Devil's Gambit

Chapter 22

When the sun had finally lowered below the horizon, Harley and Jonas stood up on sore legs to make their way through the brush and back onto the road where Jonas' car was parked. It was a nice wrap up to a rather pleasant evening, until in the dying light the two emerged from the brush and back onto the road, greeted by the last people on Earth Harley wanted to see. They came face to face with Kyle and his crew, lounging around in the back of the grey Ford pickup's bed, with Kyle himself leaning against the hood with his arms folded. The bright headlights streaming around his body cast morbid shadows across his face, his eye sockets and cheeks appearing even more sunken in, a dark haze of malicious intent looming in his eyes.

"Still coming to the spot, huh?" He teased, but there was an underlying evil to the tone.

"Kyle, we have never done anything to you. Can you and your gang please just piss off for once," Harley groaned whilst rolling his eyes.

"Come on, let's go," Jonas prodded at Harley's back, ushering him towards his car as he cast a look back towards Kyle, who was still staring after them in a predatory way.

"Don't you know that you're not welcome here?" He growled, straightening his body and stepping away from the front of the truck as his friends slid down from the bed slowly, like a bunch of emerging spiders from a nest.

"It's a free country. We can go where we please," Harley snapped, jerking away from Jonas as he spun around to face Kyle, tired of the man's ability to terrorize people despite being nothing more than a lanky teenage boy.

"You're right, it is a free country. We also have the right to protect our property, and I'm telling you we don't wanna see you here no more," Kyle responded lowly, slowly stalking up to Harley and Jonas as the rest of his friends flanked behind him.

"Harley, this is bad news. Let's go," Jonas urged, tugging on Harley's arm to no avail. Harley was beyond fed up with Kyle's bullshit, and felt as though they were still too chicken to actually do anything but make empty threats to appear big and mean. Glancing over his shoulder at Jonas' pleading gaze, and turning back to the sneers of Kyle and his gang, Harley sighed and nodded in agreement. He just wanted to go home.

"Fine," he huffed, turning to follow Jonas over to his car, only to pause and turn his head to spit at Kyle's leather boots as a final fuck you.

Harley didn't realize how dire of a mistake that would be.

"The fuck did you just do?" Kyle growled, staring at the foaming glob of spit on the concrete before turning to his friends, gesturing wildly at Harley's back. "You just gonna let him disrespect us like that?" He yelled.

It all happened so fast.

Harley was barely able to process the rush of bodies around him, before he was yanked down onto the street by the collar of his shirt, Jonas screaming in the background.

All Harley could think about was getting up off the ground and out of the vulnerable position he was in, and he planted his hands against the road to lift himself up, until a shoe pushed him onto his side by his ribs and landed a swift kick to his stomach. He let out a groan as pain immediately bloomed all over his navel, instantly curling up into a fetal position to protect himself as much as possible as another kick landed on his back.

"Stop! Stop! I'm going to call the cops!" Jonas' pleads were muffled due to the other guys' shouting.

"The fuck you think the cops are gonna do? They're on our side," Kyle's jeering voice snapped from directly overhead.

Harley felt his skin grow cold and his face pale, realizing that Kyle was very much right. The police wouldn't help him, so there were really only two ways out of this.