about to turn the stool and head back to the tracks, the very woman he was trying to avoid walked in through the entrance. Razer spun back on his seat with a roll of his eyes.

With a sigh, he gestured that the bartender give him another mug full of this foul tasting beer. The damp spot on his collar beckoned that he take the coat to the dry cleaners as fast as possible, but at the moment a certain woman was blocking his exit.

Rayn sat at the other end of the bar, trying to take little notice of the man sitting nearby. She was alone and since she had discovered Jak's involvement in her father's death, she had rarely been seen with the team since. With a sigh, she ordered a shot of something quick and strong.

Razer wondered to himself if she had went to that meeting yet. Had it gone well? Had his advice worked? Perhaps it failed and that was the cause of her long face now sitting not to far from him.

Lost in his thoughts, he felt another drop hit his collar and he grew infuriated. "Damn it!" He growled even louder, it was the second drop now soaking into his precious coat. Slamming the mug on the counter, Razer decided any more hesitation would lead his coat to be destroyed. He needed to get it dry-cleaned now.

Slamming a bill on the counter, he spun off the stool and began to head out with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Rayn came into view as he neared her, while heading towards the exit. Just as he passed her, a slim arm blocked his passage.

"Put this on. It'll keep it from staining until you get it washed," Rayn advised with a solemn expression. Her open palm revealed a stick of what seemed to be some sort of washing detergent.

Razer stared at her palm for a moment, not sure if he should regard it thankfully or with disgust. He felt a wet spot begin to soak through his coat and onto his shirt, and all pride disintegrated.

He snatched the stick from her hand and eagerly brushed by people to escape the bar. As Rayn watched the man fly from the Bloody Hook, underneath her shot glass, formed a knowing smile.

A murderer who tends to his coat in the dry cleaners. How ironic…

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This was long and a bit rushed but I hope it's ok. I put this scene at the end of this depressing chap to provide some comic relief. Hope you liked.