Chapter 8
Kruger smirked at his response, scanning him from head to toe before walking towards the door entrance in silence. He stopped.
"I guess you keep forgetting, Conrad. At the tip of my fingers is your will to live or not. Don't push it," his eyes fell on the other flower bouquets he had placed by the entrance.
Rhysand's mother had dropped his contact as next of kin after her son vanished. She had thought of her being abandoned by her son and had wanted a befitting burial for herself if at all she ever ended up dead.
Kruger turned back to meet Rhysand's gaze. "I'll give you time to mull it over again, Conrad. Think about it," he said, leaving the door ajar.
The facade of respectability was a clever ruse, one that had fooled his mother and nearly everyone else. Behind the charming smile and polished exterior, Kruger hid a dark truth: his wealth was built on blood and deceit. He was a master manipulator, a chameleon who had effortlessly assumed the role of a successful businessman. But the reality was far more sinister. Kruger was a hardened crime lord, a ruthless assassin leader who would stop at nothing to protect his empire. And his mother had been blissfully unaware of the monster she'd married.
Rhysand's young eyes had witnessed the unthinkable, a sight that would haunt his dreams forever. He had once stumbled upon Kruger standing over lifeless bodies, the shovel in his hand a grim reminder of the task at hand. The bungalow's backyard they had became a graveyard, a secret cemetery for Kruger's victims. Rhysand's heart had raced with fear as he tried to process what he was seeing.
He had tried to warn his mother, to tell her about the monster she had married, but Kruger's iron grip had stopped him in his tracks. The warning was laced with menace: "Not a word, or she's dead." The threat hung in the air, a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath Kruger's charming facade.
As a child, Rhysand's brain couldn't think of anything but fear at the statement and many other untold scenerio after that had only left Rhysand keeping it all in. When his mother divorced Kruger, he had sworn to himself to be responsible for her that moment onward, moving out of Kruger's property and swearing never to come to him for anything even when Kruger had bet it will never happen.
And truly, Kruger had won.
Every penny his mother had painstakingly earned after escaping Kruger's grasp had been squandered on a toxic cycle of addiction. Rhysand's heart would always ache watching his mother succumb to the grip of substances, her love and warmth obscured by the haze of dependency. The memories of her lashing out at him, fueled by the demons she couldn't shake, still lingered—the bruises healed, but the emotional scars remained. Yet, it was the anguish in her eyes, the desperate apologies, and the promises to get better that followed each episode that kept him tethered to her, that kept him hoping for a miracle.
Rhysand was smart enough to understand that it wasn't her fault or doing but rather the influence she was on. He never for once hated her for it. For all he could think of was a way out. A quick and efficient way to save her and pull her out of her misery.
On a bitterly cold winter night, Rhysand's resolve crumbled under the weight of desperation. At just fifteen, he felt the crushing burden of responsibility for his mother's well-being. The landlord's merciless threats echoed in his mind, and the thought of his mother facing the harsh winter night alone was unbearable. Her addiction was a constant torment, but the prospect of adding homelessness to her suffering was too much to bear.
With a fierce determination burning within him, Rhysand knew he would do whatever it took to shield his mother from harm, even if it meant sacrificing his own well-being.
Flames had ravaged the pizzeria, claiming the owner's life in the inferno. The once-warm haven where Rhysand and Connor had worked side by side had turned into a smoldering ruin. With the ashes still warm, Rhysand's future went up in smoke as both friends lost track of each other. The bills continued to pile up, his mother's medication running low, and the weight of their struggles had crushed him. Each passing day felt like a countdown to disaster, with no lifeline in sight. Rhysand's hands were tied, his options dwindling, and the darkness seemed to be closing in. Desperate for survival, he took back his words of never going to meet Kruger.
Letting his guard down, he had took that walk down to Kruger's house. It was a mansion surrounded by tattooed goons and criminals whose faces were as hard as their heart. Kruger has many houses, and the bungalow he would often come to meet Rhys and his mum when they were still together was just one of the many he knew.
That day, Rhysand had given up his humanity for the sake of his mother. The rock bottom was hitting hard from every direction that even water couldn't fill the stomach anymore. There was nothing! Absolutely nothing! No way out.
At first, Rhysand had thought going to ask for a job and not money from Kruger would be a piece of cake especially with his connections to highly influential people he believed would be right at his fingertips, but Rhysand's expectations had flopped. Kruger was anything short of moral and humane the devil would be better if compared.
"Kill Salvatore and his entire family and then, you'll have the life you've ever wanted—free from debts, a beautiful job, money. Plenty of it. Free from all of this mess you are in now," he had said in his usual cruel smile that stung Rhysand's heart.
Knowing what he had said was what it would be, Rhysand pleaded still, hoping to change his mind.
But he was Kruger-the Devil's father. He was short of staff and needed someone to carry out his usual unholy tasks in the city. He needed an overzealous mind, one who wouldn't think twice about his own actions and he knew Rhysand was just right on time.
He was the perfect victim!