Blades and Bullets

5. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

After all the time I had spent in that fucking basement I'd picked up a few things, taken a good look at my surroundings. I knew where my father hid his weapons, his whips, his guns, I've seen where he returns his blades to their sheaths after he thinks he's finally knocked the life out of me, leaving me bleeding dry in the corner.

I quietly and stealthily make my way down the stairs, careful not to hold all my weight in my feet and instead carry them along in a sort of hover. When my heart dropped and started pounding against my chest I tried not to panic at the sound, which proves to be more difficult then expected since it is one that usually signals impending pain. His footsteps creaked loudly, getting closer and closer as I dove behind a stack of crates in the corner, right beside the weapons vault. For once I am glad that I'm invisible to him as his figure towers above, he struggles with the lock for a few seconds before a click echoes through the room. Shit!, I had everything planned out! He was supposed to leave ten minutes ago! I was betting on it, fuck this wasn't good!

While he was distracted, shovelling weapons into his duffle bag, I slide in behind him and reached for a dagger hanging from the rack and slide it into my boot.

Once the only sound I could hear was the one of harsh breath, I followed his shadow. My father had gotten into the drivers seat of his truck, and as the engine roared I took my last shot out of this hell-hole. I gripped the back of the truck and flung myself into the open back, grunting as my arm scrapped against a rusted pipe.

I didn't know how long had passed, but it seemed like an eternity had gone by once the car had screeched to a halt. As soon as my father took a step out of the vehicle I sprang into action seizing my sliver of hope, I lunged at him. Before he even had a second to register what had happened, I used all my body weight to push him to the floor, biting my lip to hold back my cries of pain as my ankle cut against the metal frame of the car. Although I could've just stabbed him from behind, I wanted my face to be the last thing he would ever see, one without the fear he so hoped to create. But instead, one with fire blazing throughout, a light that could not be dimmed.

With all the rage and hurt in my soul, his heart reached it's last beat. I fell to the ground in relief, my knife flying across the pavement. It was all over!

Or so I had thought, I had felt eyes watching me and as I turned to meet them. "You'll fit in perfectly." The man dressed in a steamed black suit grinned devilishly.

"Excuse me?" I looked around, confused. "Are you talking to me?" I questioned.

"Thank you, sincerely." His voice drips with toxic and my head is screaming at me to run, why is someone dressed so well-off hanging around a junkyard?

"For what?" I ask as I begin to stand.

"Well you did the hard work for me, you know.." He gestured his thumb slicing across his throat. I recoiled in disgust.

"What do you want from me? Are you asking for a turn?" I ask sarcastically, pointing to my dead father over my shoulder.

"I knew it! You will be perfect, such a spitfire!" He responded almost giddily and I knew he was insane.

"Listen man I don't know what you want from me but I'm just gonna go now, my work here is done." I begin to back away, turning away from him.

"Get her." Was all he said before the shadow of two guys came at me, along with the man in the suit. I turn and manage to slice the first two with my blade across their necks in one swift blow. But as the boss came at me I was unprepared and the knife in my hand was quickly flung from my hand. Luckily, I was skilled in close combat after all those years, I use all my force to land a punch on his face. When that doesn't faze him I kick him where it hurts. Pathetic, I'm well aware, but it was a last resort.