Chapter 18: Bestie.
The hot water hit James' skin, almost too hot, but he didn't turn it down.
He let it run over him, washing away the sweat, the dirt, the mess of the last few hours. Steam filled the small safehouse bathroom, covering the mirror so he didn't have to see himself.
His body ached—not just from the bruises but from everything weighing on him.
The gun jammed. He should be dead.
But he wasn't.
As he laid into his bed he was staring at the ceiling and it hit him.
He really tried to do it.
His chest tightened, his breath unsteady. It wasn't just a thought, not just a passing moment of weakness. He had pulled the trigger. If the gun hadn't jammed, he wouldn't be here right now.
James covered his face with his hands.
What the hell was he thinking?
He felt stupid, reckless—maybe even selfish. Lucian was right. His death wouldn't have been clean or simple. It would've left behind a mess, one that others would have to deal with.
And now? Now he was still here, stuck with the weight of a life he didn't know what to do with.
A sharp exhale left him as he turned onto his side.
Maybe sleep would quiet his thoughts.
But then, his phone buzzed on the floor beside him.
Should I answer?
Or should I let it ring?
He waited, but the phone kept buzzing. With a sigh, he picked it up.
"Yes?" He asked, pressing a hand to his forehead.
"How nice to hear your voice... But did you really want to off yourself? How selfish can you be?"
"You have eyes I can't see, don't you?" James let out a dry laugh.
"Yes, I do."
James shifted on the bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. "Then tell me, Lucian, what do you see?"
"I see a man who's still breathing but acts like he's already dead. I see someone drowning in his own darkness, waiting for someone to pull him out, but too damn stubborn to reach for a hand."
"Poetic. But you don't know shit."
"You're still here for a reason, even if you don't know what it is yet."
Silence.
"And if I don't have a reason?"
"Then find one."
"Which guard gave you a phone to act like a psychologist?" James laughed.
Lucian chuckled. "Oh, James... you think I need permission to make a call?"
"Right. I forgot—you're special."
"Glad you remember." Lucian said smoothly. "Now, are you done feeling sorry for yourself, or do I have to keep playing therapist?"
James sighed, staring at the ceiling again. He hated how Lucian always had a way of getting under his skin. But maybe... maybe he needed that right now.
"I'm not gay, Lucian, so don't talk with that soft voice." James muttered. "And by the way... were you the one who bombed the NSBI building?"
Lucian let out a short laugh. "Me? I can't even move an inch. What are you talking about?"
"So it was you."
Silence followed.
Lucian didn't confirm or deny it. He didn't need to.
"Tell me, Lucian, how did you endure all the killing, all the burdens, all the—"
"I don't." Lucian interrupted. "Why should I? I did all of this to become what I am. To be successful. To have people lick my shoes. And it worked, didn't it?"
James clenched his jaw. There was no hesitation in Lucian's voice—no guilt, no regret. Just cold certainty.
"And was it worth it?
"You tell me."
"I asked the question and you tell me, Lucian. Was it worth it?"
Lucian was silent for a moment, then let out a slow, almost thoughtful sigh. "That depends. Worth it for what? Survival? Power? The illusion of control?"
"You make it sound like you didn't have a choice."
"No one ever really does, James...We just pick which chains to wear."
He stared at the ceiling, his fingers tightening around the phone. "Then what's the point of all this? The bodies, the destruction, the fear?"
Lucian chuckled. "The point? James, the point is that there is no point. We do what we must to survive. You of all people should know that."
"If the gun didn't jam, I'd be dead."
"It was not luck. It was the creator of our kind." Lucian said.
James laughed as he shook his head. "Or maybe it was Satan, just to let me suffer more."
"Or to bring more suffering to the word..."
James fell silent, gripping the phone tighter. He wanted to argue, to tell Lucian he was full of shit, but deep down, he wasn't so sure.
"So..." Lucian continued, "are you done questioning me like a priest at confession? Or do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?"
"Fuck you...so you called for your birthday, didn't you?"
Lucian let out a short laugh. "Oh? And here I thought you forgot."
"Your birthday is tomorrow...what do you want as a gift? A bullet?"
"Tempting. But no, keep that one for yourself. I have everything I need." Lucian chuckled
"How funny you are..."
A pause.
Then, Lucian's voice softened again.
"I have a birthday wish."
"I'm not killing anyone, Lucian."
"You don't need to." He laughed.
James waited, suspicious. "Then what is it?"
Lucian waited and waited and then answered.
"My daughter. She's 7 years old. The woman who was caring for her suddenly died."
James sat up straighter. "And?"
"I need you to be her babysitter until my grandfather comes back to the country."
James blinked then laughed. "You're joking." He said, still laughing.
"Do I sound like I'm joking?" Lucian's voice was serious without a hint of joke.
James ran a hand down his face. "You want me to babysit? Are you out of your damn mind?"
"No, James. I'm out of options."
James groaned, already regretting answering the call.
"This is the dumbest thing you've ever asked me to do."
"And yet," Lucian said smoothly, "you haven't said no."
"You said she fell into a bullet, the saying mentions a knife not a bullet you idiot."
Lucian let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, but it was a bullet...after doing drugs in front of my daughter."
James ran a hand down his face. "Jesus, Lucian."
"What?" Lucian said, unbothered. "She didn't listen. Actions have consequences."
"So you did kill her."
Lucian hummed. "Well somebody yeah. But that's not the problem anymore. The problem is that my daughter needs someone to watch her, and you're going to do it."
"This is the worst idea you've ever had."
"And yet, you're still on the phone," Lucian said smoothly. "So I'll send you the address."
"Only because it's your birthday, you fucker."
Lucian laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Thank you, my bestie."
James scowled. "Don't ever call me that again."
"Too late. It's already in the universe."
James sighed, already regretting this. "Just send the damn address."
"Already did." Lucian's voice came through again. "Be happy. A child will bring happiness into your life."
"Yeah, except she's your child, not mine."
"And?" Lucian said, amused. "She's cute and will fill your depressing life with joy."
"You act like I'm some miserable bastard in need of saving."
"Says the one who wanted a bullet."
"You had enough?"
Lucian hummed on the other end. "No, just one more thing."
"Say it."
Lucian's tone shifted, turning serious. "You know if you die, the whole city is going to burn down, right?"
James stopped blinking, his grip tightening. "What are you talking about?"
"You have hundreds of people under you, James. People who depend on you, people who will tear this city apart if you're gone. So be careful with your decisions."
"I never asked for any of them to rely on me."
Lucian chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Doesn't matter. They do."
James closed his eyes briefly, letting the weight of those words sink in, but Lucian continued.
"The burden you wanted to kill yourself over? It would only become heavier if you die. Just think about the death that would come with your death. People screaming, dying...you won't just disappear, James. You'll be the reason this whole city burns..." And suddenly Luican voice turned again to a soft one "Now sleep, bestie. My daughter loves to play and travel."
James groaned, rubbing his face. "Never call me—"
Click.
Lucian hung up.
James threw the phone onto his bed, running a hand through his hair.
Deep down, he knew—Lucian was right. Death wasn't an escape.
His life meant something.
Even if it meant death to others.
As he sat there, staring at nothing, his mind was caught on them.
Bella,Hans.,Ferucci and Hector.
The way they had looked at him...like he was something unnatural, something they couldn't understand.
He had seen fear before. He had caused fear before. But this was different.
This was deeper. Primal.
Like they had seen something they weren't meant to see.
And it was just him.
James exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing against his forehand.
He wasn't sure he wanted to know what they saw.
The nickname he had...the nickname he never said out loud.