A teenage bad boy, with a hatred for his family, has to chase a stranger all over town to find and save his little sister who has been kidnapped.
***
When Dorian leaves one morning despite his mother's orders, it's just another simple act of rebelli...
I fall into a coughing fit. Breathe. Let me breathe. In. Out. I wheeze. My throat throbs. Breathing hurts.
Chris lays on the ground beside me. Groaning and moaning. He touches his hand to his head, and groans louder.
He flick his glare up to see who kicked him. Jonah, still holding onto his arm, swallows hard. He steps back as Chris leaps to his feet.
My stomach swirls with uncontrollable nerves watching them both. Chris steps forward, and Jonah steps back. He mimics every move Chris makes, clutching his arm against himself. Jonah doesn't stand a chance. He's screwed. Chris will—
Or maybe not. Wyatt steps between the two of them, already swinging for Chris's head.
Chris leans back, dodging the hit by a whisker. The second strike lands in the palm of his hand. With the same hand, he grips it and yanks him towards him. In the same movement, Chris sends other his fist into Wyatt's stomach.
Doubled over, he's pushed away, towards me, and collapses.
I move to get up, but stop when a glint of light beside me catches my attention. I stare at the knife. Moonlight bouncing off it. Blood staining half of the blade to the tip.
Do I—Should I—I don't want—but—He could—If I don't grab it, Chris—finds it—he could get it. Then what? What would we—How could we beat him? Without it.
I reach down and pause. My hand hovering over it. I look over at the scrabbling group.
Chris keeps moving towards Jonah and doesn't stop when Axel takes Wyatt's spot in the middle.
Axel, in front of Jonah, dodges a punch, jumping back. The second one flies in too fast for him to avoid. It strikes his chest with a hard thump. Another hit to his jaw makes a cracking sound. And down Axel goes.
Oh God. My turn.
I lower my hand, finding the knife without looking. Picking it off the earth, I hold it in a loose grip. My hand shakes. I don't want to do this.
I get up, moving quietly.
Chris grabs Jonah's injured arm. His scream drowns out the sound of a stick snapping under my shoe. He takes a punch to the face, and Chris lets him fall.
I'm not close enough to act when he turns to me. I freeze.
Oh shit. What do I—what do I do now?
Flicking his eyes down to the knife in my hand, he moves towards me.
Wyatt stands up, between me and him, and Chris takes his eyes from me for a second to look at him but doesn't stop.
Wyatt prepares himself, waiting for him to get close enough, but Chris acts faster. Rushing in and swinging at him first. Wyatt copies Chris's move; grabbing his hand before he gets hit.
Yes!
Chris uses Wyatt's same arm and pulls him in. In a swift movement, he raises his elbow up into Wyatt's face. He continues forward, eyes back on me, as Wyatt drops.
I gulp. My hand trembles and shakes as I lift it up to point the blade at him.
"You gonna stab me, are ya?" he asks, still moving.
I want to say yes. I want to appear threatening. But I know I won't stab him. I don't have the guts. So, I say nothing. I keep it pointed at him and when he gets closer I do the next best thing, I swing it up at him.
His forearm hits mine and the knife falls from my loose hold. Before I can see where it falls, I get a punch to my face.
When I straighten up, he has the knife in his hand. Swinging his arm out wide to hit me.
I suck in a breath. Probably my last.
Everything plays out in slow motion. Seconds pass, but I could swear I live through years in this single moment.
His thumb rests on the blunt side of the blade. The edge stained red. It gets closer. Coming for my head. My neck. Slow, yet too fast to blink.
His aim falls off course as Axel comes up and shoves him to the side. Falling, his arm follows through, missing my head. The tree to his side catches him. He grunts on impact.
We all wait for his next action, but he stays facing the tree. He doesn't move. Staring at the tree trunk. Almost hugging it.
He pulls away. Moving slow. Making a gradual turn.
I gasp. The blade handle sticks to the outside of his chest. A dark stain surrounds it. From what I can tell, he's not breathing. He gives each of us one last glance, lingering on me at the end before his stare drifts off into the distance.
His knees buckle and give out. He stays kneeling for a moment before falling forward to the ground.
I flinch and look away before I see the handle hit the ground before he does.
When I look back at him, he's face down and unmoving. Dead.
Hearing Axel, beside me, start breathing again, I'm reminded to do the same.
***
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