Run

Chapter 5).

I groan loudly as I feel hands roughly shaking me, different from the light ones from last night.

"Mmm....what?" I mumble, still half asleep, but am cut off by the slap of an overly large hand on my mouth.

Alert and fully awake, I open my eyes, as if to say, You couldn't fight me if you tried. Greeted by the harsh morning glint of the Sun, I squint, but my eyes are still intently fixated on the attacker. The attacker stares at me with unforgiving, black beady eyes, and he motions to the side of him with his other hand. I couldn't see who or what he was motioning to because most of his hand was covering my line of vision. I stay still, using every inch of self control I have to not try to kick this guy's ass, because he would most likely win because of how malnourished I am. But I swear, if I was better...

'I knew I should've stayed awake,' I cursed myself.

I'll play along with the whole, 'I'm just an innocent girl, please don't hurt me,' stereotype until I know that I actually have a chance of escaping, I quickly decide.

"Okay Girlie, your little friend and you are going in the truck, and if you cause any problems, we ain't hesitant to finish you runts off, got it?"

'We'?

His voice was just as gruff as his hands were, which were still straddling my mouth.

It's not like you're giving me a choice, I hold back the urge to roll my eyes.

It infuriated me on how he called me, 'Girlie', but it even made me more furious when he said that he had M with him too.

"Let's go, c'mon you little shit." The goon yanks my hair up, giving him the added affect of me stumbling upwards. This is going to be hard.

He moves his hands to my arms, forces them to go behind my back, and pushes me over to the hot pavement where a silver truck is parked, the sunlight glistening off of the paint making it sparkle.

My captive, we'll just call him George, opens up the backdoor and I see M in the corner, slouching in his seat with a blood stain on the side of his head.

"What did y-" I get cut off by a sharp elbow in the ribs.

George shoves me in the car before I could get proper footing, but I catch myself from falling on M.

"Now I don't want any problems here, 'kay? Big Ben wouldn't mind using his pistol, right?"

A gruff voice comes from the driver's seat, "Right."

I look at George, for the first time taking in his rugged appearance, his clean shaven face and thick sausage nose, his muscled built form and his polished black suit.

Oh...no.

The only people that wear black suits, go around threatening people with guns, and shoving them into trucks like this are people that work for the government.

The Authorities.

The people who ruin lives.

The people that enjoy ruining lives.

Or, as everyone else knows them by, the bombers.

He slams the door, putting a ringing in my ears as I hear him lock the doors and get in the truck.