Chapter Text
Nigel stood over Gabi's dead body.
It was a grotesque and bloodied thing, no beauty or grace to resemble the angel she'd once had been, fourteen years prior to her running away. Like a flicker of a candle; imagine of the past shone through for a single moment.
In the imagery of those fleeting seconds, Nigel saw the ghost of Gabriella Ibenescu flitting through. An artwork of its finest kind, she was a lovely Cello player with sparking ember eyes and thick fluttering lashes. A woman with fight and fire, but softened around the edges, kind, her heart on her sleeve, trusting Nigel would guard it.
How pathetically, and absurdly, amusing.
Now, she was a gruesome and macabre being, ugly and hideous with the way her bones stuck out against ridges, purple and red smears of bruises littered across her pale skin. Her body was aghast, limp and cold, nothing but a corpse soon to be rotted. Forgotten about and discarded like trash amongst the others.
So, in dearest Gabi's final moments, Nigel had treated her as such; Dirt. Trash. Garbage. It was a fitting, something to prove to her just how much he seethed her, how blatantly obvious it was he wished for nothing more than the crunch of her bones beneath his feet—where her fucking place was and always should have been, then perhaps she wouldn't have left.
He'd simply made it hurt beyond the threshold of pain and into darkness, before brutally murdering her— shrugging off the past, simple as that.
No guns, no knives, this was intimate and personal, as everything in a marriage should be, including the end. The true end, not the 'attempting to shoot my husband and run away with a new lover' kind of end.
No, this was final.
And with that finality came the beauty of new beginnings, bringing forth a dark pleasure that ran through Nigel, faced with the fact he'd succeeded in getting the last laugh, even though it'd been years since.
Years.
Fifteen fucking years.
Nigel wondered where he'd went wrong that she'd rather choose to shoot him than the damned American, Charlie. The name was bitter in his mind, ash on his tongue as he spat it before brutally carrying out his death next; with his bare hands, making her lover watch the scene play out.
A torture fit for Charlie, to have gotten away from Nigel, escaped from Bucharest with Gabi in tow, and lived a stress-free and romantic life in New York with the past out behind—only to be stuck, years later, in the same position, watching as Nigel reclaimed the throne and took back his wife. Then killed her. No escape as Nigel loomed over, not an angel of death, but something quite close to devil.
It was retribution, vengeance and justice for his own being. And really, the whole thing had seemed like a fever dream. One second Nigel was in Bucharest, with everything that had happened nearly fifteen years ago pushed down, forgotten, and Gabi was somewhere in fucking America, with Charlie.
During those years, Darko had offered to help rebuild than watch Nigel waste his life chasing away at a lover who was obviously a whore.
Then the years had simply passed by in a blur of shooting, drugs, sex—numb and mindless sex that was quickly and easy, rough and hard—along with ink and blood, business deals gone bad and deals gone extremely well, bringing Nigel and Darko to New York on business, with intentions to travel to California, always making sure to check up on their US drug operations.
And so, Nigel had bottled down the past, though the second he caught a glimpse of his ill-fated used to be lover enjoying a night out with her husband, two golden bands around their ring fingers and matching tattoos on their wrists, it was too great an impulse to not give in.
No, something overtook him. Something dark and possessive that seethed with rage and betrayal.
Friday night, Darko by his side, the man proclaiming they must go visit Vegas again, as the bustling shouts of prostitutes and Wall Street businessmen entering clubs hid Nigel's tracks where he stalked behind.
This opportunity presented itself as a way to end the chapter, to finally close the past and move on from it, as long as it had been. He ached to shove Gabi and her lover fifty feet underground, and was sure the chance would never present itself so neatly as it did in that singular moment.
A gift wrapped up nicely, with a bow and ribbon. A little too nicely, and he grew in suspicion, glancing over at Darko who strides besides him.
"How do we do this?" Darko had asked, instead of trying to stop Nigel, because none of them were better men. On a more personal level, he could understand the betrayal, saw how it limited Nigel's capacity. Surely killing, putting a final end to the past, would turn the man into his old self again.
Under buzzing neon lights and slight droplets of muck rainwater falling from the night sky to wet his hair—a few minutes following the lovebirds was all Nigel needed to plan exactly what he'd wanted to do.
Seeing it carried out was an astounding thing, pride and pleasure pumping through Nigel's adrenaline fueled mind. The feeling finally brought solace, something he'd been without for a while now.
Having that calmness and total control back in his own hands was something he relished, something even Darko himself couldn't provide, but his being here was enough.
A darkened alley. Brick wall lining. Not a single other soul in sight. It was perfect. It was fucking Christmas.
Darko had brought the car around and Nigel easily gripped Gabi, then her damned lover—fear lighting up their eyes, the once smiling lips turning into tight and startled frowns—he'd choked Charlie first, just to make Gabi scream, the sound music to Nigel's ears. Then, he'd twisted Gabi, wrapped a string and firm hand around her throat, squeezing until suffocation and blackness knocked her out before throwing the two limp, dead weight bodies into the back of the car.
After that, it was easy enough for Nigel to kill them with his bare hands, where he stood now in the room of a cheap motel. It wouldn't be very wise trying to drag two bodies into the Ritz, he wasn't fucking Patrick Bateman—Tony Montana, maybe.
Darko had poked about that enough times.
And so, a cocaine addled hideout was the best spot for this gritty business. Nigel was the expert after all.
"How should we get rid of them?" Darko asked, staring down at Gabi and her ill-fated lover, Charlie Countryman, at their corpses that were beginning to stink the already damp air of the room.
Suffocating and kidnapping was the easy part, it took no effort as the lovers were under illusion of safety after nearly fifteen years with no threats. Why would they begin to suspect any now? Nigel smirked, eyes raking the motel room where nail indents and scratches lined the wall. Gabi had fought, screamed, clawed and teared, ever so resilient even in her final moments.
"Thought you liked this smell," Nigel quipped with a quirk of his lips. The scent of rotting and molten flesh clung to the wallpaper, sharp and metallic, an acidic taste that burned in the back of his throat, "isn't it what you get off on, Darko?"
Darko only shook his head, sighing, but Nigel could see the amusement lingering behind his eyes, a silent reassurance that they'd finally put an end to this chapter, finishing it whole. A congratulations of sorts, as Darko let a rare slip of a smile tug along his own lips.
After this, there was no more Gabi, no more memories of her to haunt him and disillusion him from his work. Darko was more than happy to help out and pull his dear friend out from the depths love often sunk one's mind into.
"Quicker we get rid of them, quicker we check up on our California shit, then get back to Bucharest," Darko finally reasoned, scrolling through his phone for the latest flights so he could book tickets, growing homesick rather quickly if Nigel was being honest.
"What's the fucking rush? It's not like we're in New York every day," Nigel countered, pulling back the curtains slightly, "the big fucking apple, isn't it?" He mused, surveying the neon lights. In the midst of downpouring rain, billboards flickered on and off. It painted a stunning sight in the distance of murky fog, stuck to the smudged and dirtied window.
"My wife and kid are waiting for me in case you've forgotten," Darko cut through his thoughts, family man as always.
Nigel quirked a brow, "it's only a fucking wife and kid." He couldn't relate to the troubles his dear friend carried.
Darko only sighed in response, unsure why he expected this to be a quick thing. Nothing with Nigel ever proved to be.
"We should do something with their bodies first before partying, Nigel," Darko demanded more than suggesting, until Nigel had no choice but to relent.
"Alright, alright fine, don't get your fucking panties in a twist," Nigel raised his hands in surrender to the hard glare he received, "what do you suggest? It's New York, these kinds of things happen everyday."
Darko hummed bemusedly, "we couldn't possibly leave their bodies here. The man at the front desk saw us checking in, he knows our faces—"
"We could kill him too."
Nigel was dead serious.
Darko cocked his head.
They stared at each other for a long moment, contemplating. They had used fake aliases of course, paid in cash so nothing was traceable, and used a Taxi to cover up any trails that might present themselves. And the car, the car they took was stolen.
Nigel grinned, and Darko could only follow behind, muttering something about ‘shooting would leave behind traceable bullets,’ so Nigel wasted no time wrapping his hands around the front clerks neck,—the man who'd spotted them checking in—and twisting, hard, a loud crack echoing the empty space, as his body fell with a thump to the floor.
So much for traceable.
Nigel was going to be gone, closing a chapter in his life he couldn't wait to shut forever, akin to a permanent binding.
The promises the future held were, for once, thrilling. To know nothing held him back, no dead ends or stray strands of the past left him freed, exhilarated, and perhaps, a little more unhinged.
He was high off the prospect of new beginnings, without even needing a cigarette to get him there.
After they exited the motel and onto Main Street—flooded with late night prostitutes and buzzing music from clubs—Nigel made the move to pick up another taxi, outstretching his hand to quickly stop a drive by.
Darko had left the car behind, yes, he'd stolen it, but then proclaimed it was safer than somehow being linked to them.
Sitting down onto the worn out seats, Nigel glanced over at Darko, "I'm going to stop by Gabi's fucking apartment."
Darko instantly tensed, confirming Nigel's suspicion that something was off. That everything was happening too nicely, as if he was following a well thought out script. And Darko was the biggest fucking planner of them all;
He'd served Gabi and Charlie on a platter.
"Admit it, Darko, you brought me here because you wanted me to kill Gabi and that fucker," Nigel hissed, realizing he'd been too blind to realize it until the very moment it stared him back in the face.
Darko blinked, then sighed long and heavy.
"Why now?" Nigel demanded to know, lighting a cigarette and holding it outstretched the window. The feel the cool night air clung to his skin, though it did little to calm his racing thoughts. "Why fucking now? After fifteen years, fifteen motherfucking years since we only expanded our business, becoming the strongest, and shitting so much money we could burn it. Why track them down now?"
"I could see you losing yourself," Darko finally admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose, a tick, a bad habit he'd acquired whenever confronted.
Darko had seen his friend—nearly his brother—going down a dark path losing himself in the process of killing and fucking and selling, hell, even using the products at one point before Darko pulled him out from that slump at least.
Recently, though, Nigel had been living life as if on repeat, robotic and dull in his motions. With everyday it grew greater, but by the last week it had grown unbearable, reaching its tipping point.
If something didn't happen soon, Nigel would just regress further into himself, losing it completely.
Only then did Darko take the opportunity to locate the reason for Nigel's immense unhappiness, and sought out Gabi and Charlie. Surely their deaths would bring forth the once sharp glint that now shone behind those brown eyes.
Nigel was silent for a long moment, seemingly coming to a conclusion as he worked his jaw, rubbing his slight stubble. "Fuck you," he finally muttered, his way of saying thanks and appreciation, closest he'd ever get to thanking his friend who was more like a brother. "Fuck you," Nigel repeated, once again just for good measure, lips quirking up.
Darko hummed in response, a ghost of a smile showing as he lit his own smoke. "Do you think it's wise to go to Gabi's apartment?"
Nigel knew there was something else he was keeping at bay, and he intended to find out before they left to California. He had to know, had to put a final end to things.
"It's almost time for our flight, Nigel," Darko tried to reason with a stubborn force of fire, "it'd be stupid to miss it."
"Almost as fucking stupid as hiding something else from me," Nigel quipped, giving the last set of directions to Gabi's apartment. He leaned back as the driver lazily drove down back alley streets, observing how Darko pursed his lips in contemplating silence.
"It's finished, Nigel. Leave it in the past, what's done is done," Darko waved his hand, trying to come off as relaxed, "don't do something that would only hold you back."
"Oh? And what would I find that would hold me back?" Nigel accused, just as the apartment complex came into eyesight. Before Darko could protest more against it, Nigel rapped the back of the taxi drivers seat, "there this street," he pointed with his cigarette, "Fifty. Keep the fucking change." Nigel handed over a crisp bill, stepping out as Darko trailed behind.
The apartment complex wasn't horrible, but it was on the brink of it. If Gabi had stayed Nigel would have have lavished her for what she was once worth, not slave away for scraps to provide as Charlie must have done so; painfully obvious in the architecture and location. Not the safest area, almost the slums, and the complex’s door was already swung wide open.
Nigel glanced up the eroded metal stairs, stained brown on the edges, "which fucking floor is it?"
"Nigel—"
"I'll knock down every fucking door here if I have to, Darko, tell me."
Darko glared back a long moment, only half relenting. "Follow, then." It was midnight, he wasn't that cruel, knowing Nigel would infiltrate every apartment if he had to.
Meanwhile Nigel's thumps were loud on the steps as he trailed angrily behind Darko, reminding him of the slums of Bucharest he'd once been known too intimately. Finally, Darko stopped at the third set to turn into the hall that led to apartment doors.
"Last one down," Darko nodded over as he let Nigel stride across, before handing him a key. Nigel eyed it, wondering if he should slam the door open. But the conclusion of drawing too much attention—suspicion that would surely point at them—made him accept the key reluctantly.
Nigel couldn't give a fuck, but for Darko, he'd make the exception as the man cared so much about being behind bars now that he had a wife and kid to look after.
Nigel heard the click of the lock as he turned the key, and he twisted the knob with rage. The door swung open instantly. Nigel stepped a foot inside, then another. "Now, let's see what's so fucking top secret, James Bond, that you're hiding it from me."
Darko crossed his arms, unimpressed by Nigel's outbursts of late. If the secret was to be out, there was nothing he could truly do to prevent it, so he leaned back against the door till it shut, watching as Nigel surveyed the apartment.
Nigel was greeted with the smell of cheese—macaroni and cheese—the second he entered, thick in the air. It made him realize how fucking hungry he was, and also, with a quiet rage, that there was another body in the apartment.
To his right were picture frames, and down the hall were two bedrooms. Nigel clenched his jaw, bending down to look at the photographs observing why the fuck there might be two bedrooms, why there was a curly haired boy in the pictures in Gabi's arms, her fucking lover on the other side.
The pictures looked old and worn out, hard to make out the little boys face, except for the unruly hair that popped out, and bright blue eyes.
Cheeky little thing.
He glowered at Darko, "there's a kid?" His voice was steely and cold, and he was ready to rip something apart. Of course there was a kid, of fucking course. He seethed immediately. "Oh," he chuckled, mirthlessly, without any humor.
"I know how painful it would be," Darko tried, stepping forward to survey the frames, "Gabi married with a child... I didn't want you to find out like this, Nigel."
Darko didn’t want Nigel to find out at all, exactly why he’d served Gabi and Charlie out of the house to be slaughtered.
He didn’t know how Nigel would take the news.
Nigel clenched his jaw, "that bitch always said she never wanted to have kids," he grit his teeth, then laughed coldly, "didn't fucking know she meant never with me." He refused to feel any more hurt for a woman that was dead, as she rightfully should be. He reveled in the knowledge that he had the last laugh.
Everything was almost as it should be. He just had to take care of this little mistake that shouldn't have been. Just one more body, one more death by his hands, one more and everything would be set;
His new beginning awaited him, out of grasp, yet he could practically feel it.
"Let's go meet this fucker, hmm?" Nigel said, with a fierce look in his eyes. Darko pursed his lips. "Relax, I won't shoot the kid. At least not before chatting with him, Darko, you think I'm that cruel?" Nigel grinned, sharp with teeth.
Darko knew he was that cruel, exactly why Nigel was his best man, always ready for taking lives no mater who they belonged to. Most volatile gangsters had rules, people they'd never kill, Nigel lacked there.
The man had no such rule, no morality code, no restraints, the whole thing seemingly an amusing joke to him, proclaiming, ‘never half ass something.’
He was a cold blooded gruesome killer, who enjoyed watching the light drain from once shining eyes, as they turned dark and empty, numb and slipping into death.
Darko could've sworn, in another life, Nigel had been a thorough predator, a hunter that stalked and preyed then slain; a vicious murderer, a serial killer with uncountable numbers that only amassed.
Nigel strode forward, following the sharp scent of fresh made Macaroni and Cheese that lingered in the air. He turned into the kitchen where it rest on the stove, instantly greeted with an emptiness. There was no sign of life except for the pot on the stove that looked half eaten.
Moving back into the hall, he pushed open one of the room doors, finding Gabi and her fucking lovers room, adorned with decorations that only proved they shared an intense love for each other, mocking him right in the face.
Nigel would tear through that another time. For now, he was pumping with adrenaline and nothing stopped him from swinging open the only other door.
He kicked it with animalistic force, almost tearing the cheap wood off it's hinges. Silence followed after the loud thump, and in the darkness a slight squeak was heard. Nigel's eyes followed the sound, landing on a silhouette of the boy, the room blackened except for the moonlight pouring in.
The boy shuffled on his bed, causing the moon's ivory rays to wash over at a different angle, one that allowed Nigel to make out his features. Lithe bones, fragile and sinewy where his legs curled up, trying to make himself smaller and hide.
How adorable and pathetic.
It was angelic and haunting, almost paradoxical in the sense the boy carried beauty and grace but a melancholic sadness—doomed for tragedy—eyes downcast and flitting all around the room terrified and timid.
Nigel's heart ached to reach out and take, to be the sole cause of it. He should kill him, put an end to his treacherous past. Nigel should break this stunning, lovely creatures heart before anyone else could ever have the chance; claw and tear away at it.
He should.
The dark and heady part of his mind trying to convince him to do just that.
But, the other half, where roses bloomed and thorns didn't prick—the half Gabi must have saw and proclaimed to have fallen for—it held Nigel back, a vicious grasp that kept him from attacking, from killing so brutally and passionately.
It restrained Nigel from pinning those lithe wrists down into the bed, so fragile they might just crush, grinding together into dust.
And deep down, the thought of taking it further spawned. To push the boy, and claim. Taking what he rightfully deserved—what Gabi owed him came to mind. The darkest, darkest part of his mind, that saw no sunlight and only came out to play when his monster was poked.
No matter how depraved and perverse it was, that insatiable part him of himself was a part nonetheless.
But, the thought was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Suddenly, Nigel no longer had the urge to pounce forward. It was replaced with the urge to reach out, though for a different reason completely.
Nigel stopped in his tracks, observing the stunning sight instead; crystalline blue eyes held his gaze, wide and laced with fear, locking him in place. Layers of murky green and glints of baby blue poked out, as the boys gaze faltered then grew sharp, but still so, so, frightened.
Nigel's heart coiled against his own volition, as those baby blues fluttered up and watched so carefully and so tentatively, a tempting thing in its finest form.
With the urge to no longer or take, to no longer kill, something else presented itself; hunger, unmistaken. Desire, replacing bloodlust. No more impulse just raw want. Need.
Nigel broke the stillness in the tense room with his own movement, stepping forward with a fierce glint in his own eyes.
He savored the way the boy instantly wound up, grasping at the sheets and clawing backwards. Feet scrambled, where willowy limbs took his lithe frame, so fragile he might just break.
Self indulgence overcame Nigel, his lips tugging into an amused smile, pleased at the boys responsiveness, at the fear that radiated around the room.
Nigel drowned in the pure terror that shone in those dark blue eyes, carving out a spot for himself to see where he’d fit in;
If he were to give into his darker parts, it would be the end of things. Killing the boy would shut tight the final chapter on the ill-fated story of his past. Yet, the idea suddenly left a bad taste in his mouth, the thought of the boy gone before he’d had a chance to even touch.
A new beginning, wherever this would go, presented itself.
There was no use lying.
The decision was already made the second Nigel had entered the room and laid eyes;
He was going to leave—and only with the boy by his side.