"Think you can take me?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Are you doubting me?" She answered.
//
Natalie Perkins, born in London. The FBI is after her for the assassination of fourteen men. All of them brutally murdered one day of the week, all of them left wi...
Couldn't quite see what the future held And as days went by it would tell itself Let it struggle just a little bit more
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I opened my eyes abruptly and the first thing I felt was dust stuck in my nostrils. It made me sneeze and cough a couple times before I was completely aware of my surroundings. The killer was nowhere to be seen and neither was my father, reality hitting me like an anvil on the stomach and forcing me to stand up. The painting was right on top of me and it was heavy as fuck, so I struggled when trying to move it. I finally did, not before getting more dust in my eyes. Damn, my father truly never cleaned this place.
When I finally was on my feet, I noticed the sharp pain on my back from where the picture had hit me, but I had to ignore it because my dad's life was in danger.
I couldn't understand. My father had never done anything bad in his life, as far as I was concerned. He was the sweetest guy I had ever met and his life was being threatened, why? My brain was so overloaded with questions till I finally realized my gun was nowhere to be seen. Finally, I came to the conclusion this woman had taken it.
"Fuck's sake..." I whispered under my breath, running down the stairs and towards the door.
I hadn't been unconscious for much. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. My clothes were covered in a thin layer of dirt and I was sure my cheek was scratched because of the stinging I felt there.
I couldn't believe how this girl had been able to knock me out before I could blink. She literally had me passed out under a wall-length picture within five minutes. And how had she done that? She literally had shot a knife - which I thought was aimed to my head - straight into the string of the painting.
I ran down the stairs and to the street where my car was parked, ignoring the annoying stares of people who were passing by. I slid into the automobile and turned it on, driving at full speed towards the FBI building. I was angry and scared, dreading my father's death. He couldn't die. Not after what happened.
I arrived at the place after a short ride and stormed into it, earning glares from every single cop. I raked my eyes all across the room trying to find Jackson, but the motherfucker was nowhere to be seen.
"Styles? Is everything okay?" I heard Owens' voice behind me.
"Oh, thank god. Jackson, the killer took my dad." I grabbed both of his arms and whispered as if it was a secret. It kinda was, since Lunar had told me not to share anything with anybody, but I knew Jackson was aware of the situation.
