Gangs Aren't My Style (A Black Death Novel)

Chapter 67 - The Seventh Week

Gangs Aren't My Style

Book I of the Black Death Trilogy

PART FOUR :: Leave The Front Line Behind

Chapter 67 - The Seventh Week

James was laying in a pool of his own blood as he weakly fought off the assassin's attack, knowing that the trained killer's hits and cuts were deliberately placed to wear him out. His head was swimming and his leg throbbing as he blocked the worst of the blows, but the majority of them still hit home. James could feel unconsciousness creeping into the edge of his mind but he kept fighting it back, knowing he wouldn't give up that easily because if he did, the assassin would win and he would never see his sister again.

Then, suddenly the man wasn't trying to attack him, but rather grabbing his wrists and forcing them to his sides in one quick move. Before James could change his tactics to defend himself against his new method of offense, the mercenary had James' hands pinned down with his knees and his body weight expertly positioned so that, in James' exhausted state, the young gang leader was pinned to the stone floor. Grinning maliciously, the assassin brought the hand with the metal bracelet towards his prey's face, the jagged dagger that protruded from it scraping across James' skin. "So, how do you want to die? Burning alive? Or maybe a knife in your gut that will require hours for you to completely bleed out?"

"Neither," James forced out, trying to pull from his grip, "because I'm not going to die."

Smirking at his response, the hired killer brought the blade up to James' hairline, slowly making his way down as the dagger sliced through skin. "Maybe I will just cut your eye out and after that you'll be more inclined to give me an answer."

James bit his tongue, attempting to cut back his moan of pain, but still a loud cry tore from his lips. He could feel himself standing at death's door, his body beginning to fail under the strain placed upon it. Blood dripped down his forehead, soaking his hair, and the world tilted before him once again. He was so weary and exhausted that his pain was blending together until he was left numb to everything. It was as if his nerves had shut down, leaving him unable to feel the torment being dealt to him.

James' attacker forced the dagger down, carving a jagged path into his skin and making sure the pain was prolonged. The man wanted to cause fear to rise in James' chest, bubbling to the surface as he agonizingly waited, but the resilient leader refused to give his attacker the sick satisfaction. James would face death bravely, not like a scared coward begging for mercy.

As the blade constantly came closer to his eye, James let his eyelids flutter shut. Slumping under the assassin's hold, he gave into his body's demands as fatigue washed over him. He wasn't giving up, but embracing his death; James was letting him know that he wasn't afraid of death.

Still numb to the pain, James envisioned himself back at his house before everything had went wrong, Ally still under his guardianship and living a normal life. The memory came to life underneath his eyelids, showing his little sister laying on the couch in the living room, her legs haphazardly thrown over Kyle's lap as she flicked through the channels. After harshly hitting the buttons for about ten minutes, she finally gave up on finding a good show and threw the remote to the floor carelessly. Leaning her head back, her blonde tresses fanned out on the back of the couch, some falling slightly when she groaned in annoyance, turning her head towards Kyle as if expecting him to entertain her.

Then, there was a new picture painted on his eyelids, the scene similar but much more heart wrenching. Ally was curled up on the same couch, the lines of youth much more prominent on her face. Kyle pulled her into his arms, comforting her as he drew her head into the crook of his neck. Her body shook as sobs wracked her body and her hands clutched his shirt desperately, rope burns prominent on her wrists. Then, as if James were the camera man instead of part of the memory, he watched as a younger version of himself knelt before the couch. As he grabbed her head, forcing her tear stained eyes to meet his own, James couldn't hear what he words he said to her but still he knew each and every one. That had been right after Ally had watched their parents be murdered and that'd also been when James had promised to always protect her. Tears gathered in response, his resolve strengthened as he imagined Ally trying to deal with the death of the last of her family.