The Moros Murders
Chapter 4

Cassius

I jimmied open the window and lowered myself into the room, a gangly wire terrier stood growling at me. I took the dog in my arms, holding it so that it couldn’t bite me. Mother had been very clear when she said, ‘and the dog’. I didn’t want to kill the dog, I love dogs, the thought of killing one made me sick. But I didn’t have a choice. What mother would’ve done to me if she found out that I’d let the dog live. I quickly snapped the dog’s neck, the sound echoed in the quiet room. I held the lifeless thing in my arms as a tear ran down my cheek, I felt sick. Regaining my composure, I hastily ducked behind the door as Raphael Moros bundled through.

Seeing an opportunity, I pushed the door closed and before Raphael even knew I was there, I came up behind him and slit his throat. The kind looking man fell to the floor staring into my eyes, horrified, gripping his throat as he slowly and painfully suffocated on his own blood and life abandoned him. His expression was etched in my mind forever. When I did my research on the family, I couldn’t find any reason that someone could want them dead. They were innocent. I stood still for a moment, sorry for the man I’d just killed, before slipping out of the room and down the hall.

I morphed into a fly as I heard the nearby gasp of Luanna Moros, finding her husband’s body. She ran down the hall grabbing a sword off the wall of their shabby apartment, moving to shield her kids. I made myself visible, morphing back to human form. I have a strong belief that if it was just me and Luanna, I wouldn’t have been able to beat her, but she wasn’t just protecting herself, she was protecting the two boys behind her. Which limited the amount she could move around. Even so, beating her was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but I got a lucky opening and struck her down.

As I stood before Eren and Elias, two eight-year-old twins, the full weight of my actions hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew this was wrong—the most despicable thing I had ever done—but it was too late to turn back now. They looked so brave despite their innocence, lacking even the understanding that they were in danger. And yet, when they charged at me together in one last bid for freedom, I couldn’t help but feel admiration as well as regret. “I’m sorry,” I muttered as I took their lives.

I leapt from my bed, tears streaming down my cheeks. I lay back, my body trembling with regret. I wanted to spring up and run away from the anguish that overwhelmed me, yet I was rooted to the spot by an invisible force. Tears continued to roll down my face as I whispered ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. As much as I wanted to escape my own guilt-ridden thoughts, I was unable to move.

The communicator on my bedside table began to bleep, the bright light of the cylindrical object, flashing brightly, upsetting my groggy, tear filled eyes. I grabbed the device and clicked the button on the side, holding the mic end closer to my mouth. “Yes?” I questioned, rubbing the sleepy tears out of my eyes. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Enough lazing about Cassius, we have a situation,” said the stern voice of an irritated woman.

“Mother,” I said in a sort of detached hello, “you know that you could at least pretend that you care about me.”

“Yes, yes. Whatever, I don’t have time for your whiney little problems. I’ve sent you an address, get here now, you won’t enjoy the consequences if you don’t,” that said, she cut off the line.

I peeled back the sheets and stepped out of my cosy cocoon, onto the cold hardwood floor. I ran my hands through my tangled bed head as I shuffled to my wardrobe, grabbing my daily ensemble: loose-fitting black cargo trousers; a button-down shirt that had seen better days; an olive green waistcoat patterned with charcoal and ebony swirls; I dragged my old leather jacket off the bed, admiring its length as it reached down to my knees; many had compared me to a pirate who had just docked in port. To complete the ensemble, I slipped on a pair of black leather combat boots and my signature hat: an old top hat. It was as black as coal, sporting a ragged emerald band around the crown, and a knotted caramel leather strap cascading around its circumference.

In the glow of a lamp, I piled weapons onto my bed. First, I snapped an adjustable crossbow brace around my wrist and tucked it under my sleeve. The bolts were so small, they resembled pins. After fastening a leather tactical holster over my waistcoat, I slipped two pistols into their slots—the one on the right was slightly larger than its partner, both of which boasted intricate designs etched onto the metal hilts. I strapped knives to every limb and one large hunting knife to my right leg.

I picked up my locator and followed the route to the place that my mother wanted to meet. It was a grimy, dark alleyway and P.C.G.A lights flashed, along with cameras as I took in the scene before me. I spied my mother, refined as she was, she looked out of place in the dingy back alley, but had her outward appearance resembled her inner, she’d fit right in. “Mother.” I nodded to her in greeting.

She waved her finely gloved hand in dismissal, “Must you take so long.”

“I got here as quick as I could, I was in bed you know.”

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you,” she said with a sort of unenthused sarcasm. She was fed up with me, for no good reason, and mad about whatever went on in the alley. Not a good combination for me, she’ll take it all out on me, regardless of the fact that I didn’t do anything.

“Why am I here? What’s going on?” I asked, wanting to get out of there quickly, and back to my bed.

“Mory’s dead,” she said bluntly, not even turning to look at me.

I was stunned, I didn’t know what to say. I suddenly felt sick, well more sick than I was. Mory had been my best friend for years, we were like brothers. He was the only person that ever cared about me. “No,” I said, not wanting to believe it.

“Yes,” my mother said, two of her men had appeared behind me, I assume, ready incase I freaked out. I have had a very stressful, destructive and hideous week. I think that they all had the common-sense to think that as a nice finishing touch to what has been the worst ten days of my life, my best friend’s sudden death would be something I couldn’t handle. They would be right.

“No,” I repeated, shaking my head.

“Cass, I can’t have you losing it on me. I’m going to need you to find who did this and what they got from him. There was a hole in his leg, they think from a twisted knife. I cannot condone this kind of security breach. Cassius?” my mother said, without a care towards how I was feeling. I wasn’t paying attention to a word that she was saying. I couldn’t believe it, I had to see him.

Quickly I moved two paces, out of the reach of mothers minions, I ducked under the Alliance tape and ran toward the covered body. “Cassius!” my mother shouted after me and guards turned to my attention and began walking towards me. I lifted the tarp, revealing a beheaded body. I recognised the clothes and weapons that Mory was often seen wearing. But my mind wasn’t having it.

“Where’s the head?” I asked as the officers closed in on me, they looked at each other, not sure of what to do. My mother appeared too and to my surprise, she said.

“Let him see it.” The guards complied and pointed towards another, smaller tarp. Tentatively, I moved towards it. I lifted it, to see the stunned face of my best friend. It was horrifying. His eyes were bulging. His once caramel complexion, grey and where his grin that could charm just about anyone should have been, was a gaping mouth. I stumbled back a little, not sure what I was going to do. My mother stood behind me and I turned to her as I started to cry and hyperventilate.

My mother’s sharp eyes were filled with a calculating venom as she realised that I was too far gone and if she didn’t act fast, it would be bad for business. She called off her thugs before they could lay their hands on me and instead, moved in closer; her cold composure barely masking the pleasure she got out of seeing the fear in my eyes. She cooed softly to me, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness as if I were nothing more than a frightened animal.

Using her motherly allure, which I had never before seen, she deviously decided to coax me into submission with her false comfort and soothing words, instead of using her usual brute force. She led me away from the crime scene and into her automobile. She didn’t take me home, she took me to headquarters, giving me a cup of honey tea to calm me down. I sat on the sofa in her office, completely out of it. I’m fairly certain that my mother put some sort of drug in the tea to chill me out. I sat there, looking back on all the times Mory had stopped me going over the edge, all the times he saved my life, and I couldn’t even return the favour.

My mother walked into the room and sat down beside me. “Cass, I know losing Mory is hard for you, I know that you were close. But I really need you at your best, especially if we’re going to find out who did this.”

“I know, but I’m not sure I’m up for this anymore mum, I’m losing it. I can’t sleep, I barely eat, I don’t want to be here anymore.” My voice was starting to waver as the tears started to well in my eyes. The pressure of it all was getting too much for me.

“You’ll feel much better when you find the person who killed Mory, you can make them suffer.”

My eyes narrowed as I shouted back at her, “You’re not listening to me! Don’t you understand?” I cried, “I’m dying here mum, and you don’t seem to care. I’m in no state to find Mory’s killer. I’m asking you, no I’m begging you, take me off of this. Please mum, I need help.”

“You are my son Cassius. You will one day be leader of the Syndicate . You do not get a free pass every time you get upset. Because when you become leader, you will not have the luxury to grieve.”

I flared with anger at her words, “Mother, at this rate, I won’t live that long.” I felt her watching me as I stormed out of the office, feeling a sense of relief mixed with sadness at her lack of care and empathy. I headed towards a pub deep in the lower dregs, named pretty ironically, The Royale. I thought if today was to be my last day, I might as well enjoy it.

I lowered myself onto the brassy stool, its red leather seat worn and discoloured from years of heavy use. The bar top was ancient and in desperate need of a good scrub and oiling - its once vibrant finish now dull and patchy. The bartender came up to me right away, not surprising as the pub was near deserted. I sat there for two hours, switching between mead and spiced rum.

The often-packed pub had started to pick up, there were a few more people at the bar and quite a few of the tables were packed with a rowdy crowd. I noticed a little change in atmosphere as the door to the old pub creaked open, but I wasn’t in the mood for profiling, so I just put my head down and got on with my drinking.

I felt a presence next to me, a very notable smell filled the air next to me. The warm scent of fresh nutmeg. Although intrigued, I didn’t look up. Today I would die, I didn’t need any unnecessary attachments, just because I liked the way someone smelt. “Rough day?” The smooth voice of a girl cut through the grungy atmosphere. I say girl because she sounded young, her voice was so warm and soothingly inviting, I found myself responding.

“Rough week,” I stated before looking up to find the perfectly calm face of Medea Moros looking straight into me. I swear those big brown eyes could find, and destroy or nurture your soul if she looked deep enough. I tried to hide the fact that I knew who she was, but I’m certain that she had picked up my initial millisecond of panic. She smiled at me so kindly, I wondered where she found the strength. I’m sure she knew what I did. I stood up from my seat, “Excuse me, I have somewhere to -”

“Sit down,” she ordered, cutting me off whilst pouring herself a drink from the bottle I’d bought. I complied and sat back in my seat. A thick braid of raven hair cascaded down her back, with a few wisps framing her face. Her skin was the warm tone of unpasteurized honey, and an array of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose. I found her demeanour astounding; if I was sitting next to the man who had killed my entire family, I’d be enraged. Yet anger did not seem to be stirring in her heart. I couldn’t help but admire her strength.

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