So Long and Goodnight

I'm Not Much A Poet But A Criminal

Hi. Here's chapter four, hope you enjoy. Drop a comment and a vote if you like, criticism is always looked at, taken into consideration, and appreciated.

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Gerard's eyes widened, and he reached out to grip Frank's shoulder, but before he could get a word out, a knife (ironically similar to the one Frank had only hours before been planning to use as a murder weapon) was being held at Frank's pale throat.

One of the men in the red suits was standing behind Frank, towering over both Gerard and Frank. The other man was standing at the door, quickly flipping the sign that read "sorry, we're closed" to the side that the potential customers could see, rolling down the window blinds with efficiency, and surely locking the door. He searched for the light switch and turned off the light, plunging them into a darkness only lit by the flickering bulb that was located right above them, illuminating the checkout counter.

"Don't speak, don't yell, don't call for help." One of the men whispered. The extremely tall man who had a knife held threateningly to Frank's throat had abnormally silver eyes... and the other. The other seemed to either have naturally dark eyes, or he had pitch black contacts in. But he had tattooed the whites of his eyes black, too. The entirety of his eyes were as black as the night sky.

Gerard's heart sped up considerably. A sickening thought struck him "we're trapped" and, depending on the intruder's intentions, they may not get out alive.

The man with the completely black eyes scowled as the cash register wouldn't open. "You, faggot." He grinned, his canines had been medically sharpened the vicious points. "Open the register."

Gerard took a swift step forward, and fiddled with the opening of the register. He didn't have the key... Mikey had accidentally left with the key and Gerard had just pocketed the money he made on his shift and planned on depositing it the next day. They had no spare.

"My brother has the key, we don't have a spare. I'm not a person who picks locks. I'm afraid that I cannot open it."

The man with the glinting, silver eyes abruptly cut a sliver in the skin of Frank's neck, causing him to hiss. A trickle of blood made its way down the curve of his neck, dipping into his collarbone, and then disappearing beneath the neck of his shirt.

"Open the register." The man with the black eyes growled.

"In case you didn't hear me before, dimwit. I can't. It's impossible. Unless you have an idea, sir." Gerard smiled innocently, but glanced worryingly in Frank's direction.

Then something dawned on Gerard, and he smirked. "Wait, I have an idea. I'll check the back room. I recall that my brother may have ordered a new spare about a week ago."

Gerard quickly made his way to the back of the store, drawing soft and slow breaths, careful to keep his anxiety levels in check. His heartbeat was up in his throat.

Frank gulped, the knife making the cut in his throat scream.

"So," the man with the silver eyes said, sarcasm lacing his voice, "you and pretty boy together?"

Frank blushed, grumbling, "no, of course not. I'm straight."

"Yeah right." Frank couldn't see the man, but he could hear the smirk in his words. "Has he seen you naked yet? Has he sucked on that pretty little neck of yours? Has he made you moan before? Has he touched you... like this?"

The man slipped his bulky fingertips just inside the waist band of Frank's jeans. Frank gasped, choking on the air. He couldn't move, couldn't talk, could scarcely breathe.