Chapter Fourteen
Sirens wail somewhere far off, their pitch climbing and falling, red and blue strobes dancing across the slick brick walls.
They flash over my hands, my face, and the alleyway, before plunging us into darkness again.
The stench of old oil and garbage clings to my nostrils.
I press my back to the damp metal of the dumpster, peering around its edge.
“Where are they?” I ask for what seems like the millionth time.
A shiver of déjà vu races along my spine.
Antonio shifts behind me, his sneakers squeaking on the wet pavement.
Another kid like me, a high school drop out who’s only made it to seventeen because a local gang has been conditioning us to join their ranks.
However, this being our first real job, his nerves are showing. His breath comes too fast, clouding in the air with white puffs like smoke signals. I tamper down my own reservations, forcing myself to keep a level head. I can freak out later.
My brother, Jeremy, has been the man of the house for too long.
Tonight, I pull my weight. I can help to pay off the gambling debts our bastard father left us drowning in and give Mom a better life.
More than that, once I’ve passed initiation, the GDK gang will protect us.
They take on one man from each family, and it’s my time to step up.
The walls closing in on us are coated in graffiti, names and tags of our rival gang sprayed over one another until nothing is legible.
It doesn’t need to be clear who’s tag is more prominent, since we’re deep in rival turf anyway.
Other than the dumpster, metal door opposite and a random black cat, we are alone in the dead end.
I spin just as two figures step into view.
Khan is a huge fucker dressed head to toe in black.
Beneath his balaclava, I know there’s a thick scar running from his temple to his chin and hundreds of theories on how he got it.
Vince beside him isn’t as large, but the lack of emotion in his dead eyes is the same.
These men are brutal. One small slip up and they won’t hesitate to tie up the loose ends. I refuse to be a loose end.
Smooth as butter, Vince crouches by the door to pick the lock, whilst Khan presses objects into mine and Antonio’s hands.
I frown at the heavy weight, squinting and turning it over to make out the glint of a gun.
Holy shit, a gun! I swallow through the dryness coating my throat, my forehead sweating beneath one of Jeremy’s beanie hats. I thought it would be a good disguise.
My surroundings blur and alter to the inside of a vault, fragments of time slipping through my fingers.
Floor to ceiling drawers line each wall, like tiny deposit boxes.
I don’t know how I expected a jeweler to store his stock, but being here now makes it too real.
This is serious shit I’m getting into, and something tells me it’s only the beginning.
I picture my mom, shivering beneath a tattered blanket as she tries to sleep.
Her teeth chattering whilst hunger rips her apart from the inside.
Then there’s Jeremy, his hands faltering as he packs to go off to some elite academy he’s been accepted into.
He keeps arguing that he should stay here, but there’s no life for him here, and we don’t need him anymore.
I’m going to be the man of the house now.
“Don’t just stand there, empty them out!” a bark shouts from behind. I shove the gun into my pocket, tearing open drawers and emptying the contents into my duffle as quickly as possible.
Suddenly, an alarm blares. I drop my bag in favor of slamming my hands over my ears.
Shoulders shove me aside, hard enough for me to stumble into the wall, as they take the loot and prepare to leave me behind.
The alarm is hammering a nail into my head, making it painful to even open my eyes.
So I just start running. The hallways stretch, my feet barely touching the ground as I race through the maze I don’t remember being here.
The door to outside is ahead, a green exit sign lighting the way.
I stretch out my hand for the handle, but someone wrenches it open from the other side.
Dragged out by the scruff of my neck and thrown to the ground, agony explodes in my side.
The impact of a boot breaks my ribs, blood clogging my throat.
I roll to the side, spluttering and gagging as I bump into something solid.
My head rises, the image of Antonio’s open, glazed eyes etching themselves into my memories.
Blood pools from a bullet hole in his jacket, the click of a semi-automatic being cocked.
“Sorry kid, one of you triggered the alarm. Someone’s got to take the fall and your fingerprints are all over the lockboxes.
” Dread takes over, but whereas some may falter beneath the weight of it, I seem to flourish.
Unaware of my actions, the gun is out of my pocket, the safety flicked off and my hand raises towards the man pointing a barrel at me.
I can barely see in the darkness of the alley, but the sirens are growing louder and time is running out.
I don’t have a choice. It’s me or him, and I can’t let my mom lose a son.
Closing my eyes, I hear a scuffle as my finger squeezes the trigger.
Wheels skid, sirens blare, shouts and screams follow gunfire.
Then it all stops. Complete silence rings in my ears, my hand still raised in the air.
Officers close in, the holler of one telling me to put down the weapon sounding faint.
I drop it, and crack an eyelid, temporarily blinded by the brightness I find there.
Pain seizes me as they descend, forcing me onto my front and grabbing my arms. My ribs scream for attention, bound by the awkward angle my hands are cuffed in.
At least it’s over now. I can give my statement, I’ll cooperate and be home soon enough.
The gravity of what I nearly got involved in hits me like a freight train. I almost died.
With my face smushed against the concrete, I peer at the reflection of myself in a window and frown.
My nose is slightly crooked, though I don’t remember it being so, and the stubble on my jaw has somehow grown in the last hour.
But it’s my eyes. They are wide, lifeless.
Too similar to the way Antonio was staring endlessly at the night’s sky.
Somewhere within, a dull thud cracks through the confusion and just before the police haul me to my feet, I realize the truth.
There’s no window in this alley, and that’s not my reflection. That’s Jeremy.
I lurch upright with a gasp, the sound that rips from my throat somewhere between a broken snarl and general panic.
My lungs seize, my hands clawing at nothing as I search for the gun, for the door, for something to stop the spinning.
The world is blindingly bright, visions left in the recesses of my mind flashing before me.
The white walls of the interrogation room fade, bleeding into cream tones and the faint scent of gingerbread and cinnamon.
My heart’s still pounding like I’m being chased, my body shaking uncontrollably with a tremor deep in my bones that is a combination of fear and the cold.
“Stop it!”
My head jerks toward the voice, but the room doubles. Everything lags half a second behind, like my eyes can’t keep up. I blink hard until my vision steadies enough to make out a soft throw blanket sliding from my chest, the couch beneath me too plush and warm. Where the hell am I?
Reaching down to pick it up, agony stabs my entire body.
My hands are like ice, my fingers aching when I move them, the joints swollen and red.
My skin feels tight, stretched thin over bone.
I blink again, forcing the fog from my mind.
I’m not in an alleyway. I’m not bleeding.
I’m not seventeen. I’m sprawled on a sofa in a house I don’t recognize, muscles seizing from the cold.
There’s a Christmas movie playing above a roaring fireplace, and the smell of baking sugar is thick in the air, tugging me somewhere I don’t belong. Laughter trickles through from the next room, a familiar sound that doesn’t quite fit in my nightmare.
“Rhys, you can’t just eat the decorations!
” The bastard chuckles, doing something that causes Harper to squeal, and as a result, pierce my skull.
I close my eyes, pressing the heels of my palms against my temples.
Trying and failing to rise, I immediately regret it as the room tilts and a groan escapes me, followed by a clatter from the kitchen.
“Clayton!” Harper rounds the corner, flour dusting her cheek. “Perfect timing! We need a judge for our gingerbread houses before Rhys eats all of the adornments off mine.” She pauses, assessing me properly and her brows knit together. “Are you okay? Do you feel any better?”
“Better?” I repeat hollowly, my voice not sounding like my own. Then, like a jigsaw gathering all of its pieces, I start to remember. The cold, the porch, the locked door. My truck is buried in snow where I abandoned it a few miles back. The gnawing in my bones until everything went dark.
I can tell, even without Harper’s evident concern, that was a close call. So close, that my life started flashing before my eyes and I despised every bit of it. If that’s the life and legacy I’ll leave behind, then there’s no use even giving me a headstone. It’s a waste, but it’s not over just yet.