CLEMENTE, MY SHINING KNIGHT

"Brother." I weave the knife between all five fingers with enough precision that the blade doesn't so much as graze me. Killing is an art, and I'm something of an artist in that regard. I find more comfort in weapons than I do in people – the senile variety that they are. Only my brother is exempt. I glance at him now, and his lip curls up, cold with a faint hint of wickedness. He holds up his cuffed hands between us. "It's time," I confirm. He doesn't even blink as I use the knife to pick the lock of his cuffs, freeing him within the span of a breath. He grabs the knife and unlocks my cuffs in return. His skill with a blade is almost as lethal as mine, though in reality he's probably better. We both let our cuffs slip off our wrists and clatter to the floor. The clinking sound of metal draws the attention of two guards, and they look over their shoulders at us. It's not like we were trying to hide. "Inmates," the bulkier of the two barks at us, first glancing at my brother and then me. A muscle clenches in his jaw when he meets my dead stare. "Move quietly." He won't stop us. No one will. Not unless they want to find their skin ripped like ribbons and bleeding out at our feet. I rest my forearms on the top of the bars and stare straight at the scrawny guard. He nervously glances to his left—people do that when they're scared or lying—then forces his eyes back to mine and tries to square his shoulders like it means anything. His fake confidence doesn't fool me. I saw the flicker of fear in him; that's all I needed. "Open this cell," I order. My voice is steady, and I mean it. Today has been coming for a long time. The guard's pupils widen. He looks over at the bigger guard beside him, clearly waiting for orders. The smaller one is useless—inept, really. My sentence expired exactly thirty-seven seconds ago, and from the first heartbeat after that, I've been running things. He will answer to me now. The other guard, the bulkier one, is smarter; he turns his back to my brother and me instead of making the mistake of standing against us. The corridor smells like bleach and old sweat. The lights hum and flicker. I can hear the faint jingle of keys hanging at the bigger guard's belt. The sound fills the tiny space between us, but it doesn't hurry me. I keep my feet planted, my forearms rigid on the cold bars, watching every small movement. "Is there a reason we're still locked in?" my brother asks, dragging his tongue along his dry lips. He looks gaunt, like he hasn't had a real meal in ages. He's been waiting for this moment as long as I have—one hundred and fifteen days too long. His voice carries the same tired hunger I feel, but also the sharp edge of someone who knows the score. The bigger guard swallows, finally aware that the situation has flipped. The power in the room has shifted—it's theirs to lose now. I wait for him to make the right move. The scrawny guard jumps out of his trance when my brother whistles between his teeth as if summoning a lapdog, and then he shuffles over to our cell. His steps are slow and careful. I can practically smell his fear. He sticks out like a virgin in a whorehouse, this one. If I cared enough, I would tell him to grow a new set of balls before the rest of the inmates eat him alive. He reaches for a set of keys pinned to his hip, hands shaking. My brother and I exchange a glance. He rubs a hand over his jaw in thinly veiled amusement. "Vincent," I warn him. Barely. He'll do what he wants, like always. He chuckles under his breath, and the guard visibly gulps. He has the sense to keep his eyes away from my brother and not provoke him. "Relax. I promise to play nice until we're out of this building." "Ambitious of you. Your need to kill says otherwise." The guard pauses with the key inserted in the lock. He looks between us, blanching. "Aw." Vincent clicks his tongue. "You scared my new friend." I check the time on the watch wrapped around the guard's wrist. Vincent may delight in dragging this out and having his fun, but I'm losing grip on my patience. My sanity is already in question, and reaching through the bars to choke the man responsible for my freedom is not something I can afford. There's only so much wealth can get you. "If I'm not on the other end of this cell in five seconds, a bullet goes down your throat," I threaten. He knows who I am. He knows my words are not empty. The idiot is still rooted in shock. Vincent beats me to it, slamming a palm against the bars with enough force to shake the cell. "Get this fucking open!" So he's short on patience too. I guess there's only so much even my reckless and normally self-assured brother can take. Spending months in jail for a crime we did not commit is not something we will overlook. The second we get out of here, it will be a bloodbath. And we are starved for it. The bulky guard growls under his breath and stalks to the cell, pushing his partner out of the way. He turns the key and pulls the door open before stepping out of the way. Vincent doesn't waste a second. His hand shoots forward to grab the other guard's arm and twists it violently around his back. The resounding crack is drowned out by the guard's agonising screams. Vincent lets him drop to the floor. "If you're not going to use them, you don't need them," my brother snarls and sends a kick into the guard's mouth. A couple of teeth clatter out, and blood seeps down his neck. He passes out immediately, probably from the pain. I crack my fingers to loosen up. At the rate Vincent is going, I'll need to be prepared for a fight sooner than I anticipated. "I told you waiting until we were out of the building was too ambitious." "He's not dead. It's called a loophole, motherfucker." Idiot. I'm almost compelled to smile. Too bad I'm fucking drowning in anger and vengeance. There are debts to be collected, and I won't be wasting any more time. "Our suits," I state rather than ask because everything should be ready. I had my men prepare for this weeks ago. The bulky guard nods his head in a silent gesture to follow him. There's no way he isn't goddamn pissing in his shoes right now, but he holds his own. For that reason I stop myself from doing anything rash. Vincent moved faster, forcing me to be the responsible one while he swings his dick in victory. He had his fun, and I'm brimming with the need to release mine. I cherish my brother, but I could fucking kill him sometimes. "Should I have let you take him?" He drawls, reading my mind. "Fuck you," I throw back. "No thanks. I intend to be balls deep in pussy and lots of it. As soon as I put a bullet in someone's head, I'm putting my cock in a warm cunt." At least we're on the same page about something. The warden is waiting by a door with his hands clasped behind his back. Weak and telling stance. If he had the fucking guts, he'd put his hands where I could see them because he'd have nothing to hide. He's nervous. "Bad move," Vincent notes under his breath, humming. Of course he caught on as quickly as me. Our father trained us both, and he was the best. "Your belongings are just in there," the warden says. His voice is a touch too loud, a touch too defensive. Vincent and I exchange a glance. Strike two. "You can get changed, and then I will discharge you myself." Of course he'll discharge us. Why else would he be here? He's rambling about things we all know and don't need to hear. Distracted and anxious. Vincent looks at me from under his lashes, smirking. Strike three.