DIRTY BULLETS

chapter seven

FEAR.

Honestly, fuck fear.

I was beyond sick and tired of that feeling and it both frustrated me and terrified me at how familiar I was to it now. I hated how it consumed me, how the adrenaline was pumped and forced through my system as though it was trying to escape, as though my heart was flaring up and debating eruption. The sheer strength of the adrenaline had my saliva thickening in my throat, the bile rising as I fought the urge to vomit. My body told me to run, screamed at me to run, to escape the fucked up situation I was in, and my legs almost irrationally listened, but the thick grasp around my arm and the gun pressed so tightly against my back that I feared the skin would puncture held me in place. It was as though the gun was a tap, pouring gasoline onto the spark of fear in my stomach as it spread through every muscle and bone that built my body.

That fucking gun. I was sick of that too. Up until five days ago I'd never seen a gun in real life, only ever in the shitty shows I'd watch. Unsurprisingly as a result of the several encounters that I had now had with one, I had decided I wasn't a fan of guns.

Terror mounted with every step I was forced to take, occasionally being nudged in a certain direction to get me to turn a corner and nothing was said unless it was to inform me that I was to walk up stairs. At first, I had tried to keep track of the directions they were taking me but it wasn't easy when you're blindfolded and I gave up shortly after tripping up the third flight of stairs and then losing track of how many rights and lefts we had gone. I just knew there were a lot.

Will was walking behind us; I could hear his footsteps ever since we'd left the room, but nothing was said between him and Harry. Maybe it was so I couldn't listen in on what they said or maybe it was as a result of Will crossing a line when he talked back to Harry in a way he shouldn't have. I wasn't sure but whatever the reason, it was unsettling and I swore I could feel a thick tension in the air.

I could also feel Harry's breath occasionally tickle the back of my neck and it didn't fail to cause my hairs to stand on end. This guy was a monster, that was undebatable, but it was the lack of identity that made him all the more menacing, more sinister.

I didn't know him, I didn't have any 'Harry's' in my life so that reinforced this idea that them taking me was probably random. But I didn't know anything about him,  and the few encounters I had had with him were filled with nothing but threat and malice. There was nothing personal surrounding him, and obviously that was intentional, but that also made me fear the man more. It wasn't as though he was some psycho ex that I knew personally and had history with. No, he was just the guy that could take my life for no reason other than he decided to, and there was nothing I could do about it.

After what felt like a mile-long hike, but was really just walking along three floors (I counted), the grip on me was tightened as I was forced to a halt.

Sure, sometimes actions speak louder than words, but I was sure words would have sufficed in this instance; I didn't appreciate being dragged around. A simple 'stop' would have done the trick, sheesh.

"Get the door," Harry's gruff voice spoke up and I honestly wondered if he was capable of any other emotion other than the tint of annoyance and warning that filtered into every other word that left him.

Will's footsteps soon sounded briefly against the creaking wooden floorboards before a click and then a creak followed. I was then forced forward once again, and I stumbled slightly on my feet before they found their balance except it was on something soft – a carpet.

My eyebrows furrowed under the blindfold, but I didn't have time to overthink the sudden change in flooring for the grasp on my arm suddenly disappeared as well as the gun pressed against my back. I stayed standing still, not moving a bone, not relaxing a muscle. Just because I couldn't feel the threat didn't mean it wasn't there.