|prologue|

THE MAN'S laughter was sinister. The kind that made the hair on your body stand on end, a crawling sensation creeping over your chilled flesh. Maniacal. Pure evil. As if he'd derived immense joy in snatching away the life of the young woman, who laid sprawled on the red plush carpet, a few feet away from him.

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you motherfucker," Richard snarled, tightening his sullied hands into fists, his immaculate black suit adorned with a splatter of red spots. Rage was a red haze enveloping him, cutting off his airflow and the only reason preventing him from beating the black shit in front of him was the law.

The huge black man continued laughing, his broad shoulders quivering in dark mirth and a crazed expression on his sweating face. A trickle of red liquid trailed down his tattooed biceps, then fell with a tiny splat to the jagged knife on the carpeted floor.

Kian stared, transfixed by the sight of that tiny pearl of blood shimmering on the edge of the serrated metal. The man who'd killed his mother was happy, bathed in his mother's life-force and the blood dripping from his bulky frame. He didn't care that he'd made him motherless.

Richard, fed up with the deranged man's eerie laugh, pointed a commanding finger to the police men who'd already handcuffed the lunatic. The madman who'd ended his sweet sweet Ava's life.

"Get this lunatic out of here!" He was already on the verge of throwing caution to the wind. If he was to gaze one more time at this shit bag, at this lowlife who'd murdered his wife, the motherfucker won't be the only person in cuffs.

Lord, if only he'd listened to his wife and gotten the man sacked. If only he'd paid heed to her. This wouldn't have fucking happened. But it was too late. Ava was dead and the heavy burden of guilt would always lie on him. It was his fault that she was gone.

"Yes, you all can take me away, I don't care. I've done what I've always wanted to do. What I've always desired to do once I set my eyes on her. After all, if I, Kincade, can't have Ava, then no one else can!" A menacing smile settled on the crazy man's lips as he was dragged out from the foyer by a couple of policemen.

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Kian blinked. Once, twice. Recovering--- he no longer felt numb--- he crept to where she lay, a bloodied mess, her blonde hair--he'd inherited the colour of his hair from her--- fanning her still figure.

The forensic scientists were already setting tapes around the room, rendering it off limits to outsiders. A flurry of activities took place at once, the detectives questioning Richard, swabs of blood and pictures of the crime scene being taken as evidence.

"Mummy, mummy," the poor boy cried, shaking his mother's clammy palm. He desired for her to wake up. For her to cradle him in her arms but she remained deaf to his shaky voice, frantically calling out for her.

Her sunken eyes were set in a pale face that was drained, the light in them gone. Blue eyes that would never shine with humor again. Dried blood coated her lips, soiling them in a crisscross of a macabre lipstick. Full lips that would never curl up in a smile. Ever. She'd been stabbed twice in the stomach, a deep fatal gash and her legs were positioned at an awkward angle.

"Mummy please wake up. That bad man is gone now and he's not going to harm you again. You have to wake up. Please." Kian clutched her cold fingers to his, tears scoring down his trembling lips.

Mummy refused to budge, her body iced and stiff, the rigor mortis setting in.

Realization. In an odd way, he knew that his mother wasn't going to pat his head softly again.

Pain.

She wasn't going to kiss him goodnight any more.

Misery.

She wasn't going to do a lot of things for him again.

No more.

His father found him that way, rocking his mother's head on his knees, his white starched shirt a grotesque mosaic of red smears of blood, pleading for her to come back.

Richard closed his eyes in agony and for the first time in his life, he knelt besides his son and hugged the stricken child tightly, disengaging his wife's dead body from his hold.

"Stop crying, son. Your mother's in a safe place where no black shit can harm or touch her. You hear me? No one. It's me, you and your brother now," he said hoarsely, stroking his son's wavy hair softly. 

Anger, ire and sadness lit a burning fire deep within the depth of Kian's young beating heart, darkening the soft organ and contempt for the people with skin the color of burned charcoal coursing hotly through his veins.

How dare they take his mother away from him? From them?!

He nodded, the scorching tears stinging his eyes. Even his father wept, his cold, aloof father who never gave him the time of the day, cuddling his son to his chest. And as father and son cried, salty tears mingling together in sorrow, Kian made a vow.

He vowed to hate whoever, whomever and whatever was associated with the colour black.

This world was mean, cruel and evil. But he was going to show them the true meaning of the word ruthless.