'Tempo' - EXO
Unedited
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"How do we know you're not lying?" the man in the middle asked.
It agitated Zayn that he could not see their faces. He knew those voices however.
"Well because you guys know where i cone from so you won't have a problem finding me if I screw up and leg it," Zayn explanined, keeping his face neutral.
The four men looked to each other and nodded.
"Come tomorrow evening," the one on the far left said. Zayn was sure he hadn't heard this voice before.
"Right," Zayn slapped his knee and stood up, glancing back at them as he left.
Three of them had tried to shank him and drugged him, who knows what else they might try.
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"Can I come?" asked Syra.
Zayn was getting ready to go back to those guys. He probably had a fight today. Or maybe just going to see how things work. He didn't know, but best be prepared for anything. They weren't from his town so he was on his own now. But also was an advantage in some angles.
Zayn didn't even need to think about his response,
"Absolutely not," he said, wondering why she was even asking.
"I've been before. I can disguise myself. And they won't know me now," Syra explained hopefully.
"Syra, remember what Rafael told me," Zayn tried not to let agitation show.
"Please, Zayn. I can't just sit here while you go and be possibly beaten to a pulp - not that I think you are incapable or anything - but still," she reasoned, looking at him with her emerald eyes wide.
Fuck my life. She was melting him into a puddle right there. When Zayn didn't reply immediately, Syra knew she won and cheered, running off to go get ready.
Man. I lucked out.
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Ducking under the low bridge, Zayn walked down the steps on the side path next to the small canal, gripping onto Syra's hand and keeping her close. The steps were slightly damp which made them slippery, but this route had to be taken because the only other route to their destination was on the main road and they couldn't risk that. He remembered when this area use to be full of life; boat restaurants, boat rides, cafes and such. It had been known as the mini Thames because of how many people frequented it, and the murky resemblance of the water. During the harsh winter, people stayed home, so the increasing gangs took over and that was that. Now the water had become a dumpster, all the colour and fun drained from everything. A faint odour emanated from the water; Zayn was sure his clothes now would carry that smell.
"What would this place even provide for them?" muttered Syra, stepping over a pile of dirty rags.
"They can chase their opps over here. They work together in one area and station certain people at certain areas before they go to someone, so they can chase them here. No one would see them stab or mug their victim, and the water? They either dump stuff in there or burn them if they can and toss the ashes here. Barely any evidence. But you know our police, won't interfere with gang business." Zayn elucidated.
"What if someone is murdered?" she inquired.
"Then they'll find out the reason like they always do and the specific culprits who did the deed and that's it. Doesn't stop the other members. And most of these lot come from unstable homes, are drug addicts and stuff so they can get some sorta leniency. The addicts just tossed into rehab. Both make promises not to do shît again but look, most who murder have already done it before. For it to stop, the whole circle gotta be busted. But for gangs, almost all cases, the person chose to be involved. So really, what's there to do?"
Zayn kind of felt like a hypocrite while saying that.
The canal ended so they walked up the steps at the end. There were a bunch of vandalised abandoned shops, the windows broken and such. Zayn headed into the second last one upon seeing a sage green bandana wrapped around the pole just beside the door.
He closed the door behind them and waited for someone to come. He turned to Syra and made sure her muffler covered the bottom half of her face and that her phone wasn't visible. She wore his hoody and cap pulled low as well. Yet she still looked hella cute.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Zayn turned back to front to see a tall guy clad in white clothing approach them. Like seriously, white hoodie, trackies, trainers and beanie. He was also very tall; Zayn had to raised his head to meet his eyes, which was something he was not used to doing. It was always peering down. The guy looked actually pretty harmless, if you could look past his staggering height.
"Zayn, yeah?" he asked, a slightly scratchy voice.
Zayn nodded.
"I'm Will," he said, sticking a hand out, dark blue eyes sparkling.
Zayn went forward and shook his hand a little hesitantly. He was not expecting such a welcome.
"Who is she?" he questioned, peering behind Zayn.
"My cousin. Wanted to learn the ropes too. And to see if her brother was here too," Zayn explained.
They had come up with a back story in case anyone asked. She was his cousin. And they were going to play the part, so he had let go of her once they were inside. But Syra didn't know that they would maybe find her brother here. He had just added that now and he could feel her bewildered gaze on him. He knew she had suspicions, but it was not his place to say anything, or imply anything. He did not know much - he could find out easily if he wanted to - but sometimes ignorance really was bliss. He did not want to be the one to break it to Syra. In fact, he hoped coming with him would make it easy for her to put together. She was not dumb like Ilyas thought her to be.
"Right," Will replied, his eyes glancing up and down Syra, trying to piece her out. Zayn resisted the urge to slap his face away.
"Come. I'll take you to where everybody is. As you are not from this town, you probably already know you have a slight upper hand. But you are not the only one; a few others are not from here either. So what I'm saying is that do not take too much advantage of that, and not so hastily eaither because you will be under a lot of scrutiny, and the fact that you brought a girl with you. Cousin or not. The guys don't bring their girls so they are not recognised and attacked. There are things held for women, but they are kept on separate days, because of some previous... problems. So they are gonna wonder why she ain't there and why she is here. And with you." Will explained as he walked them down a corridor, then opened the third door on the left and took them up two floors on the stairwell.
Zayn kept this route in mind and had muttered for Syra to do so too, but not in English. In fact, their story would include Syra's first language being her native language, not English. Easier to communicate without others interfering.
Will opened the door to a large hall. It looked like they were in some old Victorian school, which was strange because the rest of the building was quite modern, and clean. The hall had a sea of people, who were loudly talking and laughing. Over here they didn't keep any of the 'operations' (as Will had insisted on calling them) separate. Just balled them in together. So the druggies, illegal weapons, fake identity and all that shit were all here. He was positive he heard someone go on about street-racing.
Zayn loved cars - Team Mercedes for life - but he had to put those dreams on hold until he had a house. And he had to wait till eighteen to be able to drive - and the car he wanted to drive, the insurance was too high as he would be so young. So more waiting because he was not going to break his bank account. He had roughly 40k sitting in there currently.
The street fights happened in the corner. That relieved him. The three of them headed there, Zayn putting a firm hand on Syra's shoulder. She was getting strange looks as Will had warned.
They headed to the ring.
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Zayn had purely won this fight because of his adrenaline. And the desire to show these new people and Syra. He was breathing heavily, this guy was around his age and he had put up a good fight. And gotten some good hits on Zayn as well. But they were mostly on his body which he could easily hide with his clothes. And this time he had fought without his shirt.
He used a rag to wipe himself clear of the blood and sweat, unable to keep the smile spreading on his face. He met eyes with Syra, whose emeralds eyes glittered at him, the rest of her hidden. He hopped off the platform to go wear his clothes. Will came over and congratulated him, rather surprised. He was getting offers here and there for club invites, drinks but all Zayn wanted to do was get his money and leave with Syra.
He had earned a lot more over here as it worked differently. This time is wasn't the commoners who betted, but the more important people. Which got him more money. Probably twice the amount. And he could do more fights weekly, but only if he stuck to the less challenging ones. He knew he had to rest for at least three days after this one.
He headed to Syra, conversing with her in Urdu, explaining how he would get his money. He was just finally pulling on his cap when a familiar face caught his eyes.
Ilyas.
He seemed to be looking at him with a confused and wary look. Zayn just looked right back, thankful his face was hidden. Syra, who had been trying to get his attention, snapped her fingers in front of his face. Zayn nudged her and jerked his chin in Ilyas' direction. Syra looked to where he was looking, squinting her eyes and letting her gaze roam until it landed on her brother. She froze. Zayn could feel the hurt emanating from her. She reached out and caught Zayn's arm in a deathly grip. She then grabbed onto him and jumped off the ledge she had been sitting on. Then left him as she went over to confront Ilyas.
Zayn felt as if he should have comforted her. Or maybe he should have told her before they came in. Telling Will at the beginning was probably not his smartest move. It all had happened very fast, him spotting Ilyas and then Syra, who had just gone over to him wordlessly. He debated whether or not he should go over to them, then decided against it; he would give the siblings privacy. He didn't want to add fuel to the fire. He just made sure no one was getting too close to Syra. He went over to Will to recieve his money, struggling to hide it all. Eventually he had managed, not before a furious Syra stormed over.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.
The
She didn't seem angry but ice cold. It was much worse. He would rather her be angry than this.
"It wasn't my place," he replied calmly.
"I deserved to know," she responded, iciness lacing her voice, her eyes hard.
"I told him that. I didn't tell you because I wasn't too sure myself, so what exactly would I say to make you believe me. I didn't want to interfere with your relationships. And you have to realise me and him aren't exactly besties, so you can see what it would look like," he explained.
He wasn't being a hundred percent honest. He knew of Syra's suspicions, knew he could have found out more and given more obvious clues. But that had felt wrong too. So he opted for the way that seemed better.
Zayn ran his hand through this hair roughly. He don't fucking know what was right, all he knew is that she had a right to be furious. At Ilyas. But at him? He didn't know that either. He didn't intentionally do anything wrong, in fact he had the best intentions in mind. But different people would view the same things differently.
"Look, I'm sorry, I did what I thought would be right of me," he stated, this time the honesty showing in his voice.
Syra didn't respond. She just looked at him for a few moments before huffing and looking away. He looked around to see Ilyas had gone.
"Let's just go home," Syra muttered to him.
Zayn was more than happy to oblige.
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Brudda. Filler chapters suck. I might post these all together to get them over and done with so we can spend time on yhe good stuff. Jeez.
2230 words.