Iris Giorgianni is no ordinary girl. She's living a double life: a neglected daughter at home, but a fighter on the streets. As the leader of The Sangue - one of the most wanted and well-known gangs in London - Iris has a reputation to uphold. Only...
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"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that."
- William Shakespeare
HE WAS stood in front of her.
She could recognise him despite the darkness of the room, the spinning of her head and the blur of her eyes. Those curls – those dark tendrils, hanging over his face; cheekbones that protruded out from either side and that lean, small manner of his, still built like a young boy. He had always been skinny, but as Iris focussed on his stance, she noticed how terrifyingly malnourished he was – so much so that she was afraid he would snap – his fingers gripping each other like tangled twigs from a tree, his eyes hollow and lost beneath the sharpness of his skull.
"Sniper." She sat up slowly, peeling her head off the concrete ground. It was freezing cold, riddled with stains of dirt and grime. Apart from Sniper's presence, she was unable to orientate herself with her surroundings – muddled from a lack of light: there was merely a torch hanging above that shone onto Sniper, but it left areas of the room still hidden away. "What are you doing here?"
Her voice was so quiet she was afraid he hadn't heard her – though his eyes that fell on hers seemed to suggest otherwise. She watched as his expression hardened, his body turning away from her. Why was Sniper of all people there? Had he come to help her, only to be trapped himself? Had she caused yet another person to be involved in this mess?
She wondered if she was imagining him, like she had with Davis, but the unsterile nature of the room seemed to have plunged her into a jutting, icy reality. She could smell, feel; practically taste the damp, dirty walls and floors. It had forced her to exist in the present whether she wanted to be there or not.
"You know what's funny." Sniper spoke, his voice humourless and cold. He seemed unfamiliar now – a different expression, a different tone and build. "I've been asking myself that for years now. What are you doing, Adam? What the fuck are you doing here?"
Iris pressed a shivering hand to her head in an attempt to regain a balance in her focus. "Sorry. It's just – I got drugged by these people. The same ones that put you here, probably...so... I'm not really... with it at the moment." She breathed in deeply through her nose. "Are you okay? What did they do to you? What happened?"
"You tell me." In an instant, his face was close to hers, the staleness of his breath fanning into her pervasively. One hand curled around her arm, squeezing so tightly that she began pushing him away.
Her eyes searched his desperately, her heart pounding. "What are you doing? Sniper, it's me."
"Don't you think that I fucking know that already?" He pushed her to the ground, one of his legs kicking out to plunge into her, slamming her body against the wall. As she screamed, he did it again. "Hey, look at you now Revenant. Look at you, all weak and alone." He laughed, watching the confusion swim in her eyes with every kick. "You're supposed to be a gang leader, you slut. You had everyone else fooled, but not me. I always saw you for what you really are."
