[Revised] 

"Who are you working with?" he yelled, digging the gun into her head. Her body felt like it had been hit with a meat tenderizer. The pain was so great, she hadn't properly registered the question. The man grunted and pushed the gun impossibly harder against her temple. Any moment now, and it would explode. "I said, who do you work for, you bitch!"

"I—I d-don't..." She was too overwhelmed to form a coherent response to his question, and that factor was working against her, "I don't know what you're talking about," Zara managed to force out, all in one breath. Her voice was hoarse from the lack of oxygen. Her head spun.

"Is it the Wolves, the Fangs, the Skulls? Tell me!"

All names that belonged to notorious gangs. How had she gotten involved in this one?

"Please...I can't," she wheezed, "breathe." Her face was going numb, and all she could do about it was whimper. She hated being so helpless.

A moment's hesitation, then the pressure against her neck weakened.

"I don't work for anyone," Zara said, each word followed by a mouthful of air, "I think you have the wrong person."

That last statement was shrouded with uncertainty, as Zara wasn't confident in her inculpability. She had committed many crimes, from shoplifting to burglary, and it had been only a matter of time before they all caught up with her.

"I've had enough of your bullshit." He grabbed Zara's shoulder and flipped her over, "It's time for you to—" He pushed the barrel of the gun into the soft spot under her jaw.

God Almighty, please make this as least painful as possible...

A pause. He didn't pull the trigger.

Zara opened her eyes. Her brain was still in her skull, and not splattered across the floor.

That was a bad sign.

"Your name is Zara DeRealis." It was a statement, not a question.

Zara stared blankly in response. Where was he going with this?

His green eyes—which narrowed as he inspected her—and eyebrows, were the only facial features that were visible. The lower half was hidden by a red bandana, decorated with white paisleys. The classic gang member.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled the gun away from her face. "What do you know about the Butterfly?"

Zara opened her mouth to speak, but no words seemed to come.

Is this guy nuts?

Her face must've given away her perplexity because he wrinkled his nose and repeated the question. He probably thought that she was a complete moron.

"Nothing. I don't know what that is." And she didn't. The 'Butterfly' could mean anything, really. To her, it was just another word in the English dictionary.

"Funny you say that because it has come to my attention that you," He pushed the gun against her jaw line for emphasis, "along with your pathetic band of teenage delinquents, have stolen something very valuable from a very important person. The very thing you seem to be in the dark about."

"What? What are you talking about? We didn't steal anything from you!" she screamed, teeth chattering with fear. She wasn't even being accused of a crime she had committed. This is madness.

He clicked his tongue and shook his head empathetically. "Now, now. Let's not get all worked up. We wouldn't want this gun to accidentally go off, do we?"

Zara shook her head.

"Do we?" His voice was louder this time, his face a couple of inches from hers.

"No!" Zara's eyes watered, and her vision blurred. This was worse than death.

He placed a finger against her lips. "Hush. Stop crying."

He brought it away from her face and holstered his gun. Moments later, he was on his feet. "Get up."

Zara slowly sat up, in a daze.

This must be another one of those wild nightmares.

She bit her tongue to jolt herself awake, but nothing happened. Still on the floor. Arms and legs still dead.

For crying out loud.

"You know, I was initially sent here—and I quote—'to make an example of you.' That means filling you up with enough bullets to make a sponge out of your dead body..." He chuckled dryly.

Zara gulped.

This guy is a psychopath.

She made sure to keep her gaze cast downwards as she stood up.

"But I changed my mind. Killing people I personally know isn't my forte."

She looked up blankly from her mud-encrusted boots.

Zara wasn't sure whether she had heard him correctly. "Personally?" Her arms trembled by her sides. He knew her, but somehow, she didn't know him. Unreal.

"Damn right. But I won't tell you much more than that. At least not for now."

Zara tugged at her sleeves with stiff hands.

What game is he playing?

He crossed his arms, waiting for a reaction from her, but Zara didn't oblige. Instead, she concentrated on the way the material of his hoodie stretched over his chest and biceps. The man really was as massive as Zara had thought—to look him in the eye, she had to tilt her head almost all the way back.

But Zara wasn't interested in his good looks.

Her eyes went to the gun hanging off his belt.

"I'll tell you what. I won't kill you," his eyes twinkled malignantly, "but there's a price for that."

Zara pursed her lips together.

It was a deal with the devil. She'd have to sell her soul in exchange for freedom.

"I'm feeling charitable. You have a week to return what was stolen from us. No more, no less."

A week? To return something that I didn't steal?

A horrible thought occurred to her: one of her friends was behind the theft. They were the only people she knew that had the kind of dexterity to pull it off. But if that was the case, then why go after only her? She was probably considered the ringleader of the group, but that didn't rule out the possibility that they had also been given a warning, and simply kept it to themselves.

It was all very confusing.

"That's not enough." She found herself saying with a calm, even voice. An eyebrow shot up—he seemed slightly taken aback by this sudden change in her mood.

"That's more than enough. Anyone in my place would have—"

"But you aren't just anyone, are you?"

Another pause from his end.

You didn't expect that, huh? You overinflated blimp.

Oh, crap. What am I thinking? He's different to the other victims... but I shouldn't have said so. He's pissed off for sure now.

The sides of his eyes crinkled in amusement. "I have to admit. You got me there." He passed a hand through his hair, a smile in his voice.

Those emerald eyes landed on her again, in a gaze softer than the last.

Zara shifted awkwardly in place. This guy's reactions were very unpredictable—she would have to choose her next words carefully if she didn't want to end up in a body-bag.

"Two weeks. And that's as far as I'll go."

Bile climbed up to her throat. Two measly weeks. It wasn't enough, but she would have to work with that. She didn't have much of a choice.

"Alright," she said solemnly, bobbing her head. "That's fine."

He sniffed and took a step towards her. Zara's hackles immediately rose.

"I guess we have a deal then." He stuck his hand out.

After a moment's hesitation, she took his hand in hers. His grip was charged with assertiveness, and it had Zara dumbfounded—this man was much more powerful than she had thought.

She pulled her hand away and shoved it in her pocket. His warmth still scalded her fingers.

"Remember, I'll be watching your every move, Zara," he said, brushing past her and heading towards the fire-escape.

Zara remained rooted in place. The gravity of her situation sank in, chilling her to the bone.What scared her the most was his nonchalant attitude; he knew well that she wouldn't pull any tricks on him. Again, he was the predator and she was the prey. Her life was in this stranger's hands now, never had Zara thought that it would come to this, that she really did become a slave to crime.

Keep it together Zara. You've been through shit before, you'll make it out of this.

There was just one more thing she had to know.

"Wait," Zara called out after him. She felt so weak, so insignificant.

He stopped in his tracks.

"I don't know your name, how do I know where to look for you?" she said, in a voice that sounded far  from her own ears.

He rotated his head so that only his profile was visible. Even from underneath the bandana, she could tell that his lips curled into a smirk.

"Maximilian Rubair. Don't bother looking for me. I'll be finding you."

Shit.

-:-