Evanesce (minor reconstruction)

1.Prologue

"How the hell do you know this guy, Ana?" Whispered Jack from over my shoulder: someone whom I had never enjoyed the pleasure of liking, nor understood why anyone ever would.

"Yeah, how about that? You still remember Uncle Rich, don't you kiddo?" The smirk from the man I once believed I knew, grew even more as he began exposing his identity. Satisfied as he knew about the resentment growing inside me.

"Uncle?" Frowned another brown haired boy: a disturbance and baffled look beholding him.

"Yeah," I chuckled, although with the absence of humour behind the confirmation. "This is the lowlife scum, who still considers himself as family of mine." I snarled, though for a face I hadn't seen for years, the enmity never faded.

"I'm your uncle, show some respect." He disciplined in a harsh tone which was quickly followed by a sickening cackle, for the first time in that split-second he had snapped out of the façade.

I remained fixated, focused on the tight grit of my crushing teeth, boring holes into the thick skin of his: hoping it would actually burn him through. My palms perspiring from the anger building up inside of me, with the absence of agonising ropes tugging into the skin of my wrists: I'm sure my hands would have easily snaked their way around that appealing neck of his.

"I heard that you really put up a good fight, guess I taught you well, hey kid?"

Still, I rolled the tip of my tongue against the inside of my cheek, biting down hard with my teeth soon after, afraid I would let more words seep from it.

"I guess when I said you'd be working for me one day you weren't expecting this, right?"

"Screw your work. You expect me to stay in this grave of yours?" He sneered yet again, not even threatened by my comment as if they were nothing but an everyday thing for him.

"You never did answer my previous question Ana, how is Jake? All grown up I'm guessing, strong, fast... maybe he wouldn't mind taking your place instead then?"

The need of abolishment and adrenaline strived throughout my veins: running my blood thick, I managed to my feet, aversion spurring me on, his face - my target, his life - my objective. In that very second I forgot who I was, my attitudes on killing flipped, the girl I was brought up to be had been demolished by outrage and my only intention from there on was to see crimson on my hands. Two, muscled men fully clothed in black hurled their way towards me, yanking me back by my ropes so harshly that I felt the acidic blood of mine drip from them.

"Don't you even think about laying a finger on Jake, I swear to God, I will kill you!" Pushing and screaming and kicking, I tried heaving my way out from under the heavy grips clamming me down, forced crouch onto one knee. The thought of this coward of a man in front of me taking my sixteen year old brother and dragging him into a pit like this was a strong enough motive for the abandonment of all morals and for a cold blooded murder.

The room fell silent as I knew I had nothing else to say, only actions to do and the others around us had nothing left but to watch as the scene was ripped apart. He knelt down right in front of me, face to face and began tutting in a disapproving manner.

"You always did have a temper on you," he commented, forcing my chin to his direction. With one swift twist, I forced his dirty, inhumane hands off me altogether. "But don't you worry. Jake will be fine... as long as you get those thoughts about attempting an escape from that thick skull of yours." He spat, using his index finger to aggressively push the side of my head away from him. He had me trapped against two inescapable walls, which only seemed to be enclosing upon me. I growled like some sort of furious animal before letting out a ball of spit onto his appeased mug.

The sneer instantly dropped and horror replaced as the back of his hand raised above me, ready to strike. And I wish he had done, I wanted him to. I wanted a stronger reason that guaranteed he was going to rot in the pits of hell alongside everyone else that helped him. But he didn't, his hand lowered yet the immense need to drive is hand forward was still apparent in his body language. Grimly wiping the spit using the cloth of his suit jacket, he stood back to full length: his body towering over me once more.

"Get them out of here." He ordered again at his apes before pulling on the cuffs of his jacket to straighten them out.

The six of us were hauled up onto our feet, most struggling and squirming like they had a chance of escaping from the secure grips. As we were all ripped out from the room, I managed to catch his face one more time. The only place I ever wanted to see that smirk again was in a body bag engulfed by burning flames and I'd happily be the one to strike the matchstick.

Who would've known that day had lead me to this life now?