NOT FULL BOOK
Amelia stumbles upon a crime syndicate on campus when she catches the eye of a member apart of the group. He is powerful, dominant, and controlling.
Aiden (who goes by Blade) is in line to be the next president of the Heathens. He's gi...
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TWO YEARS AGO
"Kill him or I'll kill you."
A gun is pointed to my head, whether the trigger pulls is entirely up to me.
The gaze of the man on the other side is cold and calculating as he delivers his ultimatum, his voice dripping with malice. The weight of what he's truly saying comes crashing down on me. I'm trapped, cornered by forces beyond my control.
When I don't make a sound a punch is thrown to my gut, the brass knuckles sends me flying off the chair to the concrete floor.
It's cold and stinks of mold in this room.
"I'm not supposed to be an assassin. I'm a hacker," I spit out, clutching the bruise forming on my stomach. I focus my attention on that injury because it's the most recent one but there's gashes, wounds, and bruises scattered all over my body. I think I've just become numb to the other ones by now.
"Look, kid. I picked you for a reason to be my prodigy. And judging by your will to not break after these past 2 days of torture, I made the right decision."
I shake my head, a sense of dread setting in. "I'm not a killer. And you'll never make me one." My voice is hoarse as evidence of all I've been through by his command. Blood spits out of my mouth with each word I speak and the iron taste is bitter on my tongue.
He takes a few slow, eerie steps towards me and crouches down to my level. "We'll see about that." I don't miss the sadistic smirk splayed across his face.
A whistle chimes in the air and 3 large dudes that could cosplay as sumo wrestlers enter the room, stepping before me.
They each wield a distinct weapon that I can just barely see in the dim light. One has rope in one hand - a butcher knife in the other, one has a shovel, and one has a heavy metal bat with cruel spikes jutted from its surface.
It's obvious this isn't their first rodeo, their movements are precise and a silent threat hangs in the air.
"I didn't want to do this. You should've just agreed, kid. But now you're really forcing my hand and making me bring in the big guns."
I close my eyes and prepare for the worst.
2 DAYS LATER
"OKAY! OKAY!" I yell, body shaking as another nail is being dug into my right thigh, the nail gun splitting through muscles and nerves.
They finally broke me down, slashing through all of the walls of armor I've put up.
I swore I would never do this. Never let this organization corrupt me. It drove my dad to be an alcoholic.
He snaps his fingers, signaling the man in a black mask to retreat from the relentless nail gun attack.
I'm depleted of energy, starved, have counted 126 different entry wounds by every weapon you can imagine - some of them manually altered to be more lethal. Who the fuck thinks to sharpen the edges of a shovel and use it to hack away at human flesh?
