Page 5 of Fatal Fantasy

Carter Cassini has disappeared off the face of the Earth, no traces of her being found after the helicopter took off from the roof of Emory University, and I’ve dug into every flight plan from that night to no avail.

There’s no record of that chopper taking off, landing, or even existing, and trying to track vehicles driving upstate is not only tedious, but a dead end.

The patriarch of the same last name is a ghost, just like Carter was when she got to Emory, and I’ve turned over every leaf, rock, and grain of sand I could think of to dig deeper, but no leads have panned out.

Everyday, I’m further away from finding her, but Carter knows how latched onto something I can get, and just like the first time we met, she’s my obsession.

Contrary to how well she played me in the first round, I can guarantee that the next time I see her, she won’t be getting away from me without feeling triple the pain she’s caused.

I’ll wait until I die if I have to, but for now, all that matters to me is locating the little traitor, and I won’t stop until she’s back in my crosshairs, striking while she believes that she got away with it all.

As a constant reminder of her betrayal, Carter’s t-shirt stained with Tyson’s blood hangs on my bulletin board, a sick souvenir from the night we lost everything, but her and I were always a little twisted, and if she knew I kept it, she’d probably smile right before plunging another knife in my back.

My phone lights up the dark room with back-to-back calls, but when I check the name, I roll my eyes, dreading the daily updates from my sister, Alivia.

“What is it, Liv?” I answer, the sound from beeping hospital machines immediately lighting off my already short fuse.

“Dad had more tests today, but we won’t know the results until morning. The vultures are still circling, Junior, they need you to say something. Anything,” she informs, her defeated voice filling the air while I drop my head in my hands, the stress piling onto my shoulders.

“Liv, I already told you guys, I have no interest in taking over what’s left. It’s a lost cause. How’s mom?” I change the subject, desperate to talk about anything but the decimated Family that no longer has a shred of power.

“Getting better, but she still won’t leave the hospital. Where are you?” She asks with an exasperated breath, her attempts to draw me back into the Masseria fold failing every single time.

“I’m around. Taking care of unfinished business,” I reply coldly, keeping my revenge tour as a strict one man operation.

“Let it rest, Junior. You don’t want to end up in a coma right next to dad,” she says, a hint of genuine concern in her voice, but I shake it off, not taking her advice.

“These people tried to kill us, Alivia. Letting it rest isn’t an option,” I sigh, going another round in a daily fight that neither of us have any plans of giving up.

I’ve never tolerated my sisters, usually just blowing through and barely acknowledging them once I moved out, but since the attack left us all in shambles, Alivia has made it her mission to get closer to me. I admire how stubborn she is, as well as her toughness, but I can only stand so much of her I’m-always-right attitude.

“Alright, big brother. Be safe, okay?” She hangs up, and I breathe in relief, free from the heavy shit she brings up every time we speak.

Day after day, there’s no changes, and it’s been the same old story since the moment a full-scale attack was carried out not only at Emory, but every other place it could hurt us, too.

That Night

Clear. Shock. Clear. Shock.

For the last three minutes, it’s been a repetitive cycle as the medics try to bring my brother back to life, to retrain his heart to beat properly, all while patching the holes in his body.

The scent of smoke and gunpowder linger in the air, mixing with the raunchy stench of death like an overpowering, morbid cocktail, reminding me that this is real, and he is dying.

I’m going through the motions, following the stretcher down two flights of stairs, taking in the wreckage as I go.

Besides the giant hole in the ceiling and floor, bodies line the corridor, all of them mask-clad and dressed in the same black suits as the man who took Carter.

We’re cloaked in darkness, the attack taking out the electricity in the house, but once we reach the first floor, I audibly gasp in shock at what I’m seeing.

At least fifteen kids are dead, their bodies strewn across the room as some of them were probably caught off guard, a few looking like they were trying to run away, but shot in the backs of their heads before they could escape.

Unable to bear the sight of so many casualties, I look away from the carnage like a coward, all of them nothing but innocent kids whose only mistake was their choice of living in the wrong frat house.

“Sir, are you riding with him?” One of the medics asks, and I only stare at him, unable to form words, or even a coherent thought.

In the distance, a loud bang rings out, and I turn to follow the sound, realizing that it’s an explosion. It’s not too close, but far enough away that my stomach drops into my ass, and a sour taste invades my mouth.

“Where are you taking him?” I stumble over my words, my body pulling in two as I want to ride with Tyson, but there are others who need me, too.