♛Cameron Dawson ♛

The gym is quieter than usual, leaving me to workout in solitude and peace. There are only about three other guys around but only one is busy with weights, the other two going at it in a ring and therefore allowing me to focus on the blue punching bag that swings in front of my face.

Raising my fists up to my face, I take in a ragged breath and begin hitting the bag in a rhythm, pushing all the frustration I'm feeling to the forefront of my mind so that I can figure a way out of this whole mess.

The fact that my parents fucked up my life the day they killed Carla.

Punch.

The fact that Frank betrayed me.

Punch.

The fact that Harley had to kill him because I was too big a wimp to do it myself.

Punch.

The fact that I didn't get rid of all of the evidence like I thought.

Punch.

The fact that Harley is literally losing herself.

Punch.

The fact that we've gotten blackmailed into a gang.

Punch. Punch.

And the fact that now we have to pick a side while not knowing which one will be our demise.

Punch.
Punch.
Punch.

"Woah, Cameron." I hear a voice from behind us and I pause, turning around with heavy breathing to see Xavier dropping a duffel bag onto a bench before approaching me with furrowed eyebrows. "What're you doing here so early?"

Swallowing hard, I wipe the back of my hand to my forehead to get rid of the thin sheen of sweat. "I just needed to get some stuff out."

"Well since you're here, let's have a round in the ring. I need to warm up anyway." He says, an almost mischievous glint in his eye. With not much energy to argue with him, I simply nod and pull myself into a ring after the tall man in front of me.

I pull my shirt off, roll it into a ball and throw into one corner of the ring before taking the usual position in front of Xavier. With my hands in front of my face, I get to see how grazed they are with little scabs and blood sticking to my knuckles.

"Come on, throw the first punch Cameron." Xavier taunts, the both of us walking in a circle with our hands raised high in preparation to fight.

I crack a smirk, finding amusement in how Xavier manages to get a rise out of me by simply just talking.

"Now we both know I prefer not to throw the first punch." I say and he smiles, causing the scar over his face to wrinkle.

"I know."

He's throwing a punch aimed at my jaw in no time but with my knowledge of knowing he likes to aim there first, I dodge it expertly. Xavier laughs, watching me like a lion stalking a gazelle as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

"You're getting good at reading me."

I narrow my eyes, shrugging one shoulder.

"I know." I use his own words, lifting my leg and kicking him straight in the stomach. Xavier recoils back, holding his torso while heaving over. When he looks back at me, I see an almost sardonic glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, that wasn't fair. I wasn't ready."

I shrug. "Are dirty fight nights fair?" I retort and Xavier nods, letting out a breath through his nose before holding both of his hands up in front of him. Sighing, I begin punching them before Xavier grabs my wrist and twists me around so that he's got me in a headlock. Clawing at his arm around my neck, I try and get free but he only tightens his hold and restricts the airflow into my lungs.

"If you weren't so stuck in your morals, I'd almost say that you could be the best fighter here." He says in my ear and I try and get some air into my lungs before he lets go of me, pushing me so hard that I stumble to the floor. I swallow large amounts of air, my knees stinging from hitting the floor of the ring. My trainer is fixing the bandages on his hands.

"Go freshen up. Today I want you and Ling to go head-to-head."

Without leaving me much of an opportunity to argue, Xavier turns his back to me and I pull myself up off of the floor again.

And I know I'll have to do it again soon. And then again and again and again.

****

Fortunately, Ramiro doesn't make an appearance at the gym which means that I can ignore the fact that Harley and I are still yet to make a final decision regarding what we should do about the gang. However, even though my fight with Ling offered me the distraction I was looking for, I'm not sure if the pain that I'm in from getting my ass beaten is worth it.

Even though I haven't being training or fighting for the gang very long, it's clear that I've improved by a long shot. Besides picking up the obvious muscle and increasing my stamina, my overall skills of fighting have improved too. I'm faster, stronger, more strategic, more observant and just- overall- better. But Ling was even better. He was so fast that it was hard to keep up with him. The guy was like a fucking tornado- fast and destructive. With his speed came strength- I cannot count how many times he knocked me breathless and to the floor. Even though I managed to get a few of my own impactful hits and kicks on him that even left him wincing and bruised, it's nothing on my blue torso, swollen jaw and bust lip.

While I feel like I fought like a pussy today, Xavier seems to have thought otherwise as he had patted my shoulder and said: "You're on the road to greatness. Most fighters don't get any hits on Ling."

The pride that had blossomed in my chest made me feel disgusting and ashamed because is this what I want to be proud about? Being able to bring a man to his knees with my fists? Being able to kill someone with just my hands? Is this what you call greatness? I'm deadly with a gun but now I'm being forced to turn into a gun and the one with his finger on the trigger is Jack. And I don't know how to feel anything but resentment and fear about that.

Slouching into the seat of my car, I pull out of the parking lot and hit the road.

My lip stings as I drive and I try not to flick my tongue out to dart over the wound. I wonder when I won't have to have a bruised torso anymore and I can finally stop being a slave to the gang and come to the conclusion that it probably won't be anytime soon. And yet hope still blooms in the empty parts of my soul, telling me to hold onto the fact that I might just get the life I always dreamed of.

Isn't hope supposed to be fuel? A way to push you forward? Because this hope hurts. It hurts to still have hope for something that is impossible. For something that is unattainable.

Why does my hope hurt? Why does it feel heavy?

I don't even notice when I pull up outside of the gang and even when the car has stopped and is no longer moving, it still feels like I'm floating due to the exhaustion in my bones. Regardless, the one thing that does manage to get my attention is the fact that Harley's car is not parked in the lot and I frown.

I know that she wasn't practicing with Isaac until later so her car not being here makes my stomach churn. With this worry, I climb out of my car and head inside. The AC cooling is welcoming on my skin and I let out a content sigh before making my way to the common room at the back. In the beginning, the bartenders used to question why I was going there since they still had no knowledge of who I was but now that they know I'm a Slither, and there's a scar on my jaw to prove it, nobody stops to question me although the lingering glances are still sent my way.

Nobody recognizable stands out to me as I enter the room except for a familiar mop of dark curly hair leaning on the bar table. I falter for a moment, considering whether or not I really want to approach him. But the looming worry of not knowing where Harley is that twists my gut like a cloth makes my feet move to him anyway.

"Ramiro." I call out and he straightens up to his full height before turning to me. A small smile graces his lips and he nods in greeting.

"Holá Cameron." He greets in return, not giving away any hint that he is still expecting a response from Harley and I. In fact, it's almost as if what happened last night didn't and it was all just a trick from my imagination. Shaking my head to myself to clear my thoughts, I say:

"Have you seen Harley?"

Ramiro frowns. "No, I haven't. But there was a shootout at one of the nearby banks. Maybe she's there with my sister."

Immediately my eyebrows knit together and I cock my head to the side. "Shootout?"

Ramiro nods. "Yeah. Jack got told that Kings members were meeting there and he decided to raid the place. Turned into a bloody fight apparently." He shrugs, speaking of his own gang as if he isn't actually a part of them. "I was actually heading there right now to get hold of any footage and make sure it's erased. You can follow me if you'd like."

Swallowing hard, I nod. "Yeah, that's great. Thank you."

A bartender hands Ramiro a bottle of water just as he says: "don't sweat it" to me. When he's gathered his things, Ramiro leads the way back to the parking lot. We walk in an almost palpable silence but it's obvious that Ramiro is not as calm as he is making himself out to be right now, judging by the way his posture is rigid and his jaw ticks ever so slightly. It leads me to wonder who were the victims- Kings or Slither members.

"Whose territory did it take place in?" I enquire, falling into Spanish effortlessly. If it was in the Kings territory then I doubt Harley would be there and if she is- why?

Ramiro stops walking, turning around with a look that proves he is only trying to remain calm. We stand in the middle of the parking lot, my car on the other side from his. His eyes narrow slightly but he lifts his one shoulder up in an attempted nonchalant shrug.

"It was in neither."

My eyebrows furrow together. How did it happen in Concord but not in one of the gang's territories?

"What do you mean?"

"That thin strip of the city that we call the border hasn't being claimed by either of the gangs. And although it might not be very big, it's still the place where most of these shootouts and other shit happen. That's where the track is and a lot of other facilities that both gangs use which makes it even easier for blood to be shed. It's the most violent part of the city." Ramiro explains before checking his watch with a knot between his brows. "But we need to get there." He looks back up at me. "Follow me and just be on a lookout while driving alright? Apparently it was a bad one."

I'm not sure how a shootout can be a 'good one' but I don't question it, instead nodding my head before climbing in my car and following Ramiro. He drives at a faster speed than average, definitely going over the speed limit, but I keep up with him. It takes quite some time to reach the edge of the Slither's territory and when we finally do, we enter the border. This whole time, Harley and I were assuming that this was the edge of their land but we were clearly wrong. It is no wonder why this place looks as bad as it does if this is where most of the bloodshed takes place. Everything is so dilapidated and run down and I remember seeing kids run back into their houses when they saw us driving in here for the first time the day we arrived. The roads' tar is broken and have holes in it while the pavements are littered with paper and plastic and the grass and plants around it are not maintained. Most of the houses have cracked walls and peeling paint and look like they're only still standing by grace. Trashcans are overturned, leaving waste on the floor or are simply overflowing. Grocery stores and restaurants have being vandalised, things like: The Kings Rule and The Slithers will make the Kings their bitch are written on the walls along with obscene and vulgar pictures that make everything seem that much more unappealing. People who sit on their porch watch our cars drive by with solemn looks on their faces while scowling or scattering back inside in fear. It's sad to see it- people living in such fear and danger. It isn't fair.

Ramiro leads me further into the border before I see the flickering of blue and red lights in the distance as well as crowds of people standing in the parking lot and outside on the pathway while cars drive by, slowing down to look at what happened. People move out of the entrance, allowing me to park my car inside of the parking lot of what seems to be a bank. After turning off my engine, I climb out and shut my door while my eyes scan over the area. Ramiro is already out of his car, walking at a fast pace to one of the police officers. I walk closer to crowd, stopping just behind them.

Before my eyes can scan the crowd around the police tape in search of Harley, my eyes drink in the actual scene in front of me. The bank's windows are shattered, the glass lying on the floor while the inside seems to be in a mess. Officers are inside and although the windows are tinted, I still manage to make out more police tape inside while doctors seem to be crouching on the floor, doing something I can't quite make out. Paramedics check up on people just outside of the doors to the bank, many covered in blood, having cuts on their forehead or simply sobbing. There is one woman in particular who weeps so loudly that even the murmurs of the crowd are deaf to my ears. The lady cries into the side of a man who holds her and her body shakes in his grip. The man stares down at the floor where paramedics are bending down and I frown, not being able to see what exactly it is. This leads me to push my way through the crowd, ignoring the shouts of protests before I reach the front.

Only then is it that I see what is the gruesome sight leaving many other people in the crowd crying. Laying on the floor is an old man, his head bald and his green button up shirt stained red from a bullet wound. His white shoe laces are undone and his one hand is outstretched to one side of him. Even though that alone puts a lodge in my throat, it's the body next to him that really knocks the air out of my lungs. Because beside him, just a few meters away, just out of his reach, is a little girl dressed in a pink dungaree with matching little booties and cute pigtails that is on her stomach, her body as lifeless as the man's. Except nothing of hers is stained red from blood except for her forehead that has a clear hole through it and her crystal blue eyes that stare back at me as if she's still alive.

I'm broken from staring at the body when paramedics obstruct my view as they cover the victims in black bags. It is then that I look away, fighting the bile and pain that I feel. She was only a child. And he was only an old man. What was the point of killing them?

I turn to move away when something catches my eye- somebody standing right at the edge of the crowd. Harley seems to feel my gaze on her because she turns to face me and when she sees me, her eyes widen before she purses her lips, shaking her head sadly at me. I make my way to her and when I do, the unshed tears in her eyes are clear.

"Amado." I murmur but she doesn't look at me much longer as she gazes back at the bodies. "Come." I say, pulling her away and I'm surprised when she blindly listens, allowing me to pull her to a quiet part of the parking lot where nobody is. "Are you okay?" I ask gently, watching as she bites on her thumb and gazes in the direction of the crime scene.

She shakes her head before looking back at me. "She was only a kid, Danté. She... she was... she hadn't even lived life yet. She was just a kid." Harley says hoarsely. "And he was old. What was the point of the Slithers killing him? What was the use of his death?"

Despite the conviction she talks with, Harley's voice wavers with emotion, cracking every now and then.

"The Slithers did this?" I ask and she nods, before letting out a breath of a laugh.

"The people we're supposed to call our family." She mutters and I press my lips into a thin line.

"Just because they're like this doesn't mean we have to be too."

"I'm already a murderer Danté!" Harley snaps harshly, before glancing around to hear if anyone heard.

"You're not a heartless murderer." I retort with a frown and she shakes her head.

"No, I'm afraid I'm just the ordinary kind." She turns around, running a hand over her face and for once I don't know how to console her. How to make her feel better. I don't think there is much I can say that can take away the feeling of seeing the body of a child and old man.

"Katalina told me that the Kings don't kill unless it's necessary. Useful." She says suddenly, turning around to look at me and I frown as I don't know what exactly she's getting at. "They might not be the greatest people but they don't kill for fun."

It dawns on me what she's hinting at and I swallow hard, narrowing my eyes. "What are you saying?"

She looks at me then, face devoid of any emotion.

"What I'm saying is that I choose the Kings. I've made up my mind. I will not be a Slither member. Not anymore."

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