𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐬

CHAPTER SIX - THE AFTERMATH

Andreus

My eyes weren't fast enough to track her movement, but my heart made up for the effort. It beat fast enough to be considered an engine, pattering madly against my ribcage.

Minerva wasn't affected in the slightest, however. At least she didn't seem to be. There had been nothing in her expression or her voice to show worry or anger or anything other than annoyance about the entire exchange. It further proved to be nothing to her when she warned the boy about the gun. It was probably wrong, but the sound of her voice, the hard tone and the strength in her stance... it made me feel things. Bad things, seeing the kind of shit situation we were in.

The moment she moved, I stood no chance to properly catch her sight, let alone keep things from escalating. The boy didn't reach his weapon that Minerva took a hold of his wrist and tugged him forward. At the same time, her other hand found the handle of the weapon. She shoved him back into the arms of his friend, the threat safely retrieved. Her hands shifted on the black metal, unloading and dropping at our feet bullets. Six drops on the wood flooring had me swallowing down the lump of worry in my throat. I pushed into the back of my mind the severity of the knowledge—a teenager carried a loaded gun.

"I'm gonna keep this too," Minerva stated. Her head turned to the bar, where Joey waited, her head shaking from side to side. She caught the weapon with the same ease Minerva threw it. "Your parents can come talk to us if you want it back. I won't fail to mention your current state either. High, packing and demanding alcohol. I'm sure they'll love it."

"You bitch," the boy gritted. "That's mine!"

"It was yours when you weren't flashing it like some big man on campus." The woman before me stretched her neck, a sigh slipping from her lips. "You're lucky I'm not in the mood of swiping my floors of blood."

Heh... she was... wow. Just... wow!

"That's my gun!" The boy hissed, hand lashing out before his friend could stop it.

Minerva dodged it, slapping it away the second time it attempted a strike. With her next move, my jaw slightly fell unhinged. She grabbed him by the ear, dragging him down a few inches until he whimpered.

"How dare you come into my bar, threaten me with a gun and try to touch me? What kind—" she gritted, squeezing a cry from the boy's lips—"of discipline do your rich parents teach you? Have you no respect of the environments you enter?!"

His friend, the last one standing since the others had taken off running, babbled unintelligible apologies. Poor boy tried holding back the struggling 'E-boy', as Minerva so kindly nicknamed him. He received the message when his friend didn't. Some stupid things got out of his mouth, poor excuses that made Minerva take a hold of his ear as well. She started walking to the exit, pulling the teenagers after her as though she intended to humiliate them in front of the remaining clients. Some of them gaped at the scene, other praised the display, yelling out their approval.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves," she scolded on her way. I was right behind her, in a rush to open the doors for her. I might have wished to approach the situation in a different way, but it didn't mean I wasn't taken by her efficiency. "I can't believe I'm dealing with you two, you little shits. Fucking asking for alcohol. You've got three more years and you can go nuts. Be grateful you're not Americans."

She threw them out on the sidewalk, in a puddle of water. "The next time I see you, it better be by the side of your parents. They'll be more than glad to hear the shit you do in your spare time."