40 Shots - One Direction

Three

The boy stays silent for another moment, staring at me thoughtfully, before shrugging himself. "Whatever. Let's go, yeah?"

+

The streets are dark as we walk, lit up by streetlamps. We avoid the light of them and stay in the shadows, our black clothes blending in easily. It's unnerving, how easy it is to simply just disappear. To think that if I died, no one would notice. Jack would, yeah, but he'd get over it. Maybe Emily would be a little sad. But anyone else? I don't think they'd even realise.

It's not difficult to find the guys we're looking for. They must be fighting over something, arguing loudly in the middle of the street. Me and Jack crouch down behind the corner.

"How many are there?" I whisper.

Jack cocks his head, listening carefully. The voices get louder. "I reckon three. Maybe four."

"Are we killing all of them?"

"Maybe. Make it look like an accident, though. That way we can make it look like it was another gang. These guys have a history of rivalry." He says, pulling his hood up. "You ready?"

I slide my knife out from under my sleeve and let it dance on my fingertips, twirling. "You bet." And then we step out from under the shadows, hoods pulled up and hands in our pockets. There's actually five of them, the main two we're looking for staring at each other, snarling. Two of the others have taken sides, standing protectively at their chosen leader's side. The third kid, a scrawny one with a grey hoodie is wavering as he watches the exchange.

The unsure one sees us first, eyes widening and shuffling away from the argument like he's worried he'll get into trouble. I smile at him, all teeth.

"Is there a problem, boys?" Jack asks.

One of the ones we're supposed to be taking care of leers at us. "Are you going to make yourselves a problem?" He snarls. He cracks his knuckles as he does it, the muscles in his arms rippling. I raise an eyebrow.

"Not sure." I say slowly, pretending to deliberate, taking the knife out and letting it dangle loosely from my fingertips. "Will we make ourselves a problem?" I ask Jack. He shrugs, smirking a little. 

"Maybe we will." 

A particularly tattooed one steps forward. "Oh really? Well -" He cuts off, eyes catching the knife in my hand, narrowing them before laughing, cold and hard. "I hope you know how to use that knife, girly." He sneers.

Jacks drags the toe of his trainer across the floor, and I get a better grip on the knife handle. That's the signal, kill them now, he's saying.

Kill him.

There's a moment of silence where both sides are left staring at each other, before I take the knife and throw it, straight at Tattoos. It buries itself in the side of his throat, deep into his flesh. His eyes widen and he pulls it out, blood spurting everywhere.

Idiot.

The two ringleaders' faces drain of blood, paling under the lamplight. Jack pulls out his gun, and everything seems to click into place for them. "Get the others!" He yells as he trips one of the leading two up, firing a bullet at the other. The guy twists away just as he does, slicing across the top of his shoulder, tearing at his skin. Red flowers through the material of his shirt, and he stares at his hand in horror when it comes away bloody.

I reach out to grasp one of other the sidekicks' hoodie, taking it by the collar and kneeing him in the balls, hard. He curls in on himself, groaning, and I punch him in the nose one last time before throwing him to the side.