Tattooed {Completed}

10: Tracker

Hey guys and I am so sorry that I posted this part a week late! I was super busy with school last week, but now I'm back and I hope you enjoy this next part!

He had dark hair to match his eyes, and a bold protective look, that made me think he was a Rebel straight away.

       "What are you three doing on the government grounds?" And by that line I knew. I knew there would be trouble.

       "Are we not allowed to be here?" Justin said slowly and he walked sneakily towards him. "You know, my father is a government official. I have the right-" and he jumped at the boy, grabbing his neck forcefully. Justin read his Tattoo, and I could tell that it wasn't pretty. "He's Loyal."

       "Are you guys rebels?" He asked.

       "How do you know about the Rebels? Do you know why there are more than one?"

       The boy seemed confused. And then I realized that he was talking about rebels. Not about Rebels. And I just gave away our information.

       "What? Oh my-" Justin covered his mouth and looked at me. The boy knew now.

       "Give me the gun." Justin mouthed at me. But I reached aloud.

       "No! We can't kill him!" I look over at Kenna, and her hand was on her head, like she was disappointed in me.

       "Malia! Give it to me now!" He yelled at me. At this time, the boy was squirming out of Justin's grip. "Hurry!" I couldn't.

       But I should have. Because the boy sprinted out of Justin's hands and ran away from us like it was the end of the world. I guess it was, for him. Justin ran towards me, grabbed the gun out of my bag , and started shooting.

       "What are you doing?" I screamed at him.

       "We can't let him get away. He already knows that we are Rebels. We can't have anyone else know." And at the sound of the last shot, the boy crumpled to the floor.

       "Come on guys. We have to go." Kenna said grimly. We ran past the boy, bleeding on the concrete, left to die. This is what we were doing. This is who we were. As I need to accept that. There had to be consequences for the good.

The boy sat there bleeding. He pulled a phone out of his jacket, which had someone on the phone the whole time.

       "They shot me." He said, through painful breaths. "They shot me in the leg."

       "So they are not afraid. Good." The raspy voice said. "Did you put the tracker on one of them?"

       "Yes. The boy."

       "Good. We will get people to help you. I will see you soon."

       "Yes, Mr. Graff."

AAAHHHHH! Things are getting bad! See y'all next week!