Guns & Roses (Larry Stylinson)

Suspicions

Chapter 16:

Sleeping wasn't an option. I rushed to my bedroom and pulled out an old journal I had. Zayn wanted us to take documentation down of every person we interact with, but there were really only three people that I had actual conversations with.

Joan. She seemed to be the toughest person in this town-- everything from the way she gave a mean glare to the air of authority that just radiated off of her. I wouldn't be surprised if she was tough enough to be part of the gang. Everyone in town seemed to have a tremendous amount of respect for her, and her business was always flooded with customers-- almost as if she literally ran the town. I didn't necessarily think she was part of a gang, but I've always learned to never count somebody out.

Even the sweetest of people.

I wrote down Harry's name with a sigh, staring at my writing and setting the pencil down to rub at my forehead. I really didn't want Harry to be involved in a gang in any way, but there were just so many things about him that didn't make sense.

He knew how to stitch me up. He mentioned that his grandmother taught him, but every good gang member knew that back stories were a necessity when going undercover. I stared at my hand, balling it into a fist against and staring at the perfect stitches. He's clearly had practice on real people before. There was no way you stitched one person up, for the very first time, and did it to this degree of professionalism.

Secondly, he said he wasn't interested in guns, but he's the one who asked me to take him out shooting the second time. He got a small thrill out of it, even if he didn't want to admit it. Could he have been repressing his enjoyment beforehand? Refraining from messing with guns while in such a nice, perfect town?

There was also the fighting. He asked me to teach him how to fight-- a skill he should already know if he was truly in a gang (even our medics know how to fight). He had a really powerful punch. There was no way you got that down to that level of power unless you practiced somehow. Also, the way he punched was near flawless form. It made no sense at all.

He had three strikes.

I shook my head, not wanting to point fingers at anyone yet. This list was just getting started. Just because there were a few coincidences with Harry didn't necessarily mean he was part of Plague's gang either.

I wrote down Zander's name last.

I didn't know much about him, but I knew enough to know that he was a sleazy, pathetic person. He seemed to be nothing but a coward who enjoyed sleeping around, even if he had a boyfriend.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust at just the thought of him touching me earlier-- the thought of him touching Harry at all. And he's done worse than just touch him. He's caused actual harm to him.

I remembered the very first night I came to town. I expected a shoot-out or a fight of some kind to occur when I overheard the yelling from the house next door. Instead, I was met with Zander and Harry fighting with one another. His hand gripped Harry's face before throwing him back that day. Within a week or so, he would be slapping him inside of their kitchen.

I gripped onto the edge of my desk table, squeezing onto it as I grit my teeth. He was a fucking pathetic excuse for a human being.

Still, I couldn't be sure if he was actually working for the gang. Sure, he dealt drugs, but drugs were the lowest of the low. He also seemed quite daft, telling me straight out that he dealt, and that would be a liability to any gang-- especially if that person was sent out alone. He was the most obvious choice, and it was always foolish to blindly go with the obvious choice.

"Fucking hell," I mumbled to myself, feeling like my head was reeling. It felt like I was living in an actual teenage mystery drama show where nobody could be trusted, not even those closest to you. Any one of them could be the bad guy.