Struck

Chapter 4- Betrayal

Large, calloused hands grab at Evelyn's wrists, the long thick fingers wrapping around her, and causing a light pressure with a throbbing sensation. The pleas for mercy spring out of her mothers mouth, followed by shrieks and yells for help. Evelyn's father stumbles backwards, hands gripping the nearest thing; a glass vase. Angling it behind his head he threatens to throw it; his legs bent in a ready stance.

"Leave my family be," he roars, spit flying out and onto the moustache of one of the Santi. Rubbing a glove-encased hand over his mouth; deliberately running his fingers over each strand of hair as if to taunt John, he slowly raises his eyes to meet the ones of Evelyn's father. Reaching behind him, he draws out an arrow. As if only realising the man carried a crossbow, Evelyn's father drops the vase in submission; a real act of cowardice. "Please," he whispers, but it was to late, the arrow was already put in place and aimed.

"Go easy on the old man," Luka states slapping the dark haired boy on the back, "he did teach me some moves after all," he laughs going back into the little corner he called his seclude. "I'll try not to get somethin' too important," the dark haired boy jests, releasing the arrow, and causing a howl of pain to erupt from Johns lips, soon followed by a string of cursed words.

The arrow had hit its mark, just above Johns left knee on his thigh. He was grasping it with two thick hands as his face faded into an unusual white colour instead of its usual red. Stomach churning and in a daze from his light-headedness, he drops to the the floor, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Oh don't be such a woman John," Luka berates, "it won't kill you, it was just a flesh wound," he reprimands, still not meeting his mothers lifeless orbs and his sisters disgust filled eyes.

A pull on Evelyn's arm brings her back to the present, her stoic figure that was originally set on her fathers damaged leg, turns to a dangerous one; one that can split a man in half with just a blink. "Why are you doing this?" Evelyn spits at Luka, her hands trembling from the adrenaline rush coursing throughout her veins. Tugging her arms back, not able to set them free, she stomps on the brutish mans toes, causing him to yelp in pain.

Without realising it, his grip on her hands slip and she is able to get free. But she didn't get within a metre of her brother before more hands grab at her, one even taking ahold of her hair. With a rough yank, her pale, love heart-shaped face is forced to stare at the ceiling. Her brothers flamboyant aura makes her teeth grit and jaw clench. There are to many men to fight anyways, a few of them are even carrying lethal weapons such as cross bows, and bow and arrows.

She wouldn't be able to get out a live, let alone with a stick pierced through her heart-or forehead. "Oh sweet sister," he lulls, walking over to her stressed stature, his silhouette casting a dark shadow to transcend across the wooden floors and walls. The fire didn't't help either, the soft glow illuminating from the lit torch, made him seem taller, wider; intimidating.

"You are just as dumb and naive as you were when I first left, what makes you think you can stop us? I mean look at you, your as pale and as weak as a dying babe."

His insults didn't phase Evelyn one bit, it entered one ear, and exited through the other. His words were as meaningful as a witch doctor, full of falsehood and trepidation. It was as if he were worried that he wouldn't gain the reward that he would surely be getting by aiding someone's request-even if it were to kill, or enslave your own family.

It disgusted Evelyn, it truly did; even the deed itself caused bile to rise in her throat. "You will burn in hell," she taunts, trying to pry her hair away from the big mans clutches. "And I might even rejoice in my victory whilst i'm there," he jests causing a rise of confusion to float around in her head. "What kind of victory is this? Betrayal? All I see is a coward dressed in fancy clothes trying to force what little feelings he had left down to the tips of his toes."