A short pause until the second gunshot rang out throughout the courtyard. The booming voice of her father echoed back from afar. The extent of his merciless wrath revealed to it’s fullest. Emerald lay on the silken bed, her head buried into the soothing soft fabric of a lace pillow. The pain around the left side of her face felt somewhat lessened, if not almost non-existent. But it proved but a temporary respite. The moment she would raise her head up again, the throbbing ache would resume with a heightened vengeance. Four hours since the attack took place and two murders born out of it already. She felt sick to her stomach. Orlon ruled his people with an iron fist and never shied away from wielding it.
A young girl just turned twenty-three, she was raised amongst the company of thugs, criminals and the lowest of degenerates. This in turn led to her growing up being all too aware of the manipulative, haughty ways of the cruel external world. The only daughter of one of the biggest drug barons this side of Dewport, her inherited position was that of absolute power and control. Through the designated channels of her father’s authority for the time being. Since his wife’s passing during a very difficult and laboured birth, Orlon had never had the urge to remarry again. Instead he opted to bury those raw emotions deep into the love of his craft and livelihood. International drug trafficking. His ultimate objective was to carry forward the legacy left to him by his father, Osmond DeMarc. A tyrannical and feared drug-lord of his time. Orlon had promised himself as he watched his father's final few breaths ebb away, that he was to right the errors made during his reign. Forge and build trusted alliances with neighbouring factions, in an attempt to rid themselves of the cold, ruthless image they had been branded with. Emerald, still lying face down, recollected vague memories of her grandfather as a child. She grasped at snippets of strewn memories, piecing together what was left from the imaginations of a then six-year-old child. Though even through the fog of her thoughts, she could never forget his hollow, stern eyes and narrowed lips. A man who could burn holes through the life of the living with a single stare. Never once a smile or grin in all the time she had ever known him. Just a twisted, fearful grimace forever etched into his features.
A knocked at the door caused her to look up, bringing with it a shooting ache running down the side of her cheek. She winced, clenching her teeth, before responding with a permission to enter. Orlon walked in wearing his typical attire of a black waistcoat, slim-fitting tailored trousers and wide-brimmed Stetson hat. He stood by the entrance for a moment, examining the swollen purple bruise around her left eye.
”My poor baby.” He muttered. ”How are you feeling? The Doctor is on his way now. And the nurse is ready to attend to you at your request. Just say the word.” She managed to strain a smile through, contorting her face into more of a lop-sided simper. Orlon entered the room, shutting the door behind him and moved in closer to survey the injury in more detail. Almost the entire side of her face was a discoloured, enlarged mess. Her eye being the darkest area where the initial strike must have made contact. He lingered a moment and shook his head, eyes glazed over with a burning rage.
”That piece of shit. I swear on the soul's of your mother and grandfather, I’ll find whoever did this and make them pay for what they did.” Emerald placed a hand on his shoulder and patted it lightly. ”I have no idea, Papa. I’m so sorry. The lights were out and he wore a mask or something over his head. It all just happened so fast.”
He looked up at her. This time more prepared to look at the savage marks made upon her fragile face. Through that garish contusion, her exemplary beauty was still able to shine through. Those pearl drop hazel eyes and full, illustrious flowing jet black hair. It could almost be deemed justifiable that a man may be driven to such crazed desires for this alluring young goddess. Though whether one acts on those primal, base instincts was another matter altogether. He clasped her delicate hand and cupped it into his.
”Listen, my love.” He whispered. ”And please just level with me honestly. As difficult as it will be for me to hear, I need to know the truth. Did he force himself on you. I mean, in "that" way?” She recoiled away from him, shaking her head in disbelief. ”Of course not! I promise I would tell you if that was the case. He jumped on top of me, struck me with a closed fist and everything went blank for a little while. Then before I could even gain back any sort of composure, I heard him running back down the corridor. Something must have scared him, maybe he heard someone, I just don’t know. Please, Papa, don’t take this too far. Whoever it was must be a thousand miles away by now.”
Another knock at the door broke off their conversation. ”Enter!” Orlon called out as Marcus appeared from behind the door. He appeared grave and furious, yet handsome all the same with his deep set facial features, piercing eyes and thick, muscular body. ”We have a new development, sir. The men are reporting Miguel as having disappeared. Nobody can seem to find him anywhere.”
Orlon stared at the ground, as if in some sort of mild trance. His mind worked away, piecing together the fragments of a broken picture only he could see. ”Miguel… What the hell is wrong with me?” He mumbled to himself. ”In all the confusion, how could I forget about Miguel. But… It can’t be.”
After a few brief moments, his private deliberation came to an end. ”Marcus, are you sure? You’ve looked everywhere? And he’s nowhere to be found?”
”No trace of him, sir.” Replied Marcus in his usual deadpan approach.
Orlon glanced back at Emerald. His fists closed up in fury as the vivid image of a man attempting to defile his daughter, invaded his mind. He answered Marcus without turning back.
