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His breath tampered on my neck as he backed me into a corner.
"Look at me." he demands in a disturbingly-menacingly-calm tone.
I couldn't.
He wants to hurt me. He wants me dead.
I felt his paradoxically gentle, soft hand grip my chin...
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Harry Styles
Two years ago...
I stared ahead at the gas station blankly in the parked car.
How did my life get to this point?
I had the perfect parents, the ideal family life. And it was all taken from me.
My mom is still missing, just like she's been for the past 8 years and I've lost all hope now. And now that my father's dead, I'm alone.
I felt the tough grip on my shoulder, making me snap my attention back to real time.
"Just like you were told. Go in, get the money, and get out quickly."
"Do I get a mask?" I question.
"No." They tell me. "None of us did when we joined. It's tradition, kid."
My brows knit together as a gun is put in my hand. "They'll be able to tell who I am-"
"If you're quick and smart, you'll be out of there before they can get a good description of you."
I don't know how I ended up here. I was at my dads funeral and suddenly there was this man offering me money and promising me I'd be well off for the rest of my life if I agreed to join this ring. He claimed to know my father, but I don't know the truth behind that yet.
He said his name was Malone. I think it's his last name.
This was the initiation that apparently everyone had to do—commit armed robbery.
I look down at the gun, my mind running in every direction.
"What happens if I don't go through with it?" my voice speaks quietly.
The man in the driver's seat shrugs.
"That's up to Mr. Malone." he says, "but since you know too much, he'd probably have ya killed."
I stay silent.
I feel another pat on my shoulder from someone in the backseat. "Clock's a'tickin' kid. Go and get it over with. We'll be waiting here."
Hesitantly, I open the car door. I tuck the gun in the waistband of my jeans, feeling my nerves start to climb.
Im not cut out for this.
I look back at the car one final time before swallowing the lump in my throat and walking toward the gas station.
It seemed empty, so hopefully this won't be as hard.
They told me to kill anyone if I needed to. But I don't want to do that. I've never killed anybody before.
The black bandana that my father used to wear when he'd work on his car was tied around my wrist. That was one of the only things I had left of him. That and his guitar.
