Thanks so much for the love. This is chapter 2/5 for those asking how long this will be. See you soon!

Songs for this chapter:

Grandson: Oh No!

Twenty One Pilots: Heathens

Deftones: Change

Duality

Mexico | September 2007

Sweat beads on my forehead, the desk fans doing fuck all in the heat, the air conditioning broken. There's an old guy trying to fix it, but he's doing a piss-poor job, his eyes wandering too much over the half-naked girls swanning around.

"Oi, oi!" Javier shouts, clocking him, snapping his fingers. "You getta move on with that, you fuckin' pendejo!"

Reclined in a brown armchair, music pulses loud through the house even though it's barely midday. Some of Javier's crew are playing a game of poker at a round table in the corner, a couple of others stood at the windows and doors with AK-47's held tightly in their hands. Alec is sitting opposite me, eyes closed, his hand in the hair of some blonde goin' to town on his dick. It ain't anything I haven't seen before… done myself.

This trip, I didn't want to do it, and now we're weeks in, setting up new routes for the cartel Javier heads up.

'Just a few days,' Alec had said.

So I agreed, as if I had a choice.

They needed me; a rival needed taken out. I set up with an M24 in the early hours of this morning, fifteen hundred meters away from a drop point in the desert. I can still feel the rocks digging into me from where I lay for hours, dust clinging to my breath, that few seconds of calm before I dug in and took the shot in the dim light of dawn. Guy didn't stand a chance. I watched through the scope as all hell broke loose; a sick satisfaction of another hit done and another twenty thousand dollars banked.

A hand finds its way onto my shoulder from behind me, powdery perfume invading my nose, one of Javier's girls dipping her head down low to my ear and flipping her hair.

"Why so tense, baby?"

I take a swig of my beer, gritting my teeth, reaching for a smoke. Her lips find my neck, her breath tickling as she massages my shoulders.

"Relax," she whispers, straightening up, coming around until she's in front of me. She's wearing a little PVC skirt that barely covers her ass and a black pushup bra, making her look like she has tits. She doesn't. But she's pretty.

Dark hair and dark eyes and olive skin that remind me a little bit too much of the girl I left on a doorstep in Chicago over a month ago, with a promise I haven't kept.

My mouth dries.

I take another long pull on my beer, watching as she sinks to her knees. Pushing thoughts of Bella away as she unbuttons my shirt, hands tracing down my stomach.

Inhaling smoke, I blow it out into her face, not caring that it irritates her, wanting to piss her off, wanting her to piss off.

She doesn't.

Instead, she straddles me, grinding onto my dick nice and slow with heat that makes me hard. She'd feel good. I know she would. I'd feel good if I gave her what she's been after for fuckin' weeks.

She leans in, relentless, looking for a kiss, but I turn my cheek, looking away.

Not with her.

Because of her.

I can't get her outta my head. Her face claws at me. The sound of her laugh a distant memory now, but fuck if it doesn't make me move my ass away from this dumb bitch pawing at me.

I stand, hoisting her up with me before dumping her down into the seat I've just left, walking down the corridor, outside; too fucking warm, too fucking close. Alec's laughter ringing out from behind me. Fucker.

Leaning against the railing outside on the rooftop, the sun beats down as I shove my finger in a baggy from my pocket, snorting white powder off my fingertips. It burns, dripping down the back of my throat. A sample of some good shit we're about to move over borders in the next six months. Millions of dollars worth last Alec was talkin' and at least seventy-five G's of that is gonna be making its way into James' filthy hands.

I tilt my head towards the fire in the sky, my heart starting to beat faster, harder, skipping.

It's already been over a month and I don't even know whether I'm gonna make it back to the states alive. The way this trip is goin'? My hopes ain't high.

If Bella was waiting for me to call, she's not gonna be waiting much longer. And maybe if I do kick it over here, then I'll just be some guy who helped her out a time or two and disappeared off the face of the fuckin' earth.

She deserves better.

Better than me. Cus no matter what way I look at it. What I do. Who I am. I'm not good enough for her. No matter how much I might want to be. I'm the villain, not the hero. Even if for just a few hours, I felt like hers.

The only thing I can do is make sure James ain't ever gonna be a problem for her again. Short of putting a bullet in his head, this set-up I'm rigging is the only thing I got.

Yeah. I shake my head. I gotta let this shit go.

I gotta let this idea of her go.

I dig into the baggy again, shoving more blow up my nose. I ain't cutting it on anything because this whole place is filthy, but fuck, I need more. I need to block out that feeling of complete inadequacy. The bitterness that I can never have what I want, because this life I live is fucked. I'm at the beck and call of someone else twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

There's no escaping that.

...

Another day, another night, and boredom finds me in a make-shift ring. I'm bouncing on my feet, knuckles wrapped, watching the guy I'm fighting stagger back into a baying crowd. He's bare-chested, blood pouring from his nose and his left eye.

He flies back towards me, lunging with a right hook, overreaching, but I'm blocking him and punching him hard in the face, left jab then right hook.

He's on the floor. The unofficial referee counting out and I've got this locked down. I sniff, spitting blood on the floor, turning away, already pulling at the bandages my fists are wrapped with.

I don't even smile as Alec pulls me to him, laughing, giddy, pupils blown.

"Fuckin' get in, son! Ahhhaaa!"

He's clutching fistfuls of cash, shoving them at me. Winnings or whatever. I don't really give a fuck.

Sometimes I do this shit just to feel something. Anything. Pain. Punishment. Cos I'm not fucking good enough. Not for anyone. Never fucking good enough. That's what my old man used to say, anyway. I guess he weren't wrong.

I do rail after rail of coke, my throat numb, my nose sore, and when the girl with the dark hair and dark eyes corners me again when the sun has long set. I let her take me in her wet, hot little mouth and soon enough I'm wrapping my shit and sliding inside her from behind. And when she's moaning, and crying out as I pound into her, it's Bella I see. Because I'm sick in the head, or some shit. It's her I see when I lose it.

As soon as I toss the rubber in the trash, I'm throwing the girl's clothes at her.

"Get out."

"But—"

"I said get the fuck OUT!"

She scrambles out the room, curses flying out of her mouth, slamming the door behind her as she goes.

I punch the wall before slumping down on the bed, lighting a smoke, head in my hands.

"Fuuuuuck."

...

Javier and Alec are sat on the roof having breakfast when I surface, forgoing a t-shirt, letting the morning sun sink into my bones. It's early, maybe seven, and this come down is already hell. My head throbs, my chest aches, everything nervy and jittery. I run a hand over my heart, like the thing is about to explode. It hurts. Everywhere fuckin' hurts.

Sitting myself down in one of the green plastic garden chairs bleached from the sun, I take out a smoke and light it.

"You finally get all up in one of my girls, and now I gotta deal with her being a moody ass bitch?" Javier says through a mouth full of food, pointing his fork at me. "The fuck did you do?"

I blow smoke out my nose, staring at him, trying to work him out. He switches up from fits of rage to ecstatic highs. The kinda crazy we shouldn't be doing business with, but it's what Caius wants and what we need, and to hand it to him, he's got things running tight here.

He doesn't get to tell me whether he's mad or not because all of a sudden, shots are being fired, ringing out, shattering render on the wall behind us. I hit the floor, one hand reaching for the nine mil stowed in the waist of my pants, the other pulling the table over as bullets spray. Plates smash, scratching my arms, leg drenched in orange juice and warm coffee.

"Fuck me," Alec swears beside me, flinching as more bullets hit the table.

"Rather not." I flick the safety off, crouching now, trying to see what angle they're at. The next spray of bullets comes from left to right. If we're at twelve, I reckon they're at two, but I ain't sure.

My head spins and I shake it, starting to sweat, my stomach churning.

"Thought you said this trip would be relaxin'. Huh?"

Javier is shouting to his guys as they scramble up to join us, filing out of the door to the roof, returning fire over rooftops.

"Let's go!" he demands, gesturing for us to follow him back behind solid walls.

I don't hesitate. I'm not cut out to get dressed, let alone a fire fight.

We hustle outta there, gunfire getting more intense, wailing sounds of sirens not far off. Maybe this is retaliation for what went down a couple of days ago: me taking out that fucker, but who really knows.

There's just time for me to grab my duffle before we dive out onto the street into an open-topped jeep wrangler. We're driven away at speed, Javier laughing and whooping as wind whips through my hair.

"Guy's fuckin' nuts," I mutter to Alec as I reach into my bag for a t-shirt.

"They say the best of 'em are," Alec responds clapping a hand on my back.

...

From the city we drive a half-hour south to a private airstrip where a tin can of a plane is waiting. I jump down from the jeep, looking around; the heat intense, the sound of insects buzzing in long grass either side of the small runway.

Javier is greeting a guy dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt, smoking a spliff, and I almost drop kick him when he says this guy is the fucking pilot.

"Don't look so worried, brother," he tells me, arm around my shoulders as he walks us to the plane. "This is my G, he's gonna get us over to Colombia for a little while."

I stop dead.

Alec bumps my shoulder, nudging me to move.

"Colombia?"

"Gonna be fun, Mase. See where it all starts. What's the fuckin' matter with you?"

I think about that when we're in the air, gripping the seat arms, turbulence tightening my fingers. I hate flying; I hate it even more when there's a half-lit fucker flying the damn thing.

By the time we land, my head is splitting in two, and by the time we reach a large gated house on the edge of a tiny town, I'm ready for the day to end. I'm hot, sweaty, dog tired and in no mood for any kinda company.

Javier jumps down from the ninety-eight Chevy Silverado we're riding in as a woman comes out the house, heavily pregnant, followed by a tall man with a dark beard and glasses. Javier kisses her, making introductions. His sister, Josefina, and her husband, Carlos.

They welcome us into their home, set us up in simple guest rooms, with green walls and white bedding. I crash for a couple of hours, my hand never leaving the gun stowed under my pillow.

It's not 'til much later that I drag myself from the room, showering before I find myself prowling the house for somewhere to smoke and something to eat.

The kitchen has what I assume are the hired help, clearing up. They stop chatting when they spot me hovering.

"Are you hungry, Mr?" One of them says, stepping forward, smoothing down an apron.

"Yeah, if it ain't too much trouble. Been a long day."

The girl smiles and shakes her head, turning and putting me together a plate of cold meat, cheese, fruit and bread as my stomach growls.

"That's appreciated," I tell her when she hands it over, her cheeks flushing pink. "What's your name?"

"Carmen," she tells me, voice small.

"Thanks, Carmen. There somewhere I can smoke 'n' eat?"

She nods and tells me to follow her, leading me on an outside veranda. The last dregs of fading sun giving me a glimpse of dense jungle on the rolling hills beyond. It's quiet here, a respite, and I'm glad for it.

Alec finds me not long after. He's rubbing his knuckles into my head as he sits down on the chair across from me, lighting a smoke and passing me a beer as humid air clings to my skin, midges swarming around the outside light.

"You're startin' to worry me. This mood you got going on," he says eventually, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Your Ma?"

I shake my head. "Nah, man. Just tired. This come down's got me wrecked." That's not a lie. I'm getting way too old for this shit.

He's silent, studying me.

"You sure you want this thing with James to go down? Lotsa money your frontin' for this to work."

"Yeah." I take a pull on the beer. That I'm sure of.

"Gonna have to find someone else to take over his corners if you pull this off." His eyes slide over to me. "You like her?"

I play fuckin' dumb because he don't need to know.

"Who?"

"Bella." Even the way he draws her name out makes me want to land my fist in his face. I don't say anything. "Sure gotta healthy interest in her." He pauses, sucking in a breath of smoke, blowing it out the side of his mouth. "Not that I blame you. Pretty thing like that would've made some dollar, that's for sure."

My body tenses, because like fuck was I ever gonna let that happen. There ain't many things me and Alec disagree on, but Fever is one of them. Anything to do with that place is nothin' I want a part of.

"It weren't her debt to pay off. She didn't have a clue what James was doin'... who we are," I repeat.

"And you'd know?"

I exhale, irritated we're going down this route again.

"I'd know."

He looks at me critically, dark brows drawn together, tipping up his beer bottle.

"Y'know what I think?"

I'm not really interested in what he thinks, but he's gonna let me know anyway, so I steel myself. Try and fold my anger away.

"What I think is that you're goin' out your way and that ain't your normal M.O. Not even for Tanya..."

"Fuck Tanya."

He cracks a few knuckles.

"Just don't let some bitch cloud your fuckin' judgment. That shit with James—"

"You saw her. He's fuckin' scum. She ain't got no one lookin' out for her. No parents, no one."

"So you are? You're going fuckin' soft, Masen. Jesus! When your feelings start fuckin' up my business arrangements, it's a fuckin' problem."

"Get to the point."

"What I'm sayin' is don't let some dumb bitch throw you off your game. She ain't nothin' special."

I stand up, crushing my cigarette into the ashtray because he's fuckin' wrong and I don't wanna hear anymore. I walk off pulling open the door too violently.

"Don't let it become a problem, Masen. Otherwise you become my problem. You got it?"

I turn to him, gritting out: "Got it."

"I mean, you even screw her yet? Least make it worth your while."

I flip him off as I stalk away.