Page 22 of Burned By Sin
“Well, your screaming won’t help with that. Sing him a lullaby or something.” Rhys pressed his lips together, not moving. My face fills with rage, all of the curses and threats I could possibly think of filling my head. Just before I lose my absolute shit, Rhys rolls his eyes. “Fine. You undress him. I’ll do the fire.”
Clay is freezing to the touch, his core temperature easily below ninety-five. “Jesus, what the hell were you doing out there?” I hiss, carefully removing the clothes from his body. I peel off his beanie hat first, before tackling his jacket and t-shirt. Rhys conveniently becomes invested in picking the right pieces of firewood, not responding to any of my grunts or sounds of struggle. Wrapping blankets around Clay’s torso and arms, I start removing Clay’s shoes, socks and sweatpants. They’re like cardboard, rigid and awkward to drag off Clay’s motionless legs but I succeed, falling back on my ass. Now for the next challenge.
“I need you to lift him so I can get his boxers off,” I state. Rhys drops the wood into the fire and pinches the bridge of his nose. His hesitation is infuriating, and I use Clay’s soggy sock to smack the back of his legs. “Rhys Maximus Waversea. You will lift him right now or so help me, I will tell any reporter who will listen that you have syphilis.”
Finally, Rhys growls and lifts Clay’s hips so I can peel off his boxers, both of us looking in opposite directions. Covering Clay’s dignity, I wrap his legs and move up towards his head. He groans low, his body convulsing with uneven shivers as I try to cradle him in my arms. Rhys returns to the fireplace, appreciating the flickering flames he’s conjured.
“I don’t have a middle name, by the way,” he mumbles into the mic. I stroke Clay’s hair with the edge of a blanket, drying it strand by strand.
“I know, but it felt like a full naming moment.” The fire cracklesback to life, casting orange light across Clay’s face. His skin’s blotchy, patches of red and white rising as if his body’s fighting to circulate blood again. Dropping my voice, I move in closer to cradling his head in my lap. “You stupid fool. You could have died.”
“Would have served him right,” Rhys replies. I glare at his back, and I know he senses it. “He should have been here yesterday. Or maybe he shouldn’t have run off like a pussy in the first place.”
“You paid him to leave,” I narrow my eyes, jaw tight with frustration. Rhys shrugs without a care in the world.
“Pussies run.”
“And jackasses stay, evidently,” I snip back. I can imagine Addy’s cheering in my head, her signingcum stainover and over like a cheerleader’s chant. Rhys mutters something under his breath and storms toward the kitchen, knowing full well I can still hear him as he apparently opens every cupboard and drawer possible, before slamming them shut one after the other. It’s like gunfire bursting within my skull, but I leave him to his tantrum, focusing on Clayton instead.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, rubbing his arm. “Come on. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Clay’s hand twitches beneath the blankets. I catch it before it falls away, wrapping my fingers around his cold ones. His skin is rough and clammy, his pulse a weak flutter beneath my thumb.
I don’t know how long we remain there, the cold seeping from his bones and into mine. I’m shivering, until a thick parka jacket is wrapped around my shoulders. Rhys drops to his knees, pressing hot water bottles to the outside of the blankets rather roughly. Now the mic is back in the vicinity, I can hear Clay’s mumbling through lips that are developing in colour.
“Door…” he croaks, barely audible. “Locked.”
“That’s what happens after midnight, you moron. Keeps the burglars out,” Rhys replies. Leaning his back against the sofa, he flicks on the TV and channel surfs as if we’re not in the middle of a crisis. The screen’s light flickers over Clay’s face, highlighting the deep lines of hisexhaustion. The tremors in his jaw are easing, the faintest pink returning to his cheeks. I reach down to press the hot water bottle against his abdomen, the heat seeping slowly through the layers of fabric.
Clay is stabilizing, his breathing evening out as sleep takes over. His body has suffered a trauma, fighting against itself to keep his organs functioning. Holding him close, I let him drift off, now that I’m not scared he won’t wake back up. Although, it will be a long while yet before my heart will stop racing, because I know just how close it came.
One more hour in that cold, and he could’ve gone into severe hypothermia, unconscious, heart arrhythmias, cardiac arrest. My stomach twists painfully at the thought so I just keep brushing my thumb over his knuckles, letting him know I’m still here.
Chapter Fourteen
Sirens wail somewhere far off, their pitch climbing and falling, red and blue strobes dancing across the slick brick walls. They flash over my hands, my face, and the alleyway, before plunging us into darkness again. The stench of old oil and garbage clings to my nostrils. I press my back to the damp metal of the dumpster, peering around its edge.
“Where are they?” I ask for what seems like the millionth time. A shiver of déjà vu races along my spine. Antonio shifts behind me, his sneakers squeaking on the wet pavement. Another kid like me, a high school drop out who’s only made it to seventeen because a local gang has been conditioning us to join their ranks.
However, this being our first real job, his nerves are showing. His breath comes too fast, clouding in the air with white puffs like smoke signals. I tamper down my own reservations, forcing myself to keep a level head. I can freak out later.
My brother, Jeremy, has been the man of the house for too long. Tonight, I pull my weight. I can help to pay off the gambling debts our bastard father left us drowning in and give Mom a better life. More than that, once I’ve passed initiation, the GDK gang will protect us. They take on one man from each family, and it’s my time to step up.
The walls closing in on us are coated in graffiti, names and tags ofour rival gang sprayed over one another until nothing is legible. It doesn’t need to be clear who’s tag is more prominent, since we’re deep in rival turf anyway.Other than the dumpster, metal door opposite and a random black cat, we are alone in the dead end.
I spin just as two figures step into view. Khan is a huge fucker dressed head to toe in black. Beneath his balaclava, I know there’s a thick scar running from his temple to his chin and hundreds of theories on how he got it. Vince beside him isn’t as large, but the lack of emotion in his dead eyes is the same. These men are brutal. One small slip up and they won’t hesitate to tie up the loose ends. I refuse to be a loose end.
Smooth as butter, Vince crouches by the door to pick the lock, whilst Khan presses objects into mine and Antonio’s hands. I frown at the heavy weight, squinting and turning it over to make out the glint of a gun. Holy shit, a gun! I swallow through the dryness coating my throat, my forehead sweating beneath one of Jeremy’s beanie hats. I thought it would be a good disguise.
My surroundings blur and alter to the inside of a vault, fragments of time slipping through my fingers. Floor to ceiling drawers line each wall, like tiny deposit boxes. I don’t know how I expected a jeweler to store his stock, but being here now makes it too real. This is serious shit I’m getting into, and something tells me it’s only the beginning.
I picture my mom, shivering beneath a tattered blanket as she tries to sleep. Her teeth chattering whilst hunger rips her apart from the inside. Then there’s Jeremy, his hands faltering as he packs to go off to some elite academy he’s been accepted into. He keeps arguing that he should stay here, but there’s no life for him here, and we don’t need him anymore. I’m going to be the man of the house now.
“Don’t just stand there, empty them out!” a bark shouts from behind. I shove the gun into my pocket, tearing open drawers and emptying the contents into my duffle as quickly as possible.
Suddenly, an alarm blares. I drop my bag in favor of slamming my hands over my ears. Shoulders shove me aside, hard enough for me to stumble into the wall, as they take the loot and prepare to leave mebehind. The alarm is hammering a nail into my head, making it painful to even open my eyes. So I just start running. The hallways stretch, my feet barely touching the ground as I race through the maze I don’t remember being here.
The door to outside is ahead, a green exit sign lighting the way. I stretch out my hand for the handle, but someone wrenches it open from the other side. Dragged out by the scruff of my neck and thrown to the ground, agony explodes in my side. The impact of a boot breaks my ribs, blood clogging my throat. I roll to the side, spluttering and gagging as I bump into something solid. My head rises, the image of Antonio’s open, glazed eyes etching themselves into my memories. Blood pools from a bullet hole in his jacket, the click of a semi-automatic being cocked.
“Sorry kid, one of you triggered the alarm. Someone’s got to take the fall and your fingerprints are all over the lockboxes.” Dread takes over, but whereas some may falter beneath the weight of it, I seem to flourish. Unaware of my actions, the gun is out of my pocket, the safety flicked off and my hand raises towards the man pointing a barrel at me. I can barely see in the darkness of the alley, but the sirens are growing louder and time is running out. I don’t have a choice. It’s me or him, and I can’t let my mom lose a son.
