A/N: (Picture above)^ I want to thank everyone for voting and liking this book, it really means alot to me. Especially when this book is voted no.2 out of 253 amazing books, that are (more than likely) way better than this piece of shit. Thanks again, and sorry for the late update x
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Sam
I felt free and as light as a cloud.
The wind whips through my shoulder length hair as I rode shotgun, with the window open and the sun beaming down on me.
A middle-aged man sits in the leather seat next to me, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music.
"Oh, come on Tom. Lighten up alittle, my boy." He smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Tom rolls his eyes, and sighs deeply, staring out at the bright green trees that surround the car.
I giggle, and stare down at my small hands and feet. It was only then that I realise I was 8 years old, and it was my father sat next to me, and my 10 year old brother in the seat behind me, my mother sat next to him, she too staring at the scenery around her.
But then the happiness was shattered, and the car swerves violently around a man with chunks of hair missing, and blood pouring from a gash on his head.
"Stop the car!" My mother shouts, throwing open the car door and rushing to his side to help the stranger.
"Wait! Laura, come back! Remember what they said on-" but my father never finishes his sentence, before the battered man sinks his teeth into my mother's arm, when she reaches out to tend his gash.
She screams, and falls backwards onto the dirt road, blood pouring from her wound. I begin to cry as my father produces a gun from under his shirt, and shoots the man twice. Dead.
He sprints to my mothers side, and rips off his shirt, leaving his vest on underneath, and wraps it above and around his wound to stop the bleeding.
I cry harder as he carries her to the back seat of the car. "Tom, hold onto her, and make sure the bite doesn't bleed. Can you do that for me, son?"
Tom nods, still in shock as my father slams the door closed and jumps into the drivers seat, starting the engine.
My mother writhes in pain as we speed further and further away from the body. Tears still pouring down my cheeks.
Suddenly the door slams open, and Jorge strides in with a bruised, greasy haired man. I jump, as I'm awoken by the sudden noise.
He throws him to the carpeted floor. "Marcus! What have you done to these girls?"
"I gave them a drink, to loosen up. Do you want some Jorge? You look pretty stiff yourself." He smirks, recieving a punch to the face, his head snapping to the side.
I quickly avert my eyes away from the beating, and over to Minho, who was staring at the floor with a mix of emotions in his eyes. "Hey." I whisper, reaching out and stroking the side of his face.
His head snaps up and I see the deep brown eyes meet mine once again. He smiles, eyes filling with unshed tears, and wraps me into a warm hug. "I thought you were dead, in the fire a-and.." he hiccups, his tears drenching the blankets wrapped around me.
"No, no. I'm here now Minnie, its okay." I coo, rubbing his muscley back, as he begins to relax in my embrace. "Me and Brenda got out in time. And she took me to some tunnels and there were cranks and then we ran and ran..." I trail off, as I realise I had gained an audience, minus Brenda who was still asleep and Jorge who was beating the crap out of Marcus.
"What?" I ask.
Newt blinks, "um.. nothing. But how aren't you shaken up? I mean cranks are scary and all-"
"Its good to have you back Sammy!" Tom smiles, bringing me into a bone-crushing hug, not even caring that he interrupted Newt.
Newt sighs, "I hope you're feeling okay. And enjoy the show."
I nod, and avert my eyes to the scene before me: Jorge had taped Marcus to a chair, and then had tipped it over and was holding him up by his hair.
I winced, almost feeling the pain that Marcys was in, but the man was unfazed that his face was smashed in and that his hair was being torn out.
Jorge groans and punches Marcus again, letting the chair fall to the floor with a thud.
Minho squeezes my hand, as if sensing my discomfort. Jorge begins to walk away from the writhing, battered man.
But then he turns, and a wicked smile crosses his features, "Bertha." He whispers, and Marcus shakes with unapproval.
