The Gangleader, Is a Kid?

Chapter 3: Tattoos are forever and a day.

As long as you put one foot in front of another, you can't be in the same place as before.

The leather interior was sleek black and highly expensive. "Where to?" I looked up "5th Avon Strt, er... Thanks"
"You have an older brother." He was looking at his phone scrolling through.
"Yeah, why?" I asked cautiously, he looked up, "we have some unfinished business. " i swallowed hard when i heard that, he was gonna use me as bait, I'm gonna die. My brother doesn't give a toss about me. I leaned back in my seat, i enjoyed the leather cozzieness. I let out a sigh and put my head in my hands. I don't think i can take it anymore, i give up. "You're not going to get anything from him," i said quietly, "and why is that, are you questioning my persuasive techniques?" He lifted an eyebrow expectantly. "My brother doesn't care for anyone but himself so unless you threaten to chop his dick of he isn't gonna give or do anything for you. "
"Why would you say that?" Again expectant look. I couldn't say anything more without risking letting out my story. "I can walk from here." I tried to lean forward and grab the handle, but i think i should emphasise on 'tried' more.

He stuck out his arm which turned into cement as i tried to push against it, unfortunately it reached the place where my father kicked and i let groan in pain. I grabbed my chest and pushed back against the leather seat.

"What's wrong?" He asked, genuine worry in his voice. Strange, why would he care if i was hurt. I was nobody.

"It's nothing" i winced at the pain in my chest.
"Lift your shirt." He demanded.
"Bu-" he cut me off, a cold glint in his eyes. "Lift. Your. Shirt." I gulped and lifted my shirt slowly revealing the brushing. "STOP THE CAR," his sudden shouting scared the shit out of me. "Go to the nearest hospital." I was confused, i had never been to a hospital. Most of all i was scared, i didn't want them to see the scars, they were hiddious. Painful memories, warped into bumpy flesh. We arrived in the parking lot and i was instructed to get out. I looked around nervously, did i have a chance to run? No. I knew from the start running wasn't an option. I walked behind the three men with two men behind me and the leader beside me. They served as a human shield. I walked through the doors with my head hung low. I the noise in the reception significantly dropped as we entered, i heard familiar whispers and looked up to see some jocks from the another school. They were wearing the Crosswell blue jackets, that's the other school in the town. It's slightly richer and there's fierce competition between my school and there's.

We make it to the lift and as we pile in i can feel all the eyes of the people weighing down on me. The lift doors finally shut and while adjusting his crisp expensive suit he asked "how long ago did that happen?" I looked at my feet in shame. "Last night." It came out quite, nearly a whisper. I didn't want to remember it.

The lift stopped as we reached the top floor, we all piled out and they lead me into a private room.
"Franco," one of the men addressed the leader "the doctors name is Mr. Mark Whitechaple. Originated from England, clean record. Previous work done with us has lead to no complaints and graduated from Oxford. Nothing else of significance." Franco kept his eyes on me examining me, millimetre by millimetre. It scared me, i don't know if they're going to help me or murder me and make it look like an accident. No, why would they bother taking me here, if they wanted to kill me i would be dead.

A man walking into the room snapped me out of my thoughts. "Hello, my names-" Franco cut him off. "Do a physical examination, check if there's any broken bones or any life threatening damage." He ordered. Mr Whitechaple wore a slightly amused expression, "as i was saying, my names Mr. Whitechaple, May i ask your name so i can search up your medical history?" I looked up, "errm, my names Blake."
" ok, and your last name?" He looked up, his English accent was strong he was middle aged but must of live in England most of his life otherwise he would have a slight American tint, if that makes sense. "It's Kingston." Franco said, i must of zoned out. The doctor looked between an expectant Franco and a scared me. "Okay, Mr. Kingston." He looked at his screen confused. "I have no medical history, did i spell your name wrong?" He looked at me, i sighed. "I've never been in a hospital before." I stated. "Not even a birth record?" I looked down again "i don't know."
"Well, I'm not sure what to say but you should of been regerstered, but I'm gonna just go ahead and do the physical examination. Okay, does anywhere hurt specificly?" Yes all of it hurt, my whole body was consumed in a dull ache. "My stomache, i guess."
"Okay, would you mind removing your shirt?!" He was looking at his screen again, typing. I lifted my shirt and some of the men left in the room (3 had gone outside to watch the door.) gasped. The doctor looked up to see my chest. The angry purple bruise swollen, scars from where my father had thrown glasses (cups not specs) at me. I shuddered at the memory. A small tattoo was visible at the top right of my chest, it was faded and unclear. It was old, i got it when i was 6. My dad was pissed off his head coming home he brought a few mates back, one of them was a tattoo artist. My dad dragged me out of bed, down the stairs and slammed me on the kitchen table. He pinned me down, nearly cutting off my circulation, he was putting all his weight on me. His mate got out the portable kit, giggling. My dad said he wanted something that reminded me i was his, always. His nickname was 'Birdy' so they tattooed a simple bird there. Just a simple outline, but that is why i hated looking in the mirror. Being 6 it hurt, a lot. I tried to fight but it was no use. When he was finally finished he threw me to the floor and kicked me before muttering something i didn't catch a going to get another drink.

"Well, i believe you have at least... 3 broken ribs, these scars are older but some newer than others. All of your ribs feel as if they've been broken before." I didn't even notice him touching me, I looked at him confused "when you break your rib, it's never the same. It has a jagged line where it was broken, to you could say over compensate to stop it from being broken again. (Completely made that up) your ribs have a lot of lines." I looked down grimacing at the thought. "Would you turn around for me?" I turned slowly. My back was the worst. My dad had used a belt there. My skin was torn into lines, the groves were deep and high. The doctor skimmed his fingers gently over them, looking at my face looking for any sign of pain. None. Most of them were old. He seemed to notice the cigarette burns dotted around my back. My step mom did them, while i was laying unconscious on the floor she to puts them out on me.

The doctor was back at the computer typing, i grabbed my shirt and put it back on. Franco was typing something on his phone. The other 2 looked anywhere but me. " so what's the damage?" Franco asked grimly. "Well," he looked up "the damage was a visible, it's highly unlikely for him to have internal bleeding because he wouldn't be alive if he did." He attempted a joking tone but Franco didn't look impressed. "Who did this to you?"
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