THE RUN AND GO : JOSHLER

19 : REUNITED

Deep breath, tight grip, one eye closed.

Tyler swiftly pulled his gun out of his belt and aimed it straight at Dallon.

He didn't follow any of the guidelines he taught his Clique members during training.

Josh's life was on the line. There was no time for that shit.

The wicked smirk Tyler usually wore was gone. He was straight-faced, jaw set, red eyes dull and focused.

He clicked a bullet into place and pulled the trigger.

Dallon cried out in pain when the bullet pierced his skin, right where his wrist meets his hand. He dropped his gun and grabbed his wrist with his other hand. He winced as he watched blood spill through his fingers and onto his feet.

Tyler quickly shoved his gun in his belt and sprinted down the catwalk, his shoes echoing on the metal grating.

He pounced on Dallon and straddled him to keep him pinned to the ground. Even though Dallon was much taller than him, Tyler was experienced. He easily took him down. He grabbed the front of Dallon's shirt and slammed his head back on the metal catwalk.

"Dallon Weekes," Tyler mused, smiling wickedly. "Finally, I get to meet you."

Dallon didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. Tyler was on top of him, his weight pressing down on his chest. Immense pain engulfed his body. He couldn't breathe. Blood was still gushing out of his wrist.

As far as Tyler was concerned, Dallon was going to die.

Tyler's smile grew as Dallon squirmed underneath him, desperately trying to escape.

But escape was futile. Pointless.

Tyler slowly pulled his favorite knife out of his belt. His other hand wrapped tightly around Dallon's throat.

Tyler closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"I haven't killed someone in so long..." he hummed, his chest rising and falling heavily.

He missed this feeling. He missed it so, so much. Almost as much as he missed Josh.

The feeling of taking someone's life.

Tyler tilted his head to the side and inspected the knife, holding it up to the light. Dallon's eyes widened, and he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Oh no, don't you go and do that now," Tyler sing-songed, like a mother scolding her child. He simply covered Dallon's mouth with his free hand, muffling his screams. "It's too late for that."

Tyler broke out into a wide smile, threw his head back, and laughed.

"It's too late for anything now," Tyler said darkly, his sparkling red eyes staring right into Dallon's.

Dallon began to cry, kicking his feet and screaming even more against Tyler's hand.

Tyler leaned closer to Dallon, so close that their foreheads almost touched.

"You thought you could lay a finger on Missile Kid," he growled, pressing the flat side of his knife against Dallon's throat. "My Missile Kid. And that—"