Lahat ng Kabanata ng Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

DAMIAN BLACKWOOD In the three years that passed, I showed more and more of my Blackwood character.The basement became a second home to me, and I navigated the place so often that I could make my way through with my eyes shut. The other room it ended in was only one of the many Blackwood storerooms to hide our weapons—I was told that it was the oldest of them, connected to the Blackwood family home when it was built a hundred years before, yet it was my favourite. It filled me with a kind of spirit that made me feel as though I was fulfilling history and about to make some of mine. It always had a damp smell, that and something else, which I suspected was the drugs. Still, my father had given me a strict warning never to use drugs. “Anything that causes you to become a slave to it is dangerous,” he would say. “Be it drugs, love, or a woman. A Blackwood is never a slave, but is born to rule.”From the moment of my first kill, I knew I wanted to own it all. My father was not dead yet,

DAMIAN BLACKWOOD That night, on my return, I had a very long talk with my father. We sat on either side of a table in his room, father to son, and there remained quiet for so long that I wondered if we were going to say anything at all. “You didn't tell me a deal with the Blacks was what was on your mind. I hate that family.” He began looking me over.“I did what was best for us to do. You'll see it in a few months, and you will know that I made the right choice.”“I trust you, boy. I know I raised you well, and I feel pride over what you did. But I still hate the Blacks,” he said, bringing out a video recording of me speaking to Michael Black and playing it. There was a look of pride upon his face, but I could only think of how someone had recorded me without knowing. I felt an inner surge of rage over this, that one of the men I went with would do this without telling me. How dare he—whoever he was- undermine my power. To consider me a boy who needed to be watched by his father…

DAMIAN BLACKWOODMy business with the Blacks took off quite well.Vieuti responded just as I said they would. Our supplies were hurried so quickly, and I made sure to sell them at a price that would put the others out of business. By the end of the first month, I returned to Michael Black with a mouth full of success.I sat before him in that chair with a smile on my face, confident of how successful I had been, and sent one of my men with the records of my sales for him to see. He went through each page carefully until the very last one, and shut the book in the end so hard that it made a sound that echoed through the whole room. No one said a word, waiting to hear what he had to say, and then he started to clap. One clap… two claps… three claps… until the whole room was going off in a round of applause. It lasted, and I sat still, taking everything with a smile on my face.“A eighteen-year-old-boy just pulled off sales that I haven't seen from many older men.” He announced. “Look a

DAMIAN BLACKWOOD By the time I was twenty-five, I was at the top of the ladder.I had survived a number of assassinations without cuts and made so much money that my next goal was transitioning all the Blackwood assets into legal businesses. My father had retired, leaving everything in my hands—he had done it since I turned twenty—and Michael Black had been dead for four years. I mourned his death after learning so much from him, as we had grown so close that whispers started to go around about him being my true father. Those whispers became even louder when I was one of the first and few at his deathbed, and he went into the afterlife after leaving me a 20% share in his will, an equal amount to the shares he left his own biological children. When he was asked about it, he said:“This one is my son. Did you not know he would have been my grandson if I let his father marry my Vanilla?”All he asked of me was that I watch over his other four, to keep them from harm.“I trust you, Dami

ELEANOR SINCLAIR I could have sworn that the old man had frozen to death when his prized gold seller lunged to attack me. He was shaking like a reed when I saw him and needed a reassuring hand on his shoulder from one of the crowd standing around us to be touched out of whatever had taken hold of him. Not far from us, the seller was dragged away, and I could only hope that it was the last time I was going to see him. His threats rang too loud in my head, and the look in his eyes, as I recalled them, seemed too wild for me to ever want to see him again. “What was that all about?” A young man who had come close to us asked, coming from nowhere and with genuine concern written all over his face.I looked at his face and observed it to make sure he was safe and to remember it if it was not. Vieuti was the last place to trust a random passerby, as you could be speaking to a criminal on the run from the police so fondly without knowing if you were any less careful. “I saw him trying to s