lethal | hs

/57/

~~*~~
'Hot Shot'

I stare at him for a moment, blankly.

A few things are currently trying to process in my mind, and none of them seem to be adding up.

This is Zayn. The guy that Molly had a thing with when she was sixteen. She got her tattoo with him and he lived on her side of town. From what she told me, one day he and his parents just left without any warning. I have zero understanding of who this man is or where he's been the last five years, but now he's back. And he knows my name.

I briefly check around us, making sure that nobody else in the bar heard him mutter my name. Once I feel confident that I'm safe, I step closer to him, "You read the cards, huh?"

I mean it'd make sense. He knows where Molly lives, and if he's back in town, I don't see any reason as to why he wouldn't try to find out more about me. He wouldn't have approached me in the way that he did if he got his information anywhere else. He had to've broken into her room.

"I didn't read anything. All of the information I got, I was told," He purses his lips before leaning forward. His mouth lingers at my ear and he whispers, "Why don't we step outside? I've got a lot of shit to say, and I don't think you want anyone in here eavesdropping."

He's right. I may be confused, but whatever he plans to talk to me about, we definitely can't do here.

Through Serpent's Den, we exit right through the front door and out into the open. I walk out ahead of him, and the second I hear him close the door, I act impulsively. My worries start to overcome me, and I let my anger get the best of me. I clench my fist and spin around, flying a firm punch to his jaw. I grab the collar of his shirt, catching him as he stumbles, "You're not leaving' until you tell me everythin' you know, got it?"

"Wasn't planning on leaving," he shrugs, remaining civil and ignoring the punch. I let go of his shirt collar and he catches his balance. He paces away from me and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a cigarette pack and takes out one stick. He then tucks it behind his ear as he reaches back into the same pocket to pull out a lighter. Once the cigarette is wedged in between his teeth, he begins to light it, "I know something about you going by Hot Shot for years and another thing about..." he snaps his fingers, trailing off into thought, "Oh, right. Something about you being framed for murder?"

"How do you know that?" I pace closer to him, but he moves away to rub his wounded jaw.

He motions with his head over to the parking lot. At first I refuse to turn my head, but slowly I allow it. Off in the distance, leaned up against my car is Brooks.

His head is hung low and his arms are crossed. His fingers have the ends of his cardigan bunched up, and something is tucked under his arm.

Out of worry, without thinking about Zayn or anything else, I rush over to him, "Does your sister know you're here?"

Considering it's so late, I don't think he should be wondering about the streets on this side of town. It's incredibly dangerous for someone his age.

He shakes his head silently, and slowly the pieces start to connect in my head. Back in the bar, Zayn didn't seem to flinch when I mentioned the cards. Maybe he didn't read them, but maybe he knows who did. I turn around to look at Zayn, then back at Brooks before asking, "Did... you-"

"I'm sorry," he quickly cuts me off, unveiling a small group of pictures that had been tucked under his arm.

I quickly snatch the images from him, shuffling through them. Pictures of me, pictures of my parents. My mouth falls open in realization.