The Runner ➳ Narry (Book One)

Chapter One

He sneered at me. "You little shit!"

I caught his arm as he swung a fist at me. I held his wrist and threw a punch of my own, my fist striking the right side of his jaw.

He stumbled and I pushed him back one last time, him falling onto the ground.

He held his jaw and looked up at me. "Jesus, kid," he exclaimed. "You've got one hell of an arm."

He coldly smirked at me and I let my face drop back into its expressionless figure. He hoisted himself up off the ground and he dusted himself off quickly.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick wallet, opening it and rifling through the 100£ notes, handing me a couple. I took them cautiously and placed the notes in my pocket, handing him the little packet at the same time.

He threw the packet onto the table behind him and turned to smack a big meaty hand on my shoulder, pushing me into another room beside the kitchen, which I guessed was the living room. It was dark, the flashing of the small telly screen providing the only light. I tried to wriggle away from him but he kept his death grip on my shoulder.

He stopped me in front of the sofa and leaned in close to my ear. I could feel his stale breathe plummeting against the skin on my neck. "Stay a while."

He pushed me down onto the sofa, walking behind it and leaned beside me. I felt one of his hands slightly touching my shoulder, so I knew there was no escape.

His deep voice rumbled in my ear, almost seemingly shaking my brain. "What's your name? You look familiar."

When I didn't answer him, he growled. "What's your name?" He asked again, this time more firmly.

I didn't answer him again.

Instead, I took interest in watching the footie game that was silently playing on the telly.

I could hear the man getting angry when I didn't answer him a second time.

In one swift movement, he grabbed a handful of my curly, quiffed hair and yanked my head backwards so I could meet his eyes above me.

"Fuck," I cussed.

"I said, what is your name?" He spat. My heart rate sped up.

"You don't need to know-" He yanked back harder and tears prickled my eyes.

"Harry! My name is Harry, Jesus!" I cried out, reaching up to try and pry his hands from my hair. He pulled his hand away from my head and came back around the couch. I rested my hand on the newly pained spot on my scalp and tried to control my breathing. The man reached forward and took a fistful my shirt that was exposed from my opened jacket, and hoisted me up onto my feet. He pulled me closer to his face.

"You tell your dealer to lower his prices on coke, or next time someone might just want to have a little fun with his runner."

I gulped at his words, him smirking as he said 'a little fun.' I didn't know what he meant by that, and I really didn't want to know.

I pushed him away from me and ran through the living room and back into the kitchen. I reached for the doorknob but the man caught my waist before I could get there.

My breath was ripped out of my lungs as he dragged me backwards and slammed me against the wall.

"Fuck off!" I yelled, attempting to strike him in the chest, but he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them to the wall on either side of my head. I tried to control my rapid breathing.

I attempted to pull my wrists out from under his hands but he would just press them harder against the wall.

The man slid my wrists up the wall so they were now above my head. He pressed them together, swiftly pulling back one hand and grasping both my wrists with the other hand. Again, I tried to pull free but I couldn't move. I tried to pull my legs up to kick him but he was pressed too close to me.

My breathing quickened as I saw him reach into his back pocket. He carefully pulled out a big switchblade and sprung the razor sharp knife out. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that he wasn't going to hurt me with it.

I felt as the man used the blade to raise my exposed shirt up.

"You brought this on yourself, Harry," he said in a fake sorry voice. He pressed the tip of the blade to the side of my stomach, just above the hip bone. I sucked in a sharp breath, muttering a few swear words as he applied pressure to the knife. I shot my eyes open when I felt him retreat the knife. I looked down to see the man bring his hand back, staring at the spot he was about to stab with the switchblade.

My eyes widened, and in one quick movement, I pulled my right arm free from his grip. I brought my elbow in and dug it into his chest. He dropped the knife, and bent over clutching his chest. I took that as a good opportunity and raised my knee up, forcefully smacking him in the face. I shoved him backwards onto the ground, sprinting to the door and yanking it open. Before leaving, I turned back to the man on the floor, his nose bleeding rapidly. He glared up at me.

My eyes caught the glint of the switchblade laying on the floor beside him. I saw as the tip of the blade was stained and dripping with a red substance, a tiny puddle of blood beginning to form on the ground.

My breath caught in my throat as I brought my hand down to my left side, pushing my jacket aside. My eyes trailed down, and I slightly gasped as I saw a red liquid seeping through my white t-shirt.

Just like that, the pain hit. I grabbed my side with my hand and groaned, bending over.

I need to get out of here. I looked at the man on the floor. He started chuckling coldly, his nose still bleeding. "Next time I see you around, consider yourself dead," he said before wiping his nose and getting up off the ground. He picked up the bloody switchblade and disappeared into the dark living room.

I turned and walked out the old front door with a pained limp on my left side.