The Curse - Book 1 (Completed)

Chapter 3: The Other One

​It is a cold winter afternoon in the month of December in Salem, Oregon. Christopher Jenkins parks his rusty Ford Mustang in front of a gas station two blocks away from his small trailer where he lives with his twin sister, Victoria, and their mother, Yasmine.

            "Damn," he curses as he steps into a pile of melted snow. He knows it will ooze through the shoe and soak his sock, because he has two tiny holes in it. Those have been his working shoes for two years now and he can't afford a new pair.

            He goes to the fuel dispensers and grabs the yellow nozzle. This is the only gas station in the state of Oregon where people are allowed to tank themselves. There is no clerk working outside. The owner is corrupted and has strong connections both with the police and local mafia. Numerous times gang settlements happened here, in the middle of nowhere.

As he waits for the tank to fill, he hears loud music approaching. He tilts his head back to see where it is coming from. A brand new silver Range Rover pulls up.

The windows are tinted, but the driver's one is opened, so when they pass by him, he can see the car is filled with adolescents. Rich adolescents. They must be going clubbing, he thinks. It's been a long while since Chris has done that. It's not that he dislikes it, but he's been saving up to be able to leave their shabby trailer and afford renting a flat.

            He hears a click. He turns back to his vehicle. The tank is full. Forty-one dollar and sixty-seven cents is displayed on the monitor. That's more than half of his daily wage. Good thing he has found a mechanics job not so far away from home. He puts the gas pump back to its place and heads towards the little store to settle the check.

           As he passes the Range Rover, he hears a chuckle. "Hey hobo, nice shoes," a blond tall guy, the car's driver, hails while filling his tank.

           Christopher gauges the blondie and is satisfied to conclude he outweighs him. "Tsk," he clicks his tongue and continues with a confident wink on his face, "No, my man, the shoes are normal," he points his chin at him, "It's you who's nice." Chris is broad-shouldered, muscular, and has a fair share of street fighting experience under his belt. Even though he outgrew fighting his peers a couple of years ago, this guy makes him want to bend his morals.

​The blondie looks up with an astonished face and a poignantly raised eyebrow. "Is that a threat?" He takes a step forward.

            Christopher takes a stand with spread legs and rests his hands on his hips. "It can be," he pompously licks his top lip. "Unless you're too chicken."

Another guy descends from the vehicle. His jaw is masculine and his chin pointed at the tip.
The blondie smirks. "You've got a problem with us, buddy?" he puts a finger on his chest.

            Christopher looks down at his index finger, then painfully slowly directs his eyes up to look at him. "I'm not your buddy. And you should remove that finger unless you want to see it broken."

            A window curls down. "I don't have all night," a dark haired girl with emerald eyes peeks out, sighing in annoyance. "Just let the boy go, Ian."          

Chris squints to see the girl better.

Blood comes rushing to his brain. "What the hell are you doing with this gang?" He rushes to the vehicle and grabs the door handle.

It's locked.

"Open the damn door!" he yells and notices another female sitting beside her - a girl with golden sandy hair and bold thick eyewear. She seems uninterested, preoccupied with her smartphone.