WHIP

Derek's Pov:

I had a cloth in my mouth to prevent me from screaming as the whip lashed against my skin. The pain was excessive and I had to put the cloth in my mouth hard so I wouldn't cry out. The lashes were painful enough to actually draw blood. He wasn't being merciful at all.

"Don't you dare, make a sound." My father said as he continuously whipped me. "You're weak. Even as a man, you're too weak. I can't trust you to protect your mother or even your brother."

The whip lashed again, harder this time, and I felt blood trickling down my back. I clenched my teeth, determined not to cry out again. But I was losing my resolve. I was only 9 years old and my father's words cut deep. I was supposed to be a man now, but I felt so small and helpless. I wanted to scream and run away, but I was trapped in this nightmare. Even at 9 years of age, I was forced to grow up early to avoid being called useless. I sought the validation of my father more than anything. I wanted to be his favorite child but he loved my brother way more than I did. I clenched my teeth on the cloth in my mouth, my sweat dripping onto the ground. I dared not make a sound. And that was the age I was forced to grow up.

When I saw other children like myself, I thought they were probably younger. It confused me to see children laughing and running about the street along with their parents. It was abnormal. I thought every parent discipline their children the way my father did. My father never lifted me the way I saw fathers lifting their sons, not even in public. To me, abuse was a normal thing. Even in school I never talked or smiled. I didn't have a normal childhood. And I thought it should be the same for every other child. But seeing them smiling made me wonder if they were just better than me at pretending. Every child looked at me weirdly, and I never understood why.

They were always terrified to walk up to me. I didn't...never knew what it meant to live life like a normal child. I started holding a gun when I was five. I beat kids who were older than I was. I manipulated even high school students. I didn't look my age, no. At ten I looked way older. It was almost as though puberty for me kicked in at a very young age. I was always protective of my brother, even when I was strict with him as well. That was how I believed I was supposed to be. It was what I saw, growing up and he hated me for it. I sighed to myself. Being ten years old was filled with so many dangers that I thought I couldn't handle on my own. My father was a traitor in the mafia squad, and I was on my own, I had to figure out a way to get out of my predicament before they came for me. So I ran to my father's penthouse and stayed there for the time being even though I knew I wasn't safe there. But I had other plans and I knew how I had to figure out a way to leave the country before they found out I was here.

"What do you think about this?" The hooded man asked me and I turned to the man in front of us. He seemed to have connections with the mafia because of how confident he looked. I observed his features through my black hoodie and smirked. Under what authority was he? He seemed to be backed up by someone, what else could explain his confidence? I took some steps back and noticed he had his hair packed and a dragon skin tattoo snaking down to the nape of his neck and below. His eyes were on mine. And I tilted my head. He wasn't fazed by it though, even though he couldn't recognize me.

His reason for being here was quite rare. No one faced a mafia squad like this without a hint of fear in them. And I could read when someone was fearful, even when they hid it perfectly, I still knew when they were. It was what I'd learned growing up. But this man wasn't terrified at all. One of the men was about to take action to shoot him. I raised my hand while he crossed his leg. It caused me to raise a brow. I could kill him now if I wanted to. But his confidence interested me. He lacked fear. Very uncommon.

"You want to work with us?" It was a very unusual thing. Every other person that had come to us mentioned working for us and not with us. His working with us meant he was up to something. He wanted connections. "Don't you think you're doing this the wrong way?" I questioned and he smirked. Challenging, but I didn't make a move to kill him. He seemed...too interesting to miss. He had a target, and that was what I wanted to know.

"I know I'm not. Asking for a favour isn't wrong, is it? Working with me is in no way defying your status. And let me be clear. I came with no backup. My capabilities can be measured by how I got to you. Alone." He had a smug look on his face. "Working with me is in no way defying your status." He repeated and the squads began to murmur amongst themselves, but I wasn't fazed. I wasn't impressed. He was bragging about something I did when I was ten and so it made me chuckle. I gave it to him that he was able to get here without backup. But the turn-off was that he was making it something to boast about.

The side of my lips twirled. "Any other person that has come here this way got killed."

"But you won't harm me, because I have the potential you need." He said. "And besides, I'm not scared of any one of you."

I stopped the man who tried to step forward.

"What makes you think you have the potential?"

"I would be dead already if you didn't need me. You know who y'all are trying to destroy and I know him too." He mentioned.

He rose from the chair and paced back and forth in a relaxed manner, then stopped, before he looked at me.

"Damon Antonio."