[Revised]

Max passed a hand through his hair. The breath he had been holding as he stood up came out all at once: a white puff in the cold night air. He reached up to pull the hair band out but groaned when he felt the sharpness of the wound from his shoulder. He padded the area and winced when he saw that his fingertips were covered in blood.

Max one-handedly lifted his hoodie over his head, balling it up to then delicately clean his injury. He hissed when it made contact, but proceeded to hold it in place, allowing it to soak up the excess. To his luck, the idiot hadn't pierced a lung, instead just tearing a muscle.

But damn, it hurt like hell.

He was about to throw it onto the ground but then remembered that it held traces of his blood. So he slipped it back on, looking around at the scene before him. Four dead, all in the span of a few minutes. He didn't feel any regret towards what he had done, because, after all, they were the ones that had attacked him first. But now, he had another four deaths under his name.

If their boss finds out, I'm fucked.

Max exhaustedly ran a hand down his face and began to pace back and forth, like a caged animal. Two blinding white lights stopped him in his tracks, the intensity increasing as they neared him. He shielded his eyes with a hand as he stumbled back from the edge of the road, a groan escaping his lips. It was like looking directly into the sun! Who was the asshole that thought it would be a good idea to light up the brights of his car right in his face?

Immediately recovering, Max stomped towards the lights, his eyes two narrow slits, sizzling with intent. He was going to punch through the driver's window and drag the bastard out of the car. Then he would beat his sorry ass, returning him to the hellhole from which he had obviously spawned from.

What disrespect! Did the guy have any idea about who he was dealing with here? He had dealt with enough BS for one night and wasn't in the mood for dealing with anymore.

Scrub.

The lights dimmed to their acceptable level of intensity, and Max's mouth dropped open when he saw that they belonged to none other than to the vehicle of the one man he despised.

Roman.

He remained frozen his place, eyes wide in horror as the lights veered away, narcissistically allowing him to drink in the glory of its body. A sleek black limousine slowed in front of him, its five tinted windows catching the weak glint of the street lights and reflecting them towards Max. It came to a complete halt, the passenger door perfectly in line with the shivering male on the sidewalk, beckoning him towards its priceless luxury.

Dazed, Max blinked several times to snap out of it, his rage building up once again and stronger than before. He clenched and unclenched his fists at either side of his body, his nose flaring as he breathed heavily through it. Like an enraged bull, he began to storm towards it, seeing red. But as he approached the limo, he realised that the last thing he needed at that moment was to bring any attention to himself. Especially since he was in the shittiest part of town, exhausted, frustrated, and completely unarmed.

He was surprised that he still didn't have a gun pressed to his temple, or that he wasn't tied up like an animal and thrown into the back of a van. Not that he would let him take him that easily. Just because he was weaponless didn't mean that he was going to allow them to take them him down without a fight. At least not without giving him the opportunity to snap a few necks.

Max had purposefully decided against following Zara with his Porsche for that exact reason; his car was a jewel amongst the filth that were the neighbourhoods she frequented and Max didn't want it stolen. So, instead, he used a cheaper, more inconspicuous car for the task. It had only failed him two days ago, when the group drove out of the city and into the suburbs. 

He only just managed to catch up with them on their way back onto the highway, only then was he able to continue his game of cat and mouse. Zara had spent the night at Saffron's place—who surprisingly also seemed to be the owner of the jalopy—and the next day did all her travelling on foot. Max didn't care about her reason for it, what mattered was that it had made things much simpler for him. 

When he reached the vehicle, he tried his best to appear unfazed by all the shit that had gone down a few moments ago by pushing a hand into his pocket while he rested his arm on the vehicles roof. He slowly ran his fingers over the paintwork, then reached down to tug at the handle of the door.

It didn't budge.

He tried again, more forcefully this time, but the door wouldn't do what he wanted it to do.

He swore that if Roman was playing another one of his stupid jokes on him that he was going to wring that bastard's neck.

Max straightened, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, in an attempt to prevent himself from lashing out onto the car. After he had the self-control he needed, he bent over again, pressing his face against the window while he placed his hands in two parallel lines beside it.

"I know you're in there, you asshole," he said, squinting as he attempted to make out the person on the other side. He knew that he probably looked idiotic— albeit animalistic is the more proper term—but he was beyond caring about his image. Especially when that image could get him into serious shit.

All he wanted to do at that point in time was to get into the car and lean back against one of those comfy leather seats and allow sleep to take him under her wing...

Max hammered a fist against the window, unconscious that it was bullet-proof and would most likely remain unscathed by his fury. After knocking for several seconds, it slowly began to slide down, so he moved his hand away, confused at the manoeuvre. Just when he was about to stick his arm through the opening, the aromatic smoke of a Cuban cigar lazily floated out, and he unwontedly breathed it in, his eyelashes fluttering at the familiar smell. Its pungency left behind a trail of sweetness as it traveled throughout his body, melting his nerves. It had such an effect on him that he didn't even realise that the person within the car was speaking to him.

"How much you want, baby girl?" It said in a low voice, a heavy Spanish drawl meshing the words together. Max shook his head, unsure whether he had just imagined what the guy had said or whether he was being serious.

What the hell?

"What?"

"I saw you standing out here, all alone in the cold, so I thought that you'd like to come back to my place for a good time. What do you say, mamita?"

Too far.

"I swear that if you don't open the door, Roman, I'm going to rip it off and drag your sorry ass out of there! How dare you make me wait out here for four godforsaken hours then drive here pulling that shit? Hijo de puta!" Max stuck his arm into the gap and started thrashing it about, blindly trying to grab onto something he could throw towards the vermin that was now howling with laughter at the far end of the limousine.

Click.

Now you're gonna get it.

Max pulled the door open, slamming it behind him as he ducked his head to pounce in. He felt the car lurch as the chauffeur floored the accelerator, his body rocking forwards and onto the carpeted floor thanks to the inertia. He groaned uncomfortably but didn't waste a second to get onto his knees and stumble towards the figure on the other end of the car, his fists ready to be smashed into his face.

"Come on, hermano, you know I was only messing with you! Hey what happened to your..." Roman sobered, his face contorting into one of fear as he raised his unoccupied hand up, hoping to calm the incoming buffalo stampede. Max ignored the pathetic excuse for a human being as he wrapped both hands around Roman's collar, aggressively lifting him up before throwing him back against the seat of the car.

"How long did I have to wait out there in the cold, Roman?! Tell me before I smash your skull open," The color of his irises shifted from the emerald they were to a deeper green. He continued shaking him violently, his victim's neck straining to keep its head from lolling back and forth.

"F-f-four hours, f-f-ucking hell Max, I-I'm sorry!" Roman struggled to say, his eyes shifting from side to side in terror while he gripped Max's forearm, in an attempt to loosen his iron grip. Which was futile, considering that his strength multiplied exponentially when he was pissed.

"Why were you late Roman?" The guy was about to reply, but Max shook his head, anticipating the answer, "Don't even think about lying to me. You know how much I despise liars."

"Okay, okay," Roman muttered, putting his hands up in surrender. He tried to push his cousin away, but since Max didn't budge, he let out a frustrated sigh, "Jesus, let go of me, you gorilla!"

When Max pulled away, chuckling, Roman adjusted his misshapen self, combing a hand through his hair and adjusting his tie. After placing his still-lit cigar in the ashtray, he brushed the front of his pants off with both hands and tucked his shirt back in. Then, he picked up his cigar again and brought it to his lips, an eyebrow twitching as he sucked in the scent. While Roman attempted to restore his dignity, Max had returned to his spot on the other side of the limousine, his arms crossed in front of his body and his legs stretched out in front of him.

As he watched him like a hawk, it occurred to Max how much his cousin had changed over the years, how much he had grown. Roman had never been a vain child; he was the opposite. He was the humblest being that Max had ever known. Their fathers would always shower them with toys and clothing, with Roman always collecting his and sending them off to orphanages, to the unfortunate. 

When Max told him that what he was doing was stupid, Roman would always reply with, "I won't play with these toys knowing that other children can't afford any." His father would always chastise him for that but Roman always stood up to him, never allowing him to dictate what morality was. Max had always envied that part of his cousin because he knew that he himself would never have the guts to go against the tyrant of his father.

Now, as he sat in the expensive limousine, in his hand a cigar that was worth more than a weekly salary, he reveled in the irony of the situation. Roman now wore an Armani suit and tie, Nero Giardini dress shoes, and donned a haircut from one of the most prestigious hairdressers in New York City. Max, on the other hand, wore Calvin  Klein ripped jeans and a black hoodie from the same brand, with combat boots, from where he didn't know. He was still on the high-end scale, but not as sophisticated as his dear cousin, who had now leaned forwards and was saying something.

"...are you even listening to what I'm saying?" He asked, his voice still slightly shaky. Max hadn't realised that he had zoned out, and so he brought the cigar to his lips, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. Roman rolled his eyes dramatically and leaned back against the leather seat, sliding a hand down his face. "I said I was late because the cargo took longer to arrive than what was expected. When I asked the deliverer what had happened, he told me some bullshit story, so I decided to stay longer and ensure that everything was in order."

"Couldn't you have asked Maurice or Herman to do it? They are just as capable, if not more," Max stubbornly said, jabbing at him with his words. He was still angry, but not as much as before, knowing that he would probably have regrets if he were to send his cousin to the hospital. "You had one job, Roman. Drop me off, let me do the deed, then pick me up at two. Simple! I even wrote it out for you. Instead, you leave me out in that shit-hole..."

"I know, I know. I said I'm sorry, didn't I? But you know you can't trust the labourers with these kinds of things. Not after what happened..." As he trailed off, Max nodded in understanding, wordlessly pointing at the lighter that was just out of arm's reach. Roman picked it up and tossed it, and Max caught it, bringing it up to the cigar in his mouth and lighting it.

A pregnant silence ensued as the two basked in the smoke, which hung low above their heads. Just as the things that had remained unsaid.

"I discovered something...interesting, while I was reviewing the cargo's files," Roman suddenly spoke up, the withered remains of his cigar coughing out its last puffs of smoke on the ashtray in front of him. He leaned in again, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. Max, who was looking out of the window, slowly turned his head towards his cousin, raising an eyebrow.

"By the look on your face, I can tell that 'interesting' is a pejorative term."

"Yeah, 'fucking unbelievable' sounds about right!" Roman muttered, passing a hand through his hair. At that moment, Max knew by his facial expression that the man was torn between exhaustion, rage, and worriment. "While I was looking through the files, I realized that only two out of the three containers arrived with the full shipment. Container X-392 and Y-393 arrived with exactly 10,000, 30-milliliter flasks of Soliris each. Everything seemed to be in order until I checked container Z-394. Guess what happened?"

"Someone jacked some of your drugs," Max said without skipping a beat, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Exactly! You know how much those bastards stole from me?! Five thousand flasks. One fourth of my shipment!"

Max nodded absentmindedly, suddenly bored of the entire conversation which would soon, inevitably, veer towards the failure of his mission. In all honesty, he couldn't care less about his cousin's incompetence, especially since for once he wasn't at fault for Roman's mistakes. He'd always known that there was a rat in his cousin's inner circle of partners, he'd interacted with them before, and he could tell that it was either all of them or one of them that was a lying, backstabbing bastard.

Who it was, however, he didn't know.

"What's the loss," Max inquired politely, pushing the one-sided conversation onwards. His cousin may have been petulant at times, but he was currently a relief from the thoughts that kept crawling back onto his mind.

"Three million dollars." Roman snorted, reaching under his seat. A click resounded, and the metallic whirring of a minibar spinning into view from the side of the limousine ensued. Without looking, Roman selected a bottle from the rack, the amber liquid within sloshing around as he lifted it by its neck and placed it on the small coffee table in front of him. Whiskey.

He pulled out two glasses with one hand and tore the seal off the bottle with the other, twisting the cap and flicking it away, "I don't know what I'm going to do," Roman murmured, pouring the drinks. Max stared at the action intently, forcing his mind to concentrate on something other than his own thoughts.

Max took the glass from Roman, then tilted his head back, mindlessly downing the entire drink. His throat burned as the alcohol scraped its way through, and after he slammed the cup down on the table, he fell back against the leather seat, lightheadedness crawling into his skull.

"So...I know that I've been talking about myself all night, so I think it's only fair that..." Roman started, but Max, who had been staring at the window, snapped his head back to him, cutting him off with his glare.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Roman. Not to you, and not to anyone, so I kindly suggest that you don't breathe another word unless you'd prefer not to breathe at all. The choice is entirely up to you," Max threatened, diverting his eyes away from him. Roman blinked at the passive-aggressive tone, and although he knew that the threats are empty, he recoiled. But that didn't stop him from probing,

"Come on, Max. You've never hesitated in telling me about your missions! What's the big deal now, and why is your hoodie soaked in blood? Did you get in a fight?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Yes, yes I have! But Jesus, Max! Since when are you so secretive about these kinds of things? You know you can tell me anything! We shouldn't even be having this conversation," Roman huffed, crossing his arms together and scrunching his face up in annoyance. Max stole a glance at him and barely managed to suppress a chuckle; his cousin's facial expression reminded Max of the one he would make as a child. Unable to resist Roman's judgmental look, Max rolled his eyes and dragged his hand through his hair.

"O.K., what do you want me to say? What will satisfy your curiosity, you annoying little shit?" Max's frown melted into a half-smile as he leaned in to pour himself another drink.

"Well, gee, Max. Where should we start?" Roman asked sarcastically, tapping his chin with his forefinger, feigning a deep-thinking pose, "Start from the beginning, smart ass, and don't forget all the gory details, you know those are the best!"

"Fine, fine. But I must warn you, my bitching might take a while."

"Don't worry Cinderella, your carriage will return you home before midnight," Roman scoffed, leaning back against his seat.

So Max began to explain what had happened, in all the gory details as Roman had requested. He also talked about the little encounter he had with the gang, making sure that he hyperbolized the fight scene. When Max had finished, Roman slowly nodded, confused and intrigued at the same time.

"So this girl...Zara, right? From what I understand, she was quite a difficult beast to tame,"

"Yep. But after I pinned her to the ground there was nothing she could do to resist el guapo," Max chuckled dryly, draining his second drink, "Definitely banged the impertinence out of her."

He made thrusting motions with his hips, then poured himself some more whiskey, part of the heavy weight on his chest lifting and floating away. His white lie would yet again establish who the alpha male was, and stop his cousin from ever questioning his motives again.

Something inside of him constricted at the logic, arising a feeling that he hadn't felt before. Perhaps it was guilt?

Max brushed the feeling off, blaming it on the alcohol.

"Jokes aside, I know that the sex makes a good story for you and I, but what are you going to tell tu padre?*" He asked, concern brushing over his features.

"That I failed, O.K.? Nothing I say will change that. But I did have a good reason for not killing her, I can tell you that—"

"Besides the fact that she was a good bang?"

"No, stupid, and don't talk about her that way." Roman raised an eyebrow at his words, and Max realized, a little too late, what he had said. His eyes darting from left to right, he quickly drove the conversation on, hoping that Roman wouldn't give a second thought to his words."What I was saying, before you interrupted me, was that I think that she's better off being alive."

"Really? I thought she was just some low-life whore uncle Fernando wanted to eliminate. I think your testosterone clouded your judgment, primito," Roman teased, his boyish laugh filling the limo again. Max, increasingly frustrated with his cousin's insolence, prayed to God that the ride would soon come to an end. Another minute with his cousin and he swore that he would completely lose his self-control.

"Ever heard of the saying, 'there's more than what meets the eye'? Obviously not, since you keep saying stupid shit. Besides, if I were you, I'd be worrying about the ass whipping when I got home. I don't think your father will be too happy with that 3 million dollar loss, Roman," Max tsked, waggling his finger. Roman sobered immediately, his cheeks colouring red with shame. Victorious, Max leaned back against his seat, a huge grin stamped on his face as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Roman was about to give him a piece of his mind when suddenly, he lurched forwards, his whiskey spilling all over his pants. He jumped up in surprise but accidentally banged his head against the roof of the ceiling, shoving him back down against his seat.

"Crap!" He roared, rubbing the back of his head, "These pants were brand new!"


Max guffawed, the pained look on his cousin's face enough to cut down all his emotional walls, "Have you even bothered to take a look at me? I'm drenched in my own blood here!"


"Yeah, I guess you're right," Roman mumbled, but then he continued complaining. Footsteps resounded from outside.

"Shut up, dumb ass," Max ordered, quieting down as he pointed at the window. Roman stopped whining, dragging a hand through his hair and fixing the collar of his shirt. He glared at the stain before looking up at Max, a sad look in his eyes.

"I can't show up like this!" Roman whispered loudly, grabbing a handful of his shirt to make hell's spawn more visible.

"You're going to have to suck it up," Max said, already leaning in to open the door. A little alcohol stain was nothing compared with the red monstrosity he had across his left side. That would require a lot of explaining. His mind was once again clouded with the anticipation of what was to come.

Anger, disappointment, resentment. Better rebuild those walls. 

-:-