Not as if I had ever murdered someone before, mind you.
For a moment I thought he was going to yell at me in front of the entire restaurant. I even feared that he would throw his cup at me. Glass was a pain to get out of my skin and hair. After what felt like an eternity, he released a breath while simultaneously releasing the cup. I felt like I could breathe again.
"We will discuss this tonight," he said stoutly, turning back towards his meal. His eyes promised pain. Lots and lots of pain. Buttlicker, beside me, grinned like the deviant I knew him to be.
"If you don't mind me asking, Sir, but I would be more than willing help you administer punishment."
My fork clattered against my plate, and my mouth dropped open.
God no. Please no. Not again. No. No. No.
"I believe we could come to an agreement," D.O.D. said with a tiny smile. "If you, of course, agree to my original proposition."
Once again, the conversation turned back towards buildings and real-estate and all that other fun stuff. I, however, felt as if I couldn't breathe. My body felt cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice over my head. It was a numb type of cold. Painful, almost, but dulling as the seconds dragged on.
I noticed that Asher hadn't moved from where he stood behind me, food covering his white shirt. Nobody paid him any mind as the conversation veered towards contracts - not even my mother was staring at him any longer - but I could feel his eyes caressing my back. I tried my hardest to ignore him, tried my hardest to face forward, but the urge to turn around was almost unbearable. Finally, I couldn't resist any longer.
His eyes were anguished when they met mine. His thick, ebony lashes feathered against his cheekbones. Just as suddenly, the expression was swept away by a tidal wave of anger. His gaze turned towards my father, who seemed utterly oblivious to the penetrating gaze searing his skin.
I recognized that look. It was the same look I have both given and received. That look promised pain and revenge.
It was also a look that made me, almost innately, hopeful.
FIRST CHAPTER OF GANGS AND GHOSTS!
The house was...nice.
Not the most eloquent description, but there were no other words I could think to use. An immense structure with protruding rocks created the entryway, and the flower garden had row after row of carefully planted perennials. I personally believed the house was trying too hard. The grass was green, manicured to perfection, and glinting with morning dew. A white-picket fence separated the building from its neighbors.
I glanced up at the house in dismay - and then glanced down the road at the dozens of other identical houses. Did the builders not believe in individuality?
One hand carrying a cardboard box and the other a garbage bag, I walked up the surprisingly steep staircase.
“What do you think?” Dad asked eagerly, fumbling to put the key into the lock. I chose, rather wisely, not to answer him. He was proud of this place but, despite its monotonous beauty, it was no home.
Only one year, I told myself. One more year until I could go back.
To Dad, I said, “Which room is mine?” I plastered a singularly beautiful smile onto my face to further emphasize my point. Colt told me it was a smile that could make even angels fall. And then he proceeded to call me one of those fallen angels, so I couldn’t really take it as a compliment.
“I call the biggest room.” Karissa pranced by me, hands empty of any belongings. Knowing her, she expected us to carry all of her stuff inside. She probably even expected us to set up and decorate her room.
Twelve-years-old and already a little diva.
“You don’t get the biggest room.” I rolled my eyes at her entitlement. I had always told my parents that they were too lenient with the little she-devil, too wishy-washy. She said jump, and they responded with how high. A petty version of myself might've been jealous of the way that they treated her, but I had long since accepted that her cuteness was impossible to defy.
“I call the basement,” Colt called. He slung his duffle bag further up his shoulder while his free hand gripped his familiar black guitar case.
“You don’t get the entire basement,” I snorted. In response, Colt merely flicked my ear.
“I need the space,” he answered firmly.
“What you need is to get your own place and stop mooching off of Dads.”
“Fuck off.”
“Language!” The final member of our family, and the name that the strident voice belonged to, was Papa. A domineering figure with broad shoulders and a rugged beard, Papa was an imposing man. Only his family knew that the giant beast was actually a big teddy bear.
“I can’t get the damn key to work,” Dad grumbled, hand turning the knob ineffectually. Papa took the key from his husband’s hand and gently placed it into the lock. The door swung open instantly.
“Show off,” Dad grumbled, but Papa simply grinned.
Choosing not to listen to the rest of their banter, I took off with a blistering speed towards where I assumed the living room was supposed to be. From Dad’s explanation, there was a large hallway that branched off from this area with a cute room at the end of it. According to Dad, it had a secret door inside of the closet that led to another, smaller room. Apparently, the old owners had been paranoid of a break-in or something of the sort. Why else would they create a hiding place?
I heard the patter of footsteps as
