"You know why you're here, don't you?" Karl's voice echoed amongst the dripping of pipes. The smell of stale beer from years of spillages curled into Dylan's nostrils. A choppy wind whistled through the box room. Dylan had no idea why he was standing in the cellar of an old pub with a friend of the family.
His brows knitted together in confusion, feeling uneasy in such a shady setting. He wasn't supposed to be on his own, Mitch was meant to be there with him.
"I don't think your little friend is going to show up, so we'll get started. I'll make it quick," Karl said, reading Dylan's mind.
Karl stood from the steel keg he had been sitting on and reached into the silk-lined pocket in the breast of his suit jacket. He had always taken pride in his appearance and dressed smartly for every occasion. After all, he was in the business of dodgy dealings, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught with his pants down and then have his body found in a ditch with the aforementioned pants being poor quality. From the depths of the expensive fabric, he drew a revolver, as casually as other men would retrieve a biro.
Dylan's eyes grew unnaturally wide, transfixed in fear. The fine hairs on the back of his neck bristled and stiffened with the rest of his body.
It took a moment to register Karl's voice.
"Most boys your age make mistakes." Karl cleared his throat and shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly, "Most boys your age learn from them." The walls closed in around them, suffocating Dylan and any ambitious survival plans that might make a last-minute appearance. He found himself unable to move whilst simultaneously vibrating uncontrollably. "You, on the other hand, won't get the chance. Your dad has done some morally grey shit in his time. He could have overlooked nearly anything, but not when it involves her." Karl spoke almost apologetically. The chink of the closing gun chamber was deafening, snuffing out the muffled chatter from the pub above.
The pieces slotted together all at once for Dylan, and when it was evident he wasn't leaving the room alive, he steeled himself. Though his hands still quivered, and no amount of arrogance could omit the fear from his voice, he managed to croak out the last words he would ever say.
"He's not my fucking dad."
YOU ARE READING
The Cunning
RomanceVIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED SHORT CHAPTERS (1500 - 2000 words) She's as clever as the Devil and twice as pretty. Madison has a secret, and she wants to keep it that way. Her days are short and simple, she works her shifts at the 24-hour convenience...
