Luke was home. He bid Lily good-bye, and assured once more if she wanted to come home early. But she was sure, she said she was not going to come earlier, as her salary may be cut-off if she leaves half-month.
The moment he walked home; the first sight was Noah. He exclaimed and hugged his dad’s figure, or what was in his reach. He was little, after all, and all he could manage to hug was his father’s legs.
And now, it was almost twenty or thirty minutes later that Luke plopped down on the couch, taking his mind off of everything else and just relaxing for a bit.
Ash is probably in his room, studying, Luke thought, I’ll go to his room later to ask about what happened to him yesterday.
He remembered vividly how Ash looked when he came back home, bloodied and exhausted.
He had asked him to tell him what had happened.
.
.
When I come back home tomorrow, you’re going to tell me exactly what happened. Got that?
.
.
Luke sighed as he clicked the phone off and set it on the dining table. The soft hum of the evening filled the house, clattering from the kitchen where his wife moved around, the faint scrape of Noah’s colored pencils against his sketchbook.
“Daddy?” Noah’s voice piped up, pulling Luke out of his thoughts.
He glanced over at his youngest, who was sprawled across the living room carpet, a mess of crayons scattered around him. At just seven years old, Noah had the kind of energy Luke envied- boundless and bright, like the kid never stopped. “Yes?”
Noah squinted at him, holding up a half-finished drawing with a shy grin. “Do you think big brother will like it?”
Luke tilted his head. The drawing was messy but adorable, a stick-figure Ash with a giant smile and an even bigger star hovering over his head. “Of course he will. He’s gonna think it’s great.”
Noah beamed. “Big brother’s so cool,” he said softly. “He always helps me find stuff when I lose it.”
Luke chuckled, shaking his head as he sank onto the couch. “He does?”
He leaned his head back, letting the faint smell of dinner; garlic, something roasting, maybe potatoes? It was a big dinner tonight, that much was clear. A proper one.
“Ash is still studying?” he asked absently, glancing toward the kitchen.
His wife’s voice floated out, muffled by the sound of a pot being set down. “He said Lucas called him.”
Luke frowned. “Lucas?”
She popped her head out briefly, wiping her hands. “One of his friends. He’s a nice boy, actually. He came by the house a while back when you weren’t home, remember?”
Luke blinked. He hadn’t known Ash had a friend named Lucas. Hell, he hadn’t known Ash had friends at all, if he was being honest. The kid had always been so keep-to-himself, quiet and distant.
“Good,” Luke said after a pause, offering a small smile. “It’s good he’s making friends.”
Before his wife could respond, Luke’s phone buzzed against the table, breaking through the moment. He frowned as he grabbed it, glancing down at the screen. Ash.
“Hey, Ash? Where are you? It’s late, and dinner’s almost-”
He didn’t get the chance to finish. A voice cut him off, sharp and unfamiliar.
“Hello, is this Mr.Hawkins? Asher Hawkins' father?”
Luke froze. “Yes?”
“This is County General Hospital. Your son’s been brought in- he’s injured. He’s stable for now, but-”
Luke didn’t hear the rest. His chest tightened painfully as he shot to his feet, the phone pressed hard against his ear. “W-What happened? Is he okay?”
“He’s stable for now, but we need you here in order to confirm the full extent of what had happened with him-”
“Which hospital?!”
“County General,” the man repeated.
“I’m coming,” Luke said quickly, his voice tight, before ending the call.
“What’s wrong?” His wife’s voice was immediate, sharp with concern. She stepped out of the kitchen, dish towel clutched in her hand as she looked at him. Noah stopped drawing, his crayons forgotten as he stared up at his dad with wide, worried eyes.
Luke’s throat felt dry, his mind racing. He swallowed hard. “It’s Ash. He’s in the hospital.”
The words sent his wife reeling. “What? What happened?! Why is he hurt?”
“I don’t know.” Luke grabbed his keys from the counter, his hands shaking, just slightly. “I’ll find out when I get there. I’ll call you.”
His wife moved toward him, her expression frantic, but Luke was already heading for the door. “Take care of Noah,” he managed to say over his shoulder.
“Wait-”
The door clicked shut behind him before she could argue.
Luke’s heart was hammering as he stepped out into the night air, every terrible thought clawing its way through his mind. What happened? Was it an accident?
The car roared to life as Luke gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. He didn’t know what he’d find at the hospital, but one thing was certain.
He had never driven this fast.
Luke drove like a man possessed, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as the headlights cut through the dark streets. Every second felt like an eternity, every red light a cruel trick from the universe.
Ash.
His son’s name rang through his mind on a loop. Injured. That one word clawed at his chest. It felt unreal. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Ash was always so careful, so quiet. He wasn’t the type to get into trouble.
Or so Luke had thought.
He barely made it to the hospital, his hands shaking but his steps even and steady. He burst through the entrance, the fluorescent lights shining bright enough to make Luke squint his eyes, but he kept on walking.
He rushed to the counter, ignoring the long line of people in front. “Excuse me,” his voice was urgent, “I’m looking for Ash- Asher Hawkins. They called me here.”
The receptionist was a young woman with tired eyes and calm demeanor, as she searched for Ash’s name in the system, “Asher Hawkins? Yes, He was brought here not very long ago,” she looked up to Luke's gaze, “Are you related to him?”
“Yes, he’s my son.”
The receptionist nodded and said in a firm voice, “Asher Hawkins is unconscious right now. The doctors are assessing his position. He is in room number 512.”
“What happened to him? How hurt is he?!”
“We don’t know what happened to him. We’re trying to figure out. He was brought in with another boy named Lucas…something. He was stabbed-”
“STABBED?!”
Okay. This was too much. Stabbed? How bad was this? Wait, do people actually get stabbed nowadays?! Luke couldn’t dwell on it before a voice cut through.
“I know what happened.”
Luke whipped his head towards the source of the voice, it was a boy. He had dishevelled hair, and a large thick gauze on his nose; maybe he had a broken nose. Luke didn’t care, he quickly asked, “Who are you?”
The boy straightened. “Blake,” he said quietly. “I know what happened. I’ll tell you everything.”
Luke blinked, his heart racing anew. He studied the boy carefully, his mind working fast to piece together what little he knew. This Blake seemed like he’d been through hell. Luke had no idea who he was, but something told him this wasn’t the time for interrogation.
“Then…Wait. I need to check on Ash first.” Luke said.
Blake nodded, his jaw tight. “Okay. I’m right here.”
Luke turned silently and began walking down the corridor, his pulse pounding in his ears as he passed closed doors, white walls, and the faint antiseptic smell that clung to every inch of the place.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Room 512.
Luke pushed past the door and entered. The sight that greeted him knocked the air from his lungs.
Ash lay motionless on the hospital bed, his face pale against the white sheets. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, his chest rising and falling faintly beneath the blanket. A thick gauze was visible on Ash’s forehead, covering most of his eye, and his forehead.
His arm was visible, it had bandages all over. The faint beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room, a steady rhythm that somehow both reassured and terrified Luke.
There was a doctor beside him, checking his pulse. He quickly looked up at the sound of the door opening.
“Excuse me, sir. But this patient is not in any condition to accept visitors-”
“Shut your mouth. I’m his father.”
The doctor slowly nodded and continued his job. While Luke came closer.
For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His son- his boy- He’d never seen Ash like this before.
“God…” Luke whispered, his voice cracking. He stumbled forward, his hand instinctively brushing against Ash’s arm, as if to reassure himself that he was really there.
He heard the door creak faintly behind him and glanced back. Blake stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on Ash. There was something pained in his expression, something Luke couldn’t quite place.
“What happened?” Luke asked hoarsely, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Blake shifted, his shoulders tense. “It’s a long story,” he murmured. “But it’s my fault he’s here.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Your fault?”
Blake looked at Ash for a moment longer before meeting Luke’s gaze. “I’ll explain everything. Follow me.”
Luke did as he was told, following Blake. After a few moments of walking,
And so, Blake told him everything. And if Luke could place his finger on the entire conversation he had with Blake, it could be described in one word.
Unpredictable. Damn, that’s a plot twist.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blake pulled his hoodie tighter against the night chill as he stepped out of the hospital. His head was pounding. The memory of Jamie’s hands on his collar- tight and trembling with rage- flashed through his mind. Blake rubbed at his neck instinctively, even though there was no mark.
Jamie’s reaction had been expected. The guy had been two seconds away from choking the life out of him, his face twisted with pure fury and devastation. Blake couldn’t even blame him. He deserved it.
All of it.
He remembered Jamie’s words.
.
.
“I’ll kill you, you piece of trash! How dare you stab him- my little brother- in the stomach and come here apologizing like it’s no big deal?! Do you even know what you have done?! If Lucas even gets a scar from that- you’ll pay. And I mean it!”
.
.
Ash’s father, though—that was different. Luke had been eerily silent as Blake spoke, his hands shaking as they tugged through his own hair.
Ash was always so composed, so put-together, and yet here was his father, barely holding it together as Blake unraveled the chaos that had led to his son’s unconscious body in a hospital bed.
And Lucas...Blake hadn’t even been able to tell them about Lucas. Not properly. He’d just muttered something about Lucas being in surgery and bolted before Jamie or Luke could press further.
The guilt gnawed at him as he walked aimlessly.
His steps faltered when he heard the low rumble of an engine. A sleek black car pulled up, its tinted windows gleaming under the streetlights.
Blake didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly whose car this was. The door clicked open, and he slipped inside, slumping into the leather seat. The driver didn’t say a word, just pulled into traffic smoothly.
Blake’s heart thudded against his ribs as he stared out the window, the city blurring past him. He felt sick, his stomach twisting. He knew where they were going. Knew who was waiting for him.
The car pulled to a stop in front of the towering glass building that housed his father’s office. The lights on the top floors were still on.
Of course, Anthony Jack would still be working. He always was.
Blake stepped out of the car, his legs feeling heavier with each step toward the building. The revolving doors hissed softly as he entered, the marble floors gleaming. The receptionist didn’t even look up, just waved him through with a stiff nod. Everyone here knew who he was.
The elevator ride was silent and suffocating, the numbers above the doors ticking upward far too quickly. Blake couldn’t see his own reflection in the glass elevator- he felt sick only by looking.
He was a killer.
He had killed Xavier, and it was only about time that Lucas’ news got through too. He wondered if Lucas would make it.
But by the time they made it to the hospital, Lucas was bleeding profusely. Ash was no better either. But luckily, they were alive.
He stepped into the office, his shoes muffled by the plush carpet. The room was vast, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city below. But Blake’s eyes were drawn to the figure seated behind the massive desk.
Anthony Jack didn’t look up immediately. His hands were steepled in front of him, his gaze fixed on the papers spread across the desk. The man radiated authority, every inch of him giving off an aura of power and control.
“Father.” Blake said, hesitating.
“Why do you look so hideous? Did you play with garbage today?”
Blake looked at his father, he was sitting there, a serious expression etched on his face, wrinkles visible on his forehead.
W-What?
“I know you did play with garbage,” Anthony Jack leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Secretary Sam tells me everything.”
Blake stiffened. His father’s words hung in the air. “I can explain,” he said quickly, his voice low and tense.
Anthony Jack raised a brow, his smile widening, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s nothing to explain. You think I don’t know exactly what you’ve been up to? Running around with that...street trash. Getting yourself into trouble like a reckless little fool. Do you know how pathetic you look?”
Blake bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snapping back. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the frustration clawing at him, but he forced himself to stay quiet. Talking back would only make things worse.
Anthony Jack pushed the papers aside with a flick of his hand, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “Let me make this clear,” he said, his voice dropping into something colder, sharper. “The only reason you’re still standing here and not out there rotting in the consequences of your stupidity is because you’re my son. And because of that-” his smile turned razor-sharp- “I’ll fix this. As always.”
Blake’s stomach twisted into knots. “Fix this?” he echoed, his voice quieter.
Anthony Jack nodded. “Secretary Sam has already filled me in on the little...incident. What were their name again…? Ah, Lucas Whitaker and Asher Hawkins, yes? They survived even after you wanted them dead?” He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “Sloppy, Blake. Very sloppy.”
Blake felt a cold sweat break out. “They- They didn’t-”
Anthony Jack cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t waste your breath trying to defend yourself. I already know what needs to be done. Every piece of evidence and every witness will be taken care of.”
Blake’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean by...‘taken care of’?”
His father’s smile widened. “I mean exactly what you think, boy. Lucas and Asher will be dealt with. Permanently.”
“No!” The word slipped out before Blake could stop it, and he instantly regretted it.
Anthony Jack’s smile faltered for a moment, and his eyes darkened. “Excuse me?”
Blake swallowed hard, his mind racing. “I mean...you don’t have to do that,” he said quickly, struggling to keep his voice steady. “They’re just...nobodies. Not worth the trouble.”
Anthony Jack chuckled. “Nobodies?” He stood, rounding the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing just inches away from his son. “Do you think I became who I am today by leaving loose ends? By letting nobodies walk away with information they shouldn’t have?”
Blake clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms. “They don’t know anything,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper.
Anthony Jack reached out, gripping Blake’s chin in a hold and forcing him to look up. “You don’t get to decide that,” he said coldly. “They survived. That’s enough reason to erase them. I also know you told their guardians everything that they shouldn’t. Now, they know who you are and who your father is, don’t they?”
Blake’s mind reeled.
He couldn’t let this happen. Not to Lucas. Not to Ash. But his father’s grip was unrelenting, and his presence was suffocating. He knew everything.
Seriously, how did he know everything?!
He felt like a child again, powerless.
“I’ll send my men,” Anthony Jack continued, releasing Blake with a shove. “They’ll handle it. And you stay here. I’ve indulged in your childish games long enough.”
Blake’s stomach churned. He wanted to argue, to scream, to stop this- but he knew how his father operated. Any sign of rebellion would only make things worse. He needed to think.
“Secretary Sam has informed me that you’re turning eighteen this November, yes? I’ll order my assistant to advance the preparations for you to start your career as a politician. You’ll accompany me to the meeting with chief minister of-”
“No.” Blake spat, keeping his head down, so that his hair was shadowing his eyes.
Anthony Jack looked up to him, “What?”
“I said No. I don’t want to become a politician.”
“I’m afraid you don’t get to decide that. I make the rules here, and you, of all people, should understand that.”
Blake’s heart pounded, but he looked up to meet his dad’s gaze. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t want to become a politician. I never did. I’ll live my life my way.”
Anthony Jack chuckled, dry and hollow. “And who do you think I am? I’m your damn father. I taught you how to survive,” he said slowly, his tone dangerously calm. “I showed you what this world is really like. And this…this is how you repay me?”
Blake clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “You didn’t teach me how to survive,” he said, his voice shaking but steady. “You taught me how to destroy. How to make people’s lives miserable. How to kill.” His voice rose with each word, his anger bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t make me stronger. You made me hated. You made me-” He paused, and then vaguely gestured to himself. “You made me this.”
Anthony Jack’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “You’re wrong. I made you someone people fear. And fear is power, Blake. Fear is respect.”
“No, it’s not!” Blake shouted, his voice echoing in the room. “It’s just loneliness. No one wants to be near me, and it’s all because of you!” He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but he blinked them back. He wouldn’t cry, not in front of his father. “But you know what? I’m done. I don’t care what you want. I’ll live my life my way.”
Without waiting for a response, Blake turned on his heel. His heart pounded as he started toward the door. He needed to get out, fast. Lucas and Ash were in danger, and he had to warn them.
But before he could take more than two steps, something hard collided with his back. He stumbled, his knees hitting the cold floor with a painful thud. Secretary Sam loomed over him, his hand still outstretched from the shove.
Blake barely had time to react before his father was on him. Anthony Jack moved with a swiftness that belied his age, pinning Blake to the ground. His hands wrapped around Blake’s throat, and for a moment, all Blake could think about was;
How cold his hands were.
“You don’t get to decide!” Anthony growled, his face inches from Blake’s. His grip tightened, cutting off Blake’s air. “I made you, Blake. I gave you the tools to survive this cruel, wretched world.”
Blake clawed at his father’s hands, his vision blurring as his lungs screamed for air. “You didn’t make me…” he rasped, the words barely audible. “You ruined me…”
Anthony’s expression darkened further. “I saved you!” he roared, slamming Blake’s head back against the floor. “You’d be nothing without me. A disappointment, nothing else.”
Blake’s head swam. Summoning the last of his strength, he brought his knee up sharply, catching his father in the ribs. The impact wasn’t strong enough to throw Anthony off completely, but it was enough to loosen his grip for a split second.
Blake gasped, sucking in air like a drowning man. He twisted his body, trying to wriggle free, but Anthony’s weight pinned him down. His father’s face was twisted in fury, and for the first time, Blake felt real, unfiltered fear. This wasn’t just anger. This was rage, and it was aimed entirely at him.
“Stay. Down.” Anthony’s voice was low, almost a growl. “You’re not leaving. Not until you understand-”
“I understand perfectly!” Blake shouted, cutting him off. His voice was hoarse, but he forced them out. “I understand that you’re a monster. And I’ll die before I become anything like you. You evil, old hag!”
Anthony froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then, slowly, a cruel smile spread across his face. “If that’s what it takes,” he said softly.
Blake’s heart sank as his father’s hands moved to press down harder on his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He kicked and thrashed.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t breathe.