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“Who’s there?” I didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t receive one.
I picked up my steps until I was practically running. I looked over my shoulder, trying to make out if anyone was chasing me. I crossed the street, attempting to get away from the feeling. A horn blared as a car nearly hit me. I jumped, tripping over my own feet. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Get out of the fucking road!”
I made it over to the other side, but the eerie feeling didn’t let up. I squinted and wiped the rain off my face the best I could. I still couldn’t make anything out. Three blurry figures moved around, but I couldn’t be certain if they were regular people running from the rain or the guys my dad had following me. I told him to stop, but it was doubtful he would listen.
“Fuck off.” Anger boiled under my flesh as I glared their way. “I gave him all I had left. My life is ruined because of him. He isn’t getting shit else from me, so you can fuck off!”
They kept heading toward me, undeterred by my words. My instincts screamedrun. I twisted around and slammed into a hard chest. Stumbling back, I held my face.
“Got you.”
I struggled as arms bound around me. “Let me go.”
“Shut him up,” one of the guys said.
I jerked my head back; the loud crunch of cartilage and bone was unmistakable.
“Fuck.”
Air whooshed by me as I dropped to the ground. My shoulder screamed in pain as I landed on it. I had no chance to recover as a boot rammed into my back repeatedly. A cry broke free as another foot joined and slammed into my ribs.
I instinctively curled up and gritted my teeth. I could take this. I slipped into the back of my mind as blows rained down on me. Some things in life never changed. I was born a punching bag, and I’d die as one.
“Leave him alive.”
I blinked, fighting with the rain and the spots in my vision. A man walked toward us and squatted down. I knew him from somewhere.
“He’s a fine-looking piece of ass.” He let out a heavy sigh as he dropped my face. “Take him to the site. Giancarlo has some fucking nerve.”
“What do you want us to do with him?”
The man lit up a cigarette, the light of the fire illuminating his face. He was the same man from Giancarlo’s office. Abraham or Able, something of the sort.
I grunted. “Leave him… alone.” Talking hurt like a bitch. My throat was raw, like I’d swallowed razor blades. To drive home the feeling all I could taste was my blood.
“For a whore you sure have a lot to say.” He snapped his fingers, and I was dragged up. “Don’t worry. Your boyfriend is going to get exactly what he deserves.”
“Able, who is this?” another man asked. He had dark brown hair combed over a thin spot in the middle of his head and a round midsection. His clothes screamed money, and his soft round face made him look like he’d never struggled for much in his life.
“Weston, I told you to stay in the car.”
“Who is this poor man?” He asked, trying to glint through the rain.
“This is Giancarlo’s boy toy.”
Weston’s face morphed from one of concern to disgust as recognition dawned on his features. “You’re with that filthy mongrel.”
“Exactly. Let me handle this. Go back to the car.”
Weston stared at me. For a split second, I thought he’d demand I be let go. “Make him pay. That piece of shit fucked my wife.”
Damn it. Gin fucked his wife?
“Oh yeah,” Able said. He blew smoke in my face. “Why don’t you fuckhimto get your payback?”
Weston’s face pinched in disgust. “He has a dick. I’m not a faggot.”
