Young Writers Society

I stopped just outside the door, my fingertips lightly resting on the rough wood, as I caught my breath and listened hard. There was no noise coming from the building anymore. They knew I was here. Of course they know you're here. I took a deep breath and slid my hand under my shirt, carefully grasping the handle to the large hunting knife I kept strapped to my back, before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

I heard the scrape of a blade against its sheath, and yanked mine out before I even saw where the noise came from, instinctively throwing it up in a guard in front of my throat. Half a moment later, a blade slammed against mine. I grabbed the forearm of the person, obviously a man due to all the hair, holding the knife, and shoved it away from my throat, whirling around so that I was standing behind him.

I thrust my blade at his back. He spun around in an instant, easily deflecting my knife with his, and made a pass at my abdomen with a second knife. I snapped my left arm, making my spare knife slide out of the small sheath I kept strapped to my wrist, and blocked his swipe. I brought my right arm around in a backwards slash at his neck. He threw his forearm into mine, making me stumble backward.

I quickly regained my balance, taking a step to the side so that he was between me and the wall. I threw my left forearm into his chest, making him stumble backward even though he was a full head taller than me, and pressed the tip of my bigger knife into his chest; my smaller blade between his legs, resting on the crotch of his pants. One of his blades was pressed against my throat; the other was wrapped through the crook of my left arm, the tip resting just below my rib cage, angled upwards. He had the better position.

Panting, I watched the man for a long moment. His face was hard, eyes cold and calculating, jaw covered in a scruffy beard, hair cut so short he was practically bald. My eyes flicked down to his body-- his black wife beater tank top, revealing strong, muscular arms, and baggy camo pants tucked inside a pair of combat boots. My gaze traveled back up to his intense brown eyes, as I wondered when he would speak.

"How did you get in here?" A voice behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. A small group of men were clustered around a table. Most of the men were on their feet, with some sort of gun trained on me-- many held pistols, several pointed assault rifles at me. One man was still sitting. He looked fairly old, at least in his fifties; his black hair was streaked with gray, weathered face wrinkled but still hard as he looked at me. I was pretty sure I knew who was in charge.

"I used the door." I watched the seated man's face carefully. His expression never changed, staying completely unreadable.

"I saw that much," he agreed, casually taking a sip from his cup. "But how'd you get past the security without setting off an alarm?"

"Very carefully." It would've been too much trouble to describe to him how I'd hacked into their security system and disabled it.

He snorted.

"Who are you?" The man with a knife to my throat asked, drawing my attention back to him.

I turned and grinned at him. "A friend."

"And why should we believe that?" The seated man was talking again.

I took a deep breath, hesitating a moment to gather my courage, before pulling my blades away from the man in front of me. The tip of my knife pressed against his chest very well could've been the only thing saving me. It was hard to say if he'd go ahead and slit my throat as soon as my blade left his chest. Hard to say if some of the men with guns would shooting me the instant I stepped away from their friend.

I took a step backward slowly, waiting to see if the man in front of me was going to lunge at me, before sliding my big knife back into the sheath on my back and turning toward the group of men behind me. "I wouldn't risk being here if I wasn't."

"Friends tend to announce themselves before they come barging into your home," the man with knives said pointedly. I glanced at him, and saw that he was tucking his bigger knife into a sheath tucked into the back of his belt as he spoke.

"I didn't figure knocking would be a very unique way announce myself," I strode toward the table, sliding my smaller knife into an empty sheath I had on my belt. My wrist holster was always a pain to load, once I'd taken the knife out, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of men like this by struggling with a stupid sheath, after I'd just made such an impressive entrance. "And I wanted to get to your attention."

"Well, you've got it," the seated man said.

I glanced at the rest of the men. They were still pointing guns at me. I slowly gestured at them, being careful to be obvious that my hands were empty. "Is all this really necessary?"

"You wanted our attention," the man with the knives said gruffly, walking past me. "Deal with it."

I strode down the few steps that separated the levels of the floor, still walking toward the table. "Fine, then. Just hear me out before you start shooting is all I ask."

"We are," a big, black man with an AR-15 pointed at me growled.

"Can I sit?"

"No," the man with knives said, even as the already seated man gestured at the chair opposite him. I sat down with exaggerated elegance, giving the man with knives a snippy look, before looking back at the man sitting in front of me.

"So, what's your name... Friend?"

"Alina," I supplied my actual name, figuring they'd see through anything less than the truth. Besides, I had no reason to lie to these men about who I was. I really didn't mean them any harm; I just wanted to see if they could help me. "I take it you're in charge around here?"

"You could say that," he said, still looking at me suspiciously, before asking mockingly. "What do you want, Ali, dearest?"

"The talk around town is that you're here to kill Rufe Beltran... that right?"

"What's it to you?" The man with knives asked, glaring at me.

"I can help," I stated simply. "I know his habits, know his weaknesses."

There was a long moment's silence. I forced myself not to look away, as the seated man's hard green eyes drilled into me, making the silence seem like it stretched out for an eternity.

"I don't like it." The man with knives said, shaking his head, breaking the tense silence.

"Yeah..." The man sitting in front of me agreed slowly, never taking his eyes off me. "Why should we trust you, Princess? This smells like a trap."

"It's not a trap." I lifted a shoulder. "But I guess you're not really going to believe anything I say. I don't know what proof I can give you that I want that bastard dead, can't get the job done myself, and just want to help the gentlemen that I think can do it."

"Hm..."

I was silent a long moment, trying to think how I could establish a bit of trust with the men. "Look, I wouldn't be here if I weren't telling the truth. Rufe has a way of finding information out. If I didn't believe you'd have him dead in a few days, I wouldn't take the risk of him finding out I came to you. He'd kill me for sure."

"If you're lying to us, you're still dead." Knife-boy was talking again.

I grinned at him mischievously. "I'd expect nothing less."

"She's a crazy bitch," knife-boy muttered, disgustedly shaking his head.

"So why are you here?"

"I already told you, I want to help you get in. He's got a lot of men working for him, and the few people who have tried in the past to kill him have gotten killed barely inside the gates of his driveway."

"We're not exactly your average drunken anarchists," knife-boy snarked. "I think we've got it covered."

"Whatever," I shrugged again, looking back at the man seated in front of me. "You can guess at where he's going to be, when, and with how many guards-- or I can tell you his schedules, give you an estimate of the force you're up against, help you set up decoys, maybe even get you a card to get you past security, depending on how nice you are to me." I looked back at knife-boy with my final statement, giving him another snippy look.

"And who are you to know all that?" The seated man asked.

I hesitated. That was one part of this plan that I never could figure out a way to explain, when I was going over exactly what I would do to get into these men's stronghold and what I would say once I was inside. "That part's not my fault."

The men standing around me all shifted, tension growing in the room once more.

"Mhm," the seated man said slowly. "What's your full name, Sweetheart?"

"Now just hear me out," I was already backpedaling. He was on to my secret, it seemed. "You know he controls everything around here, including people."

"Your name?" Knife-boy insisted.

"Alina Beltran," I lifted my hands in front of my chest, anticipating, correctly, that the guns would instantly snap back in the air to point at my head. "But I--"

"I knew this was a fucking trap," knife-boy snarled, crossing the distance between us in a few steps and putting a knife to my throat. I didn't even try to defend myself. "Farley? Let me finish this bitch now."

"Go ahead," I tilted my head slightly to the side, exposing more of my neck. I did my best not to let my breathing get shaky, even as I felt my heart beating harder against my rib cage. "I don't care if you do."

"Hold on," the seated man, Farley, said, lifting a hand. I bit my lip, relieved that he was stopping my invitation-- hoping that he'd decide not to let knife-boy kill me at all.

"You can't honestly be considering listening to her story."

"I'll give her a minute," Farley looked down at his watch, before looking into my eyes. "You'd best get to talking, Sweetheart."

"What do you want to know?" I didn't waste any of that precious time he was granting me. Regardless of the act I put on for these men, I didn't have any desire to die. "I don't love my asshole husband-- never have and never will. He manipulated the local officials and made them legalize our marriage, regardless of the fact that I wasn't willing."

"Keep talking," Farley ordered gruffly. I hesitated, not wanting to bring the fact that I had a family to look after to their attention. Trying to protect my family is what got me in this mess to begin with. Farley looked at his watch. "Thirty-eight seconds."

It didn't seem like I had much choice.

"Rufe said he'd kill my family if I didn't marry him; and says that if I try to do anything to hurt him, he'll kill them anyway. I just want my family to be safe."

"Aw, so sweet," knife-boy said sarcastically.

"Your family? Kids?" Farley questioned.

"Parents and little siblings," I supplied, swallowing hard, making my Adam's apple bob against the blade pressed against my neck. The clock seemed to be ticking faster than usual, counting down the moments until I'd most likely die. "I swear to you that I don't give a shit about what happens to anyone but them."

"What a coincidence," knife-boy said gruffly. "We don't really give a shit about what happens to you."

"That's fine with me," I was struggling to keep my breathing even, as I looked at Farley earnestly. "Get my family out of danger-- put them in a safe house somewhere-- and I'll prove myself. Give me a gun and I'll go after Dufus myself."

Knife-boy snorted. Farley was looking at me with a strange expression. "You would, huh? Think you stand any chance of survival against all those men working for him? I thought most people died just inside the gates."

"Most people don't share his bed," I countered. "I've got a pretty good position on him."

"Then why haven't you taken advantage of it before?" Knife-boy demanded.

"I told you-- I fail, he kills my family, then me. I succeed, his goons kill me, then my family. It's kind of a lose-lose situation for me."

"And us killing him would be a better option?" Knife-boy asked.

"In theory, yeah," I answered, a beadlet of sweat finally growing large enough it rolled down my face. I swallowed hard again, my eyes flicking from Farley to the men with guns, then back. "I'm hoping so, anyway."

"Then why are you acting so nervous?" knife-boy questioned.

"You've got your blade pressed against my throat," I panted, trying to stay calm. "And I don't know when that minute's going to end."

"It ended twelve seconds ago," Farley finally spoke again. I let out a slow breath, looking at him cautiously, not stupid enough to believe that I was safe just because I'd managed to survive a quarter minute longer than he seemed to plan on me living. His hard green eyes were boring into me. "Let her go."

"You can't be--"

"I said," Farley repeated in a warning tone. "Let her go."

Knife-boy sighed, muttering under his breath, but pulled his blade away from my throat. He kept standing over me, close enough to slit my throat in a matter of seconds if Farley were to change his mind. I didn't mind. I swallowed hard yet again, rubbing my throat despite my pride trying to make me fold my hands in my lap.

"It's a trap," knife-boy insisted.

"Maybe," Farley agreed. "But if it's not, then I want the help she's offering."

"And if it is?"

"Then you get to deal with her however you wish," Farley looked from knife-boy, back to me. "You hear that? If you're double crossing us, I'll let him kill you however slowly he wants to."

I nearly shuddered at the thought of how knife-boy would choose to kill me. I knew of dozens of cuts that could be made on a body, avoiding arteries, that would keep your victim alive for quite a while, suffering-- I figured he knew even more than I did. "I'm not."

"Good," Farley crossed his arms. "Then come back tomorrow with those things you offered."

"I can give it to you now--"

"No," he interrupted. "You're coming back tomorrow."

I hesitated. I didn't know if I'd have an opportunity to slip away from my dear husband tomorrow. Some nights, like tonight, he left me alone to do as I pleased; most nights he planned out exactly what he wanted me to do for or to him. "I don't know if I can--"

"If you really want him dead as much as you say you do, you'll find a way to get here," Farley answered with a shrug. "If you don't show up, we'll just have to assume you're not telling us the truth."

"I'm telling the truth," I insisted, some of my courage coming back. I roughly wiped the sweat from my brow, glancing around at the team of contractors, before looking back at Farley. "I'll be here."

"Good."

I stood up slowly, my legs stiff and weak, still slightly unnerved as I turned back toward knife-boy. He was glaring at me, the large knife still in his hand. I squared my shoulders and started up the few steps, decidedly refusing to look back. I walked toward the door. Just as my fingertips brushed the cold doorknob, knife-boy spoke again. "Girl."

I turned. He snapped a picture of me on his cell phone, making even that simple gesture seem menacing. I knew why he wanted a picture. He needed a way to identify me if I didn't come back and he needed to hunt me down. He pulled his phone down to his side before passively threatening me. "See you soon."

I mockingly blew him a kiss, then walked out into the dark night outside.