The Price Of Hatred

Chapter 2 - Owning the Graveyard

​The sun beat down on the electric motor repair shop, turning the corrugated metal roof into a radiator that bled heat onto everything below. The air was thick with the scent of ozone, burnt oil, and the metallic tang of old rust.

​James stood by the rusted skeleton of a sedan, his hands stained with grease that seemed to have settled permanently into his pores. He looked down at Todd, who was slumped against a tire, his chest rising and falling in heavy, jagged rhythms.

​“Hey, what are you doing? What are you thinking of?” James’s voice was like a serrated blade cutting through the humid air. “Thinking of quitting or what?”

​Todd didn’t look up immediately. He leaned his head back against the rubber, his eyes closed. “I’m tired, James,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, thin and worn.

​“Tired? That’s what you call it?”

​James felt a surge of cold emotion rise in his chest. It wasn’t pity; he had burned pity out of himself years ago. It was a violent sort of frustration. He looked at Todd and saw the same boy from the classroom, but the world had taken so much from both of them since then.

​“You know nobody ever truly gives a damn shit about us,” James continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. “Nobody ever cared. Nobody ever tried to believe me. So why should I care about anyone else? I won’t let their weakness take me down. They can’t dream what I dream. They can’t chase what I’m chasing because they’re too scared to feel the fire.”

​He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Todd like a shroud.

​“I’m going to get there. I’m going to get this money and I’m going to be the man standing right between money and hatred. Money is the only thing this world respects. People already look at me with hate—they think I’m nothing. So I’ll give them exactly what they expect. I’m not going to ask you to come with me anymore, Todd. Because working with people who don’t understand the fire burning in my heart… that’s how you fail. They take you down little by little until you fall apart. So, stay here. Keep doubting yourself. I’m leaving.”

​James turned his back, his boots crunching on the gravel as he prepared to walk away from the only person who had ever truly known his name.

​“Where are you going?”

​The voice was different now. Stronger. Todd’s hand shot out, pointing toward James’s retreating back. “When I said I’m tired, it didn’t mean I was done. It means I’m just getting started. You know me, James. I don’t quit.”

​James stopped. A ghost of a grimace—something that might have been a smile in another life—crossed his face. He turned back and reached down. Todd grabbed his forearm, and James hauled him up from the dirt with a forceful yank.

​Todd wiped the dust from his trousers, his eyes regaining that sharp, intellectual glint that had survived the orphanage and the beatings.

​“So,” Todd said, breathing hard but standing tall. “What are we gonna do now?”

“We keep moving,” ​James's fingers tightened around the bone-handled dagger hidden beneath his jacket.

Mama Ghoula's final words still echoed inside his skull.

Find your sister.

Find the stone before she inherits its power.

Tidder.

That was the only name that mattered now.

"And first, we need to find Tidder.”

​Todd frowned, the name bringing a flicker of concern to his face. “Tidder? What do we need her for?”

​James didn’t hesitate. The word felt heavy, like a secret weapon. “.She has something that I must find,”

​“The package?” Todd repeated.

​“Yes, but it's known to me as the stone.  I need to ask her about it,” James said shortly. He didn't offer more details. He didn't need to.

​“Okay,” Todd said. “But

​Side by side, they walked out of the repair shop. Two orphans shaped by blood and loss, moving through the streets of a city that didn't want them, fueled by a hunger that only money could satiate and a hatred that only success could justify.

TOW WEEK LATER,  ​SPAIN. The morning was an insult to anyone carrying a heavy heart. The sun began to crawl over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pale, bruised gold. Above the river, white birds wheeled in the air, their cries sharp and mocking. Along the banks, the day was already moving; fishermen lined their boats, uncoiling nets and checking hooks, their voices a low hum of morning chatter.

​A few yards back from the water stood a bar. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small enough to ignore—a squat building of weathered stone that smelled of stale hops and old salt. The road out front was mostly quiet, save for a few trucks arriving to haul away the morning catch and the occasional bike rattling past.

​A woman stepped out from the riverside, crossing the road with a reckless stride, never once looking for oncoming cars. Just as she reached the center of the asphalt, a bird overhead let out a sharp cry. A white splatter of droppings landed squarely on the woman's bare arm.

​"Shit! What the hell? You fucking birds!" she barked at the sky.

​Wiping at her arm with disgust, she peeled off her soiled outer shirt and pushed through the doors of the bar. Inside, the dim light clung to a few early drinkers. Five stools lined the bar. The first two were empty. On the third sat a massive black man, his frame overflowing the seat. He wore a green shirt and a heavy jacket draped loosely over his shoulders. He sipped from a glass, his eyes fixed on nothing.

​On the fourth stool sat a younger man. He had no drink in front of him. His head was down, buried in a book: EXISTENCE OF PAIN BETWEEN MONEY & HATRED by Kelly Ex. A cap was pulled low over his eyes, hiding his face.

​The bartender slid a fresh drink onto the counter in front of the reading man.

​The woman marched up to the fat man on the third stool. "Hey, those shitty birds just shit on my shirt," she said, dangling the ruined fabric in front of his face. She glanced at his chest. "You’re already wearing clothes, and I’m sure you’ve got a singlet under that. I was hoping you wouldn't mind borrowing me your jacket."

​The man slowed his sip, his eyes crawling up her body with a slow, predatory smile that didn't reach his eyes.

​"I'll return it. I promise," she added.

​The man set his glass down and stood up, towering over her. He took a heavy step forward, invading her space. "You fucking kidding me? Do I know you? You think you just walk in here and ask for my jacket?" He leaned in, his breath smelling of bitter spirits. "Then what should I wear? Should I wear you? Or maybe we should just fucking wear it together?" He let out a dark, mocking laugh.

​"Hey. You could take mine."

​The voice came from the fourth stool. The man with the book didn't look up, but he pointed to the jacket folded beside him. "I don't mind if you don't return it."

​The woman didn't hesitate. She left the fat man standing there and walked to the guy with the cap. "I should have asked you first," she said softly, taking the garment. "Thanks."

​She slid the jacket on, then looked at the full glass sitting in front of him. "The drink?"

​"I don't mind," the guy muttered.

​She grabbed the glass, drained it in one long gulp, and slammed it back onto the wood. The bartender immediately refilled it as she turned and vanished out the door.

​The fat man sat back down, grunting. He looked at the guy in the cap, unable to see his features. "It seems you're nice," the man remarked, reaching for his own glass.

​"It seems to me that you're wrong," the guy said. He reached up and slowly pulled off his cap. It was Todd. His eyes were cold, filled with a sharp, calculated light. "I’m a little nice to people. But not people like you."

​The fat man stiffened. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be nice to me anyway. I don't fucking like anyone. Especially women." He went to take another sip.

​"Yeah," Todd said, a hollow, silent smile spreading across his face. "And I'm mostly not nice to people like you... the ones who deliver coffins every night."

​The man’s hand froze mid-air. The glass trembled.

​"How was the delivery last night?" Todd leaned in, his voice a low hiss. "It seemed like you were in a hurry."

​The fat man’s eyes went wide. "Oh, shit," he whispered.

​He didn't finish his drink. He bolted, knocking over his stool as he scrambled for the exit. Todd didn't hesitate; he downed the fresh drink in one swallow and tore out after him.

​"Hey! What the hell!" the bartender screamed. "You haven't paid me yet!"

​But they were already gone. The man was sprinting down the road, his heavy boots thumping against the pavement. Todd saw him heading for the main stretch and took a sudden, sharp turn. He scrambled up a chain-link fence with the agility of a cat, dropping down on the other side into an alleyway.

​A few startled locals watched as Todd blurred past them, ducking into a narrow corner of the road.

​On the other side of the block, James was waiting. He wasn't running. He was standing perfectly still in the shadows, his fingers wrapped tightly around a heavy wooden stick.

​Todd appeared at the end of the alley, gasping for air, trying to signal James. But there was no time for words. The fat man burst around the corner, his head down, lungs screaming as he tried to escape into the middle of the road.

​He never saw the shadow move.

​James stepped forward with the precision of a butcher. He swung the stick with the full weight of his hatred behind it. CRACK. The wood connected squarely with the man's temple.

​The fat man didn't even have time to scream. His momentum carried him forward for a split second before his legs gave out, and he landed heavily on the ground, face-first, in a cloud of Spanish dust.

​The fat man lay groaning in the dirt, the copper scent of fresh blood mingling with the dry heat of the road. Todd walked over, looking down at the heap of a man with a clinical, detached interest.

​“I was going to tell you to take it easy on him,” Todd said, his voice flat.

​James didn't lower the stick. His knuckles were still white, his chest heaving with the remnants of the adrenaline. “I did,” James snapped. “He’s still breathing, isn’t he?”

James stepped forward, his heavy leather boots grinding the coarse Spanish gravel into powder. The shadow of his tall, lean frame fell over the gasping man like a heavy black curtain shutting out the blinding afternoon sun. There was no hesitation, no pause for mercy in his stance; James drew his leg back and kicked the man squarely in the shoulder. He didn't throw his full weight into it, just enough force to make the heavy-set man hiss in agonizing pain, the impact jolting through his collarbone.

​“Hey,” James spat, his voice dropped to a low, gravelly register that sounded like a serrated blade scraping against concrete. “You fat, ugly shit. Look at me. Where the hell is Tidder? I know she used to work with you. Don't play dumb with me, or the next one breaks a rib.”

​The man rolled slowly onto his side, his large body shifting heavily in the dirt. He was clutching his shattered nose, his thick fingers slick with a dark, muddy crimson that leaked relentlessly from the fracture, dripping onto his grease-stained green shirt and pooling in the dust beneath his cheek. The copper stench of fresh blood was thick, hanging in the oppressive heat.

​“I don’t... I don’t fucking know who the hell you’re talking about,” he wheezed, his voice bubbling with the blood backing up into his throat. He shook his head defensively, trying to blink away the tears of pain that blurred his vision, looking terrified but stubbornly holding his ground.

​Todd let out a long, slow sigh. He had been standing a few feet back, his arms crossed, watching the display with a clinical, detached interest. Now, he stepped forward, kneeling directly into the dirt beside the groaning man. Without a trace of anger, but with an iron intensity that was far more terrifying, Todd wrapped his hand around the front of the man’s filth-encrusted shirt. With a single, explosive jerk, he hauled the heavy man upward until their faces were mere inches apart, eye-to-eye.

​“As I was saying down at the bar,” Todd whispered, his voice dangerously calm, his breath warm against the man's face. “Yesterday night, the package was in a massive hurry, wasn't it? You were flying down those back roads like the devil himself was chasing your bumper.”

​The man’s eyes widened, the pupils dilating as a sudden, sharp wave of pure terror flickered through his gaze. The defiance vanished, replaced by the realization that he was caught in a net he hadn't seen coming. “How the hell do you know that?” he stammered, his breath hitched. “Who the fuck are yoi?”

​“Because I was there,” Todd whispered back, his voice dropping an octave, cold and unyielding as stone. “I was standing right there when the coffin was loaded into the back of the transport truck. It was heavy, wasn't it? It took three of you to hoist it up. Do you forget that I stepped out and asked you what was inside? And do you forget what you told me? You looked me right in the eyes and you told me it was a girl. You told me it was Tidder.”

​The man’s jaw dropped, his mouth hanging open in utter shock. A spray of bloody saliva hit the dry dirt between them as he stared at Todd’s face, finally recognizing the sharp, intellectual glint in the young man's eyes. “Haaa... fuck,” the man wheezed, his head sagging back slightly against Todd's grip. “It’s you.  I thought... shit, I thought you were with the Pitch.”

​Todd’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing into tight slits as he processed the unfamiliar name. “The Pitch?” he repeated, the words tasting foreign and dangerous on his tongue.

​“Who the hell is the Pitch?” James demanded, taking a violent step closer. The name struck a chord of immediate threat in his chest, his voice rising with a dangerous, jagged edge that made the air feel even more restrictive.

​The man on the ground let out a wet, mocking laugh, the sound bubbling through his fractured nose and showcasing teeth stained a dark, terrifying red. “So, you don’t even know them?” he sneered, his terror momentarily giving way to a twisted sense of superiority. “You’re chasing a ghost, kid, and you don’t even know who owns the goddamn graveyard. You're completely out of your depth.”

​The insult burned away the last threads of James's patience. He reached down with both hands, grabbing the massive man by his thick collar and hoisting him halfway off the ground by sheer, adrenaline-fueled rage. The heat radiating from James's eyes was a physical force, a manifestation of the years of hatred he had nurtured since his father's blood had branded his cheek. “Who the hell are they?” James roared, shaking the man violently. “Give me a name, or I swear to God I'll finish what I started with that stick!”

​“I sold her to them!” the man shouted back, his voice finally cracking under the pressure, his eyes darting frantically to the wooden weapon James had used to crack his temple. “I sold her because they’re trying to get something from her too! They wanted her, and they paid well. But I swear to God... it was Tidder’s idea! She was the one who approached me. She was the one who said I should sell her to them!”

​Todd froze. His fingers slipped slightly against the man’s grease-stained shirt, his arm going slack as a mask of utter disbelief washed over his features. The meticulous, calculated world he lived in suddenly shattered. He looked up at James, his voice barely a breath. “What? That doesn't make any sense.”

​“Yeah,” the man sneered, tasting the sudden shift in power, realizing he had found a pocket of leverage among his captors. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his dirty arm. “If you two really knew Tidder, you’d know she’d do something exactly like that. She’s smarter than both of you combined. She plays the game and she always won.”

​James let go of the man’s collar so fast it was as if the fabric had been set on fire. He took three clumsy steps back, his chest heaving as he ran a trembling, grease-stained hand through his hair. The cold realization hit his stomach like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily breathless. Fucked, he thought, his mind racing through a maze of worst-case scenarios. Everything was falling apart before it even began. She's running her own game.

​“Tidder would never do something like that,” Todd muttered, though his voice was thin, lacking any real conviction. He knew the girl’s ruthlessness; he had seen the fire in her eyes when they were younger.

​“She would,” James said, his voice dropping into a hollow, dangerously sharp tone. He stared down at his boots, the ice forming around his heart once again. “She would do absolutely anything to get what she wants. She doesn't care about the risk. She never has.”

​Todd looked back down at the man on the ground, his analytical mind trying to piece the puzzle together. “Okay. But what could she possibly want that’s worth putting herself in a coffin and handing herself over to a syndicate like that?”

​James didn't answer. The silence that followed was heavy and poisoned. Slowly, James turned his head, his eyes locking back onto the fat man. A silent, entirely fake smile spread across his face—a cold, empty widening of his lips that didn't reach his eyes, conveying a promise of absolute violence that sent a visible shiver straight down the man’s spine.

​“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” the man stammered, his bravado instantly evaporating as he scrambled backward through the dirt, kicking up dust as he tried to get away from that terrifying smile. “I don’t fucking know what she wants! I just coordinate the transport! I don't ask questions!”

​“What’s your name?” James asked, his voice deathly quiet, almost polite.

​The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the exit of the alleyway. “Sidney,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “But my enemies... Do call me Butcher.”

​Todd tilted his head slightly, observing the man's pathetic retreat. “I prefer Butcher. It suits you.”

​“Okay, Butcher. Tell me,” James said, leaning forward, his posture tightening like a spring, his voice thickening with a dark, unyielding intent. “Where is she right now.”

​Butcher let out a faint, terrified smile, a desperate attempt to talk his way out of the corner. “Oh, no. You don’t want to find her, kid. Trust me on this one. Those guys out there... they ain't nice. They don't give warnings. They’ll put a bullet right into your fucking throat and kill every single person you’ve ever loved if they find out you’re looking for them. You're walking into a slaughterhouse.”

​James didn't blink. He leaned in so close their noses were almost touching, forcing Butcher to smell the sweat and rage radiating off him. “Look at me,” James whispered, his voice vibrating against Butcher’s face. “Do I look like I’m fucking nice? Do I look like a man who cares about warnings? You see that rusted steel bucket over there in the corner of the yard? I’m fairly certain it’s filled with industrial acid from the repair shop. If you don't tell me exactly where they took her right now, I’m going to drag you over there and show you that I am completely beyond nice.”

​The last of Butcher’s resistance shattered into dust. The image of the acid bucket was too much for his battered nerves. “Okay! Okay, I’ll tell you!” he shouted, his hands raised in surrender. “I’ll give you the coordinates! But I’m not coming with you! I’m out!”

​“Why?” Todd asked, his eyes tracking Butcher’s frantic movements.

​“You think I’m friends with them?” Butcher hissed, his voice trembling with a genuine fear of the syndicate. “I’m just fucking paying off a debt I owe them. That’s the only reason I did this. If they see me right now, showing up with two random freelancers, they’ll be happy to put a bullet in my brain just to save on the paperwork. I'm a dead man if I walk through those doors.”

​Todd looked up, locking eyes with James across Butcher’s slumped body. A silent, instantaneous communication passed between them, a plan forming without a single word being spoken. “You think what I’m thinking?” Todd asked, a dangerous spark returning to his eyes.

​James nodded slowly, his cold gaze turning back down to the terrified man in the dirt. “This will be a great deal for everyone involved.”

​“What deal? For what?” Butcher started to ask, his voice rising in panic, but he didn't get an answer. James and Todd reached down simultaneously, grabbing him by his thick arms and hauling him ruthlessly to his feet. He stumbled, groaning as they dragged his heavy frame out of the alley and threw him into the back seat of their battered car.