Devil On Both Shoulders [Calum Hood]

Chapter 17

I held it in my palms as if it were my child. It wasn't big, not by any means. But it could kill someone; and that's the factor that got me peculiarly excited.

"Do you know how to shoot it?" Stella asked, hovering over my shoulder like a helicopter parent.

"Yes." I lied. I wasn't entirely sure on why I lied about that, I just didn't want to seem like a massive noob in the ways of the gun. But I'd watched James Bond like twice, and that seemed like legitimate qualification.

"Shoot that beer can," she instructed, looking pointedly towards the yellow can on the coffee table.

"What if I hit someone?"

"Even better," Stella grinned encouragingly.

Sighing, I held the gun at arms length, aiming shakily at the can.

"Max?" I turned around when she said this, casting a long glance at her to attend to whatever she needed. She was just one of those people who was higher than everyone else; whilst we were walking on the Earth's crust, she was walking on clouds - and that's just how it was.
"Load the fucking gun," she said, slowly, as if I would normally struggle to comprehend it. My common sense made a late arrival, as soon after I realised that they would not put fully loaded weaponry up on display for basically anyone to take.

Stella chucked me a pack of bullets that were absent-mindedly strung together with a wad of tape.

Despite the tape, I took out all the bullets with ease and loaded them facing the right direction into the compartment Stella showed me.

I repeated my previous actions with the gun, although this time I shot it.

The bang attacked my ears; it was deafening on my end, and it wasn't until then where I noticed the actual danger of a gun.

I had narrowly missed the can and shot an almost-hole into the table.

"Sorry," I said.

"No worries. Just get some practice and you can come on one of our shootings, if you like."

"Sounds great," I swallowed nervously, lying right through my teeth. I didn't want to shoot anyone, sure, I wanted a gun, but I didn't want to hurt people with it; I longed for the security one could feel with a dangerous weapon strapped to them like a fifth limb.

For the next couple of days, I kept the gun in the inside pocket of my jacket at all times. I wore my jacket to bed and I wore it when I wasn't in bed, because I wasn't about to risk Luke finding it

As the weeks went by, everything seemed to be fine. But all of that came to a pause when I woke up one day to find Luke gone.

I had made breakfast that day and everything, it was bacon and I'd spent ages making sure it was perfect. But when I called Luke to come downstairs, he never came. I checked every room in the house, and he had appeared to have vanished.

I called his name, multiple times, beginning to jog down the road in worry to where he was.

I felt around in my jacket pocket for my gun, which, since I got it, remained a part of me, as I felt I might have needed it.

It was gone.

My blood ran cold and I shook off my coat, frantically searching every centimeter of fabric for my weapon.

Luke must have found it.

From there, my entirety focused on one thing and one thing only: getting my gun back. I had no concern for Luke; he was a grown up and could take care of himself. But my gun was an inanimate object and could not fend for itself. My legs ran themselves to Michael's house, I'd never been here before, but Luke had showed me where it was incase of an emergency.

"Hey, Max." He greeted me, not acknowledging the frantic expression that lay present on my face.

"Is Luke here?" I asked, purposely missing out the part where he had found the gun I'd been sucessfully hiding for two weeks now.

"No," He said to my dismay. "He's probably at the Flats. Hang on, I'll get my jacket."

"Michael, I'm going my myself," I told him; he didn't look at all pleased with my reply, but the less people who knew about this the better.

"No you're not," he chuckled.

"Please don't make this difficult," I pleaded.

He ignored this, venturing back into his house to retrieve his jacket. I took this opportunity to lunge forward and grab his keys from where they rested on the radiator beside his door. Within seconds, he was locked in.

Considering this was Mr. Clifford I was trying to cage, I knew a front door would not stall him for long, so I bolted it down the road.

By the time I'd reached the Flats, Michael would have surely escaped, so I hastily jabbed the code into the small metal box and burst through the door.

I was greeted by Ben, the small man who was even less of a criminal than my friends.

"Hello," I breathed, out of breath and flustered. "Have you seen Luke?"

"Boy have we," Ben chuckled, casting a glance at his friends who nodded in agreement. "He had Calum by the arm, threw him into the elevator."

"Did he say what floor he was going up to?"

"No, but I'd presume he's going to the top, that's where all the fights happen."

I swallowed. Fights?

"Thank you," I said, and running into the elevator, I could only pray that Calum wasn't in a temper, because if he got his hands on Luke while he was mad, he was going to kill him.