No Man's Land (Zustin Meiber)

Chapter 1

Dedicated to HopelessRealist cause she's the Zustin Queen. Bow to the queen.*Bows*

Zayn’s POV

I walked down the street alone in the crisp air of an autumn night. I couldn’t hear the shouts and screams or the sirens blaring as emergency vehicles rushed down the street. My faceless bodies ran pass me, barely registering my presence. All their attention was on the monstrous flames illuminating the night behind me. I call them my past. I walked down the street without ever looking back.

It was dawn by the time I made it to a rustic gas station outside my hometown. The place was deserted except for one man who was filling up his rusty two seat pickup truck. I watched him warily. I stood off to the side watching him but he didn’t notice me at first. He just focus on filling up his dull red rust bucket with gas, sculpted arms folded over his chest as he glared at the gasoline pump. I couldn’t help but notice that his arms were inked like a canvass. It was so beautiful, I couldn’t help staring longingly at them. There was no tattoo parlor in the small town I lived in and my parents would be damned before they allowed me to escape to the next town for a single day.

As if he sensed my eyes, he looked up. We locked eyes for a second before he turned back to the pump, his lips forming the outline of a smirk. The sight sent a chill through me because I immediately knew that he wasn’t the average man. His smirk was dark and ominous. And almost inviting.

He finished fueling his car before turning his gaze back on me, effectively pining me to the spot. He walked over, each step full of confidence and danger. He stopped right in front of me, barely a foot away.

“What’s a kid like you doing here?” he smirked arrogantly as I glared at him.

I gritted out, “I’m not a kid.”

“Right,” I could hear the sarcasm in his voice, “What’s a handsome young man like you doing in a place like this?”

“Minding my own business,” I spat back, “What about you?”

His eyes raked over me appraisingly, “I was on my way to L.A. and needed to get some gas. If you’re heading that way, I wouldn’t mind giving you a lift.”

“Sure, I’ll love a lift,” I met his honey brown eyes with a suspicious glare, “But if I do ride with you, I’ll do it on my own terms.” I went into my back pocket and smirked when I felt the cold touch of the explosive metal. I pulled it out and balanced it in my hand before pointing it at him. The bastard barely glanced at the gun before meeting my evenly eyes and shrugging. “Fine, I don’t mind. This could be my good deed of the year.” He turned around and headed to his truck.

   Frowning, I slide the gun back into my pocket and followed him, “One good deed a year for the shit ton of sinning you do? No matter how much you do, there’s going to be a special place in hell for you.”

“’I don't want to go to heaven. None of my friends are there.’ Oscar Wilde said that and to this day, I’ve never heard truer words. I don’t care if I get into heaven but it can’t hurt to feel good about something that I’ve done.”

“What have you done exactly?”

“Well my job title is slave trafficker,” he climbed into the driver’s side of his truck, “So I bet you can make an educated guess.”

I climbed into the passenger seat and looked at him curiously as he pulled off. “So you kidnap kids?”

“Kidnap, drug,” he shrugged, “Maybe even put a bullet in the back of their head if they try to run away. Anything as long as I can make money off of them.”