Involved with the Mafia

1.

"Reece, dear Reece. How beautiful you are, how beautiful you speak. How beautiful you look when you're scared," his absent voice whispers in my ears.

His stubble scratches my cheeks as he breathes warm breaths on my skin. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. I open my mind to think, but no thoughts penetrate into my head.

"Quiet now are we? No need to speak anyway. This'll be quick and painless." He smirks at his words, making it apparent that this will indeed be painful.

I suck in a breath as his long arm leans into his jacket. A black pistol escapes slowly, enough for me to see the weapon that will cause my death.

"Please..." My mouth forms the words and a different voice escapes.

"You waited too long, Reece."

Bang.

I jump foward and gulp large amounts of air. I could feel the coldness of the sweat on my face as I turn and eye the alarm clock. With a couple of blinks, I finally make out the time. 2:33.

Putting on my slippers, I grab my phone and walk out from my room. The spiraling of blades cut through the air, working on keeping me cool. I'm not used to it being this silent. Maybe my dad fell asleep early.

I stop dead in my tracks when I hear the sound of tape being pulled. My eyes widen as I specify my attention towards the floor below me. A heavy object scrapes the floor, causing a scratchy affect.

Being that my father is crafty, he's probably moving around furniture. Why at two in the morning...

I walk down the stairs quietly, making sure that it was my father I was hearing. I peak my head into the living room to see a chair standing there on its lonesome. All the lights were off, except for the kitchen light. A man steps foward and I gasp in horror, but not loud enough.

He tugs and drags at something and I have a hard time fuguring out what it is. Signs of trouble means that the object weighs a heavy amount. The man turns towards me and tugs at a pale arm. The color drains from my face.

I wait until he tugs the body on the chair. I couldn't see who the man was, if it was my father or not. With his back to me, his arms extend to wrap tape around the chair exquisitely. I shrink back a little when he walks backwards to admire his work.

My phone slips from my pocket and falls on the hard wood floor.

Dammit.

The man in the black suit spins around and shows me his face. This most definitely isn't my father. He steps to the side and exposes me to the man on the chair.

My mouth drops open as I feel a hand sqeezing and tugging at my heart. My dad sits on the chair.

This time, my yells escape my mouth loud and clear.