The Enforcer's Sister

Chapter Seven: Mark & Archer - (How It Started)

Mark

The night was cold, the chill of winter biting at my skin as I stood hidden amidst the dense woods, watching my childhood home engulfed in flames. The orange glow flickered against the pitch-black sky, casting eerie shadows that danced and swayed with the crackling fire. It was a sight both mesmerizing and haunting, a symbol of everything that had gone wrong in my life.

This house, once filled with laughter and warmth, now stood as a charred reminder of the shattered pieces of my past. It was here that I grew up, surrounded by the love of a father who fought for his country and a mother who used to smile. But the war had changed my father, his return marked by the loss of his legs and the loss of his will to live. When he took his own life, the flames within our lives were ignited, consuming all that was left.

My mother left to grapple with the aftermath and sought solace in the bottom of a bottle. Her once radiant smile faded, replaced by the anguish etched upon her face. Desperate for an escape from the unbearable pain, she fell into the arms of men who brought only chaos and heartache. One such man, her boyfriend, was a predator disguised as a savior. His intentions were as vile as they were repugnant—he sought to harm my innocent sister, to take away her purity.

But I would not allow it.

My fists tightened by my sides as I remember that fateful night when I caught him in the act, his intentions laid bare. Rage surged through my veins like wildfire, and I unleashed the fury that had been building within me for years. Blow after blow, I struck him with a ferocity born from the depths of my pain, a desire to protect my sister at any cost. I almost killed him that night, and as I stood there, battered and bruised, holding my sister's trembling form, I knew there was only one way forward. My mother was too far gone to be safe but my sister, I would protect till I draw my last breath.

Carrying her, we left, my sister and I, escaping the suffocating grip of our broken home, leaving our mother behind. Life on the streets was harsh and unforgiving, but it was a world of our own making, a place where I could shield my sister from the evils that lurked in the shadows. I became a survivor, taking on odd jobs and doing whatever it took to provide for us, to keep us safe.

As the flames consumed the house, memories flashed before my eyes like fragments of a forgotten dream. The laughter of our childhood echoed in my ears, the scent of freshly baked cookies lingered in the air, and the warmth of a loving family enveloped me once again, if only for a fleeting moment.

The distant wailing of sirens pierced the air, snapping me back to reality. It grew louder with each passing moment. Their arrival meant help was on its way, but for me, it was time to disappear. I turned away from the burning remnants of my past, my heart heavy with memories and loss, as I embraced the darkness that had become my sanctuary. And like a phantom, I disappeared into the darkness leaving behind the remnants of my tumultuous past. The world would continue to turn, but I would forge ahead, driven by the resilience that living on the streets had instilled within me, and wait for the flames to douse, the ruins forgotten, and then I will be back to claim that which belonged to me, and bury my dead. 

Archer

Gunshots shattered the air, tearing through the fabric of our classroom's tranquility. Panic surged through me, the familiar taste of chaos on my tongue. My bodyguards moved with practiced precision, invading the room like a shield against the onslaught of danger.

"Everyone, get down!" our teacher bellowed, his voice a thin thread of authority amidst the cacophony.

As my classmates scrambled to find cover, I found myself encircled by my ever-vigilant guards, their eyes scanning the room for any sign of threat. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my heart pounding in my chest as I called out to two of my closest friends, beckoning them to join our protective circle.

"Quick! Stick close to me!" I shouted, my voice laced with urgency.

Together, we burst out of the classroom, the staccato rhythm of gunshots echoing through the labyrinthine hallways. We navigated the intricate webs of corridors, our footsteps quick and sure, our objective clear—to find an escape route from this hellish nightmare.

But at every turn, as if the fates themselves conspired against us, the gunmen emerged from the shadows, raining bullets upon my loyal guardians. One by one, my protectors fell, their sacrifices carving a path of blood and sacrifice.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins, my senses heightened to a razor's edge. We emerged into the open expanse of the school compound, my remaining guards forming a shield around me, a final barrier between life and death.

Then, as despair threatened to consume us whole, a voice pierced the chaos, emanating from the surrounding woods. A boy, about our age, materialized from the undergrowth, his eyes flashing with a mix of determination and resolve.

"Hey! Follow me!" he shouted, his voice a lifeline amidst the storm.

I took a moment to assess this unexpected savior, my gaze lingering on his unwavering stance before my survival instincts kicked in. We rushed towards him, our feet pounding against the earth, propelled by the desperate need to escape.

Gunfire erupted once again, a bullet grazing my arm, the searing pain serving as a chilling reminder of our precarious situation. But as I stumbled, on the brink of collapse, the new boy reacted with stunning precision. A single shot rang out, silencing our assailant and opening a path to freedom.

Without hesitation, we followed our newfound ally into the dense embrace of the surrounding woods. Twigs snapped beneath our feet, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, as we pushed deeper into the unknown, trusting our lives to the hands of fate.

Finally, as the sounds of chaos faded behind us, we found ourselves in a pocket of relative safety. We paused to catch our breath, our hearts pounding in unison. I turned to the boy, gratitude etched upon my face.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice filled with both curiosity and reverence.

He met my gaze, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "Mark," he replied, his tone steady and resolute.

In that moment, as our hands met in a firm handshake, a silent pact formed between the four of us—a brotherhood forged amidst the crucible of violence and survival. With a nod of gratitude, I acknowledged Mark's role in our escape, a shared understanding passing between us.

Mark took us to a debilitated building and as we caught our breath, his playful nature emerged, his eyes glinting mischievously as he tore off a strip of fabric from my sleeve to help clean the gunshot wound on my arm. "I think it is only fair you have a bite at this, I saw your men falling like flies," he teased, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Funny,” I growled and winced as he dabbed at the wound, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the banter. "Where did you learn to shoot like that? And patch up wounds?" I asked genuine curiosity in my voice.

Mark chuckled, his eyes flickering with a mix of pride and sadness. "I'm an army brat. My old man taught me a thing or two before..." His voice trailed off, as he worked his jaw, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

I nodded, understanding the weight of his unfinished sentence. "And where are you from? You seem to know these streets better than anyone."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Mark's mouth. "From the streets. You could say I'm a street rat."

One of my friends scoffed, his face contorted with skepticism. But before he could utter a word, Mark's gaze hardened, his voice filled with an intensity that silenced the room. "Thanks to this street rat, you're all alive right now," he said, his words hitting like a punch to the gut.

My friend swallowed hard, the weight of his judgmental words hanging heavily upon him. It was a sobering moment, a reminder that appearances can be deceiving, and that survival often had its roots in unexpected places.

As I observed Mark, his resolute spirit burning brightly in his eyes, I couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration and respect. I assessed him carefully, the gears of opportunity turning in my mind. I had seen his resourcefulness, his loyalty, and the skills he possessed. He could be an asset, a valuable addition to my circle.

"Mark," I said, my voice laced with sincerity. "Would you consider working for me?"

Mark's eyebrows arched in surprise, his gaze narrowing as he considered my offer. "Work for you, doing what?"

“Exactly what you just did.”

“I’m terrible at babysitting. I always fall asleep,” he said, holding my gaze.

Leaning in, my voice dropped to a low and steady tone. "Name your price. Whatever you desire, within reason. Your actions today have proven your worth, and I don't let valuable assets slip away."

Mark's eyes glistened with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "My price?" he questioned.

"Yes," I affirmed.

"How much are you worth?" he inquired a hint of amusement in his voice. 

I chuckled lightly. "How much do you think?" I threw back at him.

"If I were to kidnap you and demand ransom, what would your people be willing to pay for your life?" he asked, a smirk appearing on his face.

"If you were to kidnap me and make such a demand, you wouldn't live long enough to spend that money," I stated firmly. "I am Victor Donovan's son, and a massacre would ensue. Nobody you know would survive."

"Intriguing," Mark mused, studying me intently as his mind contemplated the possibilities. Finally, his expression resolved, and he responded, "I will accept, but on my own terms, even if you're paying me."

"I simply seek your protection and friendship," I reassured him, "And, naturally, that you align your interests with mine when it comes to my enemies." 

"I will exceed all your expectations, Archer Donovan," he declared with conviction, his gaze piercing. "If you write a check with a generous number of zeros, symbolizing the value you place on securing your life, I will dedicate myself to safeguarding your interests until my final moments." 

Chuckling, I responded, "Agreed," reaching out my hand. He firmly clasped it, sealing our agreement.

"So, how many enemies are we dealing with here?" he quipped, though his eyes remained unwavering and intense.

"You'll be surprised," I replied a hint of mystery in my voice.