The Lords against DJ

DJ in headlock

That voice belonged to Chevy and there was no doubt about it. Only the fact that the notorious leader DJ had seen outside the cottage, a cruel bastard, tall and built like a tank, drenched in oils and grease which made his body shine in the light of the lit fire was descending the concrete stairs, produced an urgent feeling of distress in DJ's system.

The notes in his voice were mocking, filled with jeer as he continued down the stairs with thudding, loud steps.

"he doesn't listen now, does he? Sending men, one after another for me to kill and hang in my yard?" a drunken sneer resounded in the basement. Jerry shivered to his core, eyes fixated on the staircase, awaiting his demise.

Nausea built in his stomach, and a strange rumbling twisted his guts uncomfortably making the detective want to throw up his insides.

The young boy has come too far; he has accomplished many stages of danger and unease and protected himself from the vultures of Malia while establishing his newfound identity of being an honest, innocent merchant. Regardless of being terrified shitless, DJ has stretched his boundaries to reach where he was, the rescue of lord Yael, only to be hurdled right before he was going to succeed.

What a luck!

For the first time in his miserable life, DJ experienced the time slowing down against his rapidly beating heart. Whispering in his ears was the constant ragged pattern of his breathing. Blaring in his brain were the daunting steps descending, thudding against the boxes. His large doe eyes, behind the glasses, caught the soft rising and falling of Yael's chest as the latter breathed through his nose. Finally, his senses told him about the swift drop of sweat resulting from heat and anxiety that made its way from the centre of his curvy back towards his belt secured on his hip.

This is it, this is what he feared all this time. The man, who was just a few feet away and behind the bars, was the reason that his life was going to be cut short. He was going to get killed by the man he had come to know as a brutal human being, the worst kind, who wouldn't hesitate to kill him even if Jerry begged him on his knees and hands.

He was going to die. Chevy was coming for him, he would kill him and then hang his head in his front yard proudly.

A tremble shot through his body when the drunken man kicked something harshly on his way down making Jerry jerk on his spot. Instinctively, his hands flew to grip his disturbed stomach just to collect himself. But then, small fingers softly grazed against something he had totally forgotten about.

Upon feeling a hard metal object hidden under the thick layers of clothes, Jerry stopped his dangerously racing thoughts and snapped his focus on the defence he had carried all the way to the basement.

The revolver.

The detective patted at his clothes, he curled his tiny fingers around the weapon as he chased after the memory of him talking on the phone with the well-wisher of Yael. He distinctly remembered the unknown caller informing him of the crucial fact that Yael was the only one who could save him regardless of any situation.

Maybe this is the best time he should put the claim to the test because even after holding the revolver in his hands, a clear deadly weapon that can be used first-hand to save his own life, Jerry couldn't muster up the courage to fire a shot.

Meanwhile, Yael stood there in silence. Observing the situation keenly, he tried to grasp the situation he found himself in the longest five months of tranquillity. The words, somewhat incoherent yet understandable, tumbling out of Chevy's drunken tongue were clearing the suspicions he had.

According to his abductor, Lord Doukas, his father, has sent many men for the rescue of his son who ended up being dead somehow. But, as per Yael's record, none of them reached the place he was kept in, the basement.