Juvenile Heart

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Turning Around

          The doorknob shook a little before I heard the click of it being unlocked.  I stuffed my arms into the sweatshirt, covered my feet with some shoes and brought the hoodie over my head as I watched him step in from between the fabric opening I'd left.

          I saw him look around the closet and glance in my direction before turning around.  I breathed out a sigh of relief and immediately regretted it as he spun around and smirked at me.  My heart rate increased and I felt adrenaline pump through my veins at the sight of his gun.

          Moving toward me, he quickly gripped my arm through the oversized sweatshirt to drag me out of the closet.  Pushing me down so I was sitting on the bed, he pointed his gun in my face and smirked before speaking.

          "You know, Brock would really hate that I was doing this . . . "  He said, slowly and cocked the gun so it was ready to fire.

          I had a better look at it now.  It wasn't intimidating to me – that is, if it wasn't being pointed directly at my face.  If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't have even paused to let the victim think about what was happening – I'd just shoot them.  They wouldn't know what or who hit them.  The fear to me wasn't worth it, but I'd seen this gun before and I knew who was holding it even before I looked directly at his face.

          It was a cheaper gun that the gang used, but it was still just as deadly as the next.  I'd say it would be priced around four hundred dollars, at the most.  A model S&W SD40 VE and a .40 S&W caliber.  Usually, if not always, a striker fired action.

          The barrel was about 4 inches long but the overall length had to be around 7 inches – I couldn't quite tell because his hand was covering half of the polymer frame.  The grip was more than likely a textured polymer.  The slide and barrel material were stainless steel and it had a two-tone finish.

          The front sight had to be white dot and the rear sight would most likely be a fixed two-dot.  I'd say about 1.3 inches for the width; it couldn't weight more than twenty-three ounces, either.  The only thing that really would make me jump at the sight of this gun would be the fourteen and one capacity – if he missed, he could just shoot me again without much hesitation.

          The last thing I noticed was the fact that on the side of the barrel, it was engraved clearly with black lettering.  The name of the gun holder was easily legible – Brian.

          I looked straight down the barrel and held my breath.  Now was not the time – I knew Brock would never let someone else take his kill.  They would die if they did, anyway.  I heard him move around the room, the gun still pointed straight at my face.

          Suddenly, the door flung open and in the doorway stood Asher, eyes wide with horror.  Brian was far too in the zone of holding a gun to my head to hear him and I watched as Asher mouthed a warning.

          "Don't piss him off."

          Staring at Brian directly, I could see Asher reach behind his shirt and pull out his own gun.  From here, I could only see it was almost identical to Brian's – the only difference being the magnum.  Asher's was a nine millimeter rather than a .40 S&W.  The only reason I could tell that much in the dark was because I went with him when he bought it only two years before.

          I closed my eyes tightly – half expecting my own death and half expecting Brian's death.  For a moment, everything was still and silent before I heard tumbling in the hall and a few grunts before the clinking of metal.