Sapphire Eyes and Diamond Accents
“You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analysing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened... or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.”
― Tupac Shakur
December 15th, 2023
Sometimes a man just had to move on.
There were times when one simply had to sit back, look themselves in the mirror, and reflect on aspects of a situation with a clear and concise kind of eye. Perhaps take a step back, and admit that you weren't always right, that you had made the wrong choices, or that some things just weren't meant to go how you wanted them to go.
Unfortunately, Mikael Mariol wasn't the type.
He had woken up on the fifteenth, and that knot was sitting tight in his chest. He stood, gone to take a piss, and while he was washing his hands he glanced up at the reflection of his face and found sapphire-colored eyes staring back at him. He looked like he felt.
Pissed off. Betrayed. Fucking bitter.
He glanced down at his neckline, and it sure as hell didn't help to see the bruising mottling of his darker-toned skin staring back at him. It was ragged; an ugly yellow-purple brand blossoming from around a deep scarlet and near black vertical line carved into his skin. That cord had cut into his flesh in certain spots, and damn near left him a permanent daily reminder of the choices made two weeks ago.
He was just now beginning to talk comfortably after that shit show, and at random times he would find himself staring off, reliving the shock of that moment. The whole night from knocking on Christian's door to waking up in the van under a loaded pistol, gasping for air.
It didn't make him reticent.
He didn't feel sorrow, melancholy, or self-pity.
Mikael was fucking furious.
Every single moment he thought about Caleb Walker and Christian Miller, that moment of being wrapped up and choked out, of having his goddamn property yanked away from him by that blonde god-forsaken sociopath just fed some fire inside him that wanted reparations.
He wanted his goddamn deal, his dues, and his time back.
He wanted his pride back.
Above all else, he wanted Christian back. There was no deviation from that in his mind.
He had not stopped thinking of the man or his betrayal, or his abrupt launch away from the course they had been on. A course that had been diverted by a singular other individual who had just cut those ties with sharp green eyes and blew it all to Hell.
It was a sour pill to swallow.
He knew one thing for sure. While dressing that day and taking great care, finessing in a black-on-black Armani suit that fit his large body like a glove, Mikael guaranteed he was getting his back in triplicate.
He fixed his cuff, looked back at the imposing reflection in his body mirror, and examined himself with a critical eye.
He looked sharp. The high collar of his turtle neck looked intentional and not like a cover-up. His dark hair was fastidious and manicured in a high upsweep, and from hair root to shined shoes, he looked classy, sleek, and polished. He added a diamond-faced LUC and a slim platinum chain to the ensemble and looked exactly like who he was.
Like a man who didn't fucking lose well in his life.
He knew Christian, though, and he also knew Caleb. Very well. Twenty years worth of "well".
Mikael was a patient man, usually, and knew his old friend well enough to know that Christian would slip.
Somehow, in some way, something in that skewed brain chemistry would wake the hell up and shift gears. Mikael knew that Christian would open his eyes and realize who the fuck he had actually crawled in bed with and frankly Mikael was counting down the minutes.
Mikael had never lied to the man after all.
When he had told Christian that Caleb Walker was the Devil, he had meant that. For a man who had grown up around them all and on the outskirts of the life they occupied day to day, Christian could blind himself like none other to aspects of people's nature on levels that baffled Mikael all the damn time.
He'd learn, of that Mikael had no doubts. One slip-up on that end and he knew Caleb would flash his real face in a heartbeat. One day soon, the blonde would demonstrate exactly why it was that so many terrifying people gave the man a wide berth and stepped lightly where he was concerned.
It was just a matter of time, and you know, Mikael was thinking that when the time came that Christian did slip, well, he'd be real happy to be there waiting to catch him with open arms.
He'd scoop him right back up, and bring him right back home, and then they could have a real long chat over what the words "commitment" and "loyalty" meant in this world.
The thought made his lips quirk a bit before he straightened his spine, put his Desert Eagle into the holster under his arm and out of sight, and grabbed his car keys.
Until then, it was business as usual, but fuck if Mikael would ever forget or forgive a damn thing in his life.
