It Starts With Him

20

I freeze as ice replaces the blood in my veins and my stomach drops down to my feet. There is no way. There's absolutely no possible way the Outlaws are really standing in front of me. Just me, them, Brooke, and a small house in the middle of nowhere. No one knows where I am or who I'm with. I'm trapped with a bloodthirsty gang and their little pawn.

"Well done, Lilith," one of the Outlaws says, his voice deep. His deep brown eyes stare deeply at Brooke, and she waltz's up to him. His arm lays itself over her shoulder. Did he just say Lilith? Has she been playing under an alias this whole time?

I stare at the four men, and slowly my mind starts to make connections, like small wires clicking together with an electrifying zap.

The biggest and seemingly oldest one who is standing slightly in front of the rest is Diesel. I remember when Ace and I were at the top of the ferris wheel a couple of months ago, he had named some of the Outlaws off to me. Diesel's black hair is shaved into a buzz cut. He seems like the leader of the group. The other men all seem to glance in his direction every few moments as if awaiting a command. His arm is the one draped over Brooke's shoulder. I assume they're dating.

The man to the right of him I immediately recognize as Rocco Forbes. He's the one who pushed me off the yacht and into the ocean on one of my first few nights here this summer. His cold glare sends shivers down my spine as I reminisce his hands pressing against my back sending me over the yacht rail and into oblivion.

The third man is the smallest one. He has big blue eyes, almost like a puppy, and neatly combed blonde hair. He looks uncomfortable to be here, unlike the rest of them who look deadly and ready to kill. I remember Ace referring to him as "Max". While his features such as hair and eye color are nothing like Diesel's, they have the same facial structure and bodily build, though Diesel obviously works out more. I wonder for a moment if they're related.

Lastly, is the man I recognize the least. Unlike the others, I can't ever recall hearing his name, but he looks similar in a vague sense as if I've seen him in a dream. After a mere second of analyzing his face, I timidly recall seeing Ace speaking to a man on the beach on multiple occasions throughout the summer. He is that man, I realize. What was Ace doing talking to him?

"I told you I could get her to come. I could have been an actress if I wanted," Brooke - or apparently Lilith - says to the boys. Diesel smiles smugly and lands a kiss on her forehead. The man I don't know the name of scoffs and glares at her.

"Why don't you do us all a favor and move out to L.A. then, Ms. Natalie Portman," he says with a cold edge to his voice. All the men except for Diesel suppress a smile at this, and it isn't hard to tell that no one is a fan of her but her boyfriend himself.

"Shut your mouth, Joaquin. I expect you all to treat Lilith with respect. Especially since she reeled in the fish," Diesel says, shooting a nasty smile in my direction. They look down at the floor submissively, and the now-named man, Joaquin, kicks the ground with his steel-toed shoe.

What do they want from me? For months now, I've wondered the same thing. They have no motive to want anything from me, except for the fact that I saw them that one time at the amusement park and they know who I am from my wallet being left. But surely other people have seen them before and they didn't target them in such a direct and aggressive way? They've been tormenting me all summer, and now this? I don't know what they want or why they're doing it, but I do know that I am in deep shit.

"What do you want?" I demand, and they all laugh simultaneously except for Max. He cracks a smile when Diesel looks his way, but his puppy-dog eyes look at me as if they're begging for my forgiveness.

Diesel steps towards me, and leans past me just an inch or so to forcibly yank open the drawer to my side. I flinch at the sound and vibration, and my hands instinctively fly over my face. "What a coward," Lilith mutters under her breath. Diesel is inches from my face, so close that I can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. His hand, now holding a sharply pointed knife, stretches up towards my face. The tip of the blade presses itself against my throat, right over my jugular. My ice cold blood is so loud in my ears, and my heartbeat so quick that I fear he can hear it.