Diamonds

** means italics


                Lark bared his teeth at the man in black and his words came out in a snarl. “Let me go you stupid fuck!”
         The man in black laughed and pressed the muzzle of his semi-automatic to Lark’s forehead. Lark knew it wasn’t a good idea to call the man a stupid fuck but he figured it didn’t matter; he had a feeling he was going to die any ways. Why not go out kicking, or at least in his case, swearing.
         Lark tried to shift in the chair, but it only made his arms hurt worse. The battered gray t-shirt he wore was spattered with his blood and his lip throbbed in time with his heart beat. His feet were tied to the chair or else he would have tried to kick the sucker in the balls. He shifted again and his shoulders reminded him once again that he was tied up.
         “Do you even know who I am?” Lark’s jeweled eyes darted back and forth between the guy with the gun and the door.
                “Yeah, you’re Larken Everlis; you own half of the city.” The guy wagged the gun back and forth. Larken turned his head away and tried to focus on the ropes, if only he could loosen them, then he could wriggle out of them and get free. He wiggled his shoulders and twisted his wrists around until the skin broke, blood staining the ropes. The man glared at Lark and cracked Lark across the head with the gun.
         Lark’s vision swam with colors and he slumped over, trying to block out the pain.
         “Stop that or I’ll be forced to knock you out.” The man said and Lark tilted his head up and scowled at him and was rewarded with a hideous grin. The man snagged the chair from behind the desk and sat it in front of Lark. The gun was all but forgotten in his dirty hand as he sat down and studied Lark with beady eyes.
         “You know I always figured you would be harder to take down. I’ve heard rumors that you have your on personal army, but,” the man spread his hands, “You were alone up here. Stupid, if you ask me.”
         “I didn’t ask you and there are guards downstairs. What of them?”
         The man smiled slightly. “There were, but they were taken care of.” Lark’s stomach dropped and he immediately imagined them dead, their bodies sprawled in the foyer, blood on the marble floor.
         “You killed them?” Lark’s voice was low and it trembled slightly with either pain or rage, he didn’t know. The man laughed and shook his head.
         “No, an old… friend of yours took care of them,” he glanced at his watch “In fact he should be here any second. You’re in for a big surprise.”
         Lark watched as the man turned his head towards the door and cocked it to the side, as if he were listening for something. Lark took the opportunity and jerk hard on the ropes. His blood slick wrists slid free and he almost cried out in relief as the pressure was released from his shoulders. He sagged forward, then jerked back as he heard the shuffling of feet.
         The man stood to the side as the door opened and revealed someone he had hoped to never see again.

         **“Oh, no. Shit, they’re coming.” Lark scrambled to his feet, his dark red hair clung to his face in the steaming rain. He clutched the gun in one hand and the faded blue duffel bag in the other hand. He held it close to his body, not wanting to damage the precious cargo. Stefan stood in front of him, his gun raised to eye level, firing shots out into the darkness. He paused and glanced back at Lark, fear shining in his gray eyes.
         “They’re getting closer.”**

         Lark stared into Stefan’s pale face and was struck cold by the frozen hatred in his eyes. Then a razor grin split Stefan’s face and made him shrink back in his seat.
         “Hello Lark. Long time no see.”

         **Answering shots rang out in the darkness; the only light was from the old street lights and from the bullets leaving the guns. Lark ducked behind a dumpster, his breath shuddering, his lungs burning. He heard another round of gunshots and then a scream, followed by cursing. The cursing ceased and then Stefan called out his name.
         “Lark, help me. I’m hit and I can’t walk.” Stefan’s voice rose in panic as he called out again. “Lark, damn it, they’re coming. HELP ME!” The last two words were screamed and Lark glanced out around the dumpster.
         Stefan sat in a puddle, holding his hands over a leg. The gun lay forgotten on the side. He heard yelling and saw shadows approaching at a rapid pace. He stood from behind the dumpster and stared at Stefan for a moment, then turned and darted off into the darkness.**

         Stefan grinned at the stricken expression on Lark’s face. He had waited for this moment for so long, and now it was at hand. “You remember, don’t you? I can tell by your face.”  He approached Lark while pulling something from his belt. Light glinted off it and Lark realized it was a knife, a knife with a jeweled handle.
         Stefan swept his dark hair off his face and knelt in front of Lark with a maniacal expression plastered on his face. He ran a finger over the edge and red glittered on its surface. “You know, I’ve waited for this for ten years, my revenge. And it’s gone perfectly.” Stefan leaned forward and pressed the knife’s edge to Lark’s tanned throat. He held his lips an inch from Lark’s ear and whispered. “Where are they Lark? Where are my diamonds?”