Sold To The Gangleader

chapter 4

Layla's POV

The next morning I wake up from my phone ringing. I groan, before lifting myself up, and grabbing it from the bedside counter.

"What?" I grumble, as soon as I accept.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine." I hear Kaleb's cheery voice.

Ugh. Why's he up this early?

Its six in the morning!

"Kaleb." I groan, rubbing my eyes. "Why are you calling me at this time?"

He laughs "Get ready quick, I'm coming over in ten minutes. We're going out for breakfast."

"Wait, Wha-" the call ends.

I groan and jolt out of bed and begin to get ready. Eight minutes later I'm done and I run downstairs and open the door, just in time as Kaleb has his hand out to knock.

I glare at him "What are you playing at?!" I snap, looking up at his amused face.

"You better wipe that smirk off your face before I shove it up your ass." I growl, rubbing my eyes.

He lets out a deep chuckle, before crossing his arms and quirking a brow. "That's not possible."

"Trust me, anything is possible when I'm involved." I narrow my eyes at him and he rolls his eyes, letting out another laugh.

"Since you almost never have breakfast, I thought I could take you out." He shrugs, smiling which show-casts his dimples.

"And don't worry it's all on me. And while we're at it, you can tell me what's going on." His face straightens and I roll my eyes.

"Fine."

He smiles before we make our way, a scowl attached to my face.

I am not a morning person.

~~~~~~~~

While having breakfast with Kaleb, I discussed with him the situation at home, and after a while he finally agreed to just let it be and promised not to mention it anymore.

If it happens again you better let me know, I'll have to do something about it myself.

he had said. I lied saying I would, so he would get off my back.

I don't want to get the police involved because they'd just chuck me in some foster home and I definitely don't want that. They'd probably transfer me out to a different school too, so I think I'd rather wait till I'm older so I can move out.

It's lunch break now and I'm standing beside my locker, waiting for my friends.

I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and look at some Instagram posts, double tapping everything I see.

"Shit." I mumble.

I just liked one of Michael's posts.

"What's with the face?" I hear a deep voice.

I look up and see that it's Donald the duck, leaning against the lockers, looking down at me, with his hazel eyes.

He's wearing black jeans with a white T-shirt. His brownie-blondie hair is sleeked back with an orange  bandana. He's over six feet tall.

He got his extremely tall height from his father, who passed away a long time ago, his mother however is short, a complete contrast to him and his father.