Page 51 of Gabriel's Salvation

“Wait, you got a brother?” Deeno chimes in, as he looks at me.

“Yeah, and mention him again and I'll gut you right there where you sit,” I growl back at the piece of shit.

“The brother’s off limits, don't even know the kid’s name,” I hear Marko whisper from beside him.

“So, as I was saying, kid learned how to take a punch young, and was desperate to please his old man, so started working with me when he was just a boy…” John continues as I tune them out again.

“.... then one day some punk tried breaking into my van and this goddamn beast, really he was just a kid, had the balls to challenge the punk and beat him over the head with a metal pole killing the bastard right then and there.” John chuckles like he’s telling a funny story about something stupid his grandkid did.

I take a large gulp of the rum and enjoy the burn as it hits my throat and I shift uncomfortably. What John conveniently leaves out of this story is how it really went down.

Gabe- Age 15

I've been sitting here on this cold, hard floor for hours. My father and his cronies dragged me out of bed at the ass crack of dawn and demanded that I follow them on another hair-brained scheme.

I barely had time to throw on a thin shirt, a pair of jeans and some sneakers before a black balaclava was thrust into my hands. Turns out one of the cronies found out about some big ass mansion being unoccupied from the owner's gardener, and of course that gave them all the bright idea to rob it.

Of course, I was tasked with hopping the fence and shimming my way through a small window because, unlike these fat bastards, I am the only one agile and thin enough to do it.

We wasted no time stealing everything our grubby hands could carry.

The rest of the gang wasted no time, taking their newly found riches to either the local pawn shop or whore house. But me, I've been sitting right here in this shitty ass, abandoned barn, slowly freezing to death, tasked with guarding our share of the loot for hours, and I'm exhausted. I spot a thin piece of tarp and pull it around me, desperately hoping for some warmth as the cold winter air whips and whistles around me.

I must drift off as the next thing I hear is voices and clattering. Someone’s here.

“The drunk bastard told me the goods are in here,” a voice says, just as I see a flashlight illuminate the wall behind me. Fuck, what do I do?

I see two dark figures appear and my first instinct is to hide, but I am terrified of what my father will do if he finds out I was sleeping and let someone rob us. I just freeze.

“Looky here, not much of a guard dog are you?” one of the guys laughs when he sees me.

“I have a gun!” I shout back, as I scramble for the gun John gave me for protection. The gun I keep in my belt but have no idea how to shoot.

“Let’s go,” one of the guys says to the other.

“Nah, fuck him. I’m not running cuz of some punk ass kid,” the other replies.

I pick up the gun, and point it at the main guy. “Last chance!” I shout despite the tremble in my voice. The guy laughs so I close my eyes and pull the trigger.

“Fuck this shit!” I hear one of the guys shout as his footsteps get heavier.

I open my eyes to see him running away, while the second guy is glaring right at me.

“Missed me,” he taunts as he runs straight towards me. I try to aim again but before I have a chance, I'm being tackled to the floor and the guy is straddling me.

I try to get away, but I'm on my back on the floor, all I see is long greasy hair as the guy’s hands find their way around my throat.

“Think you can fire a gun at me, do you? Maybe you should learn how to fucking shoot first,” the guy bellows, as his hands get tighter and tighter and dark spots appear in my vision.

All I see is his long hair as my eyes begin to blur. In a panic, I try to push him off, or get his hands from around my throat but he's too strong. I desperately try to buck him off as my body moves and my legs kick but he's too big and heavy. The panic and fear take over. My arms fly out grabbing for something, anything to hit him with. I start to see even more spots and my lungs are on fire. Finally, my fingers connect with something hard. I grab it and with all the strength left in my scrawny, neglected body and I swing it, hitting my attacker straight on the head. He falls off me with a thump.

I release whatever is in my hand and begin coughing and spluttering as the air finally returns to my lungs. I roll over and see my attacker lying beside me. I scramble to my knees to look at him and all I see is a vacant look in his eyes. Fuck!

I turn my head and see the blood covered crow bar I'd been holding moments ago. Fuck, fuck, fuck what have I done?

I try to shake the guy, praying he's just knocked out. Please wake up! Please be okay.

I shake and shake but he doesn't even blink. CPR! We learned about that last year in health class. What was that goddamn tune?? Staying alive that's it!

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