After that t night, Elara finally mustered the courage to share her feelings, but I left the very next day when my mom called, urgency lacing her voice. "There's an emergency at home!" The dread coiled in my stomach as I rushed back, only to find chaos awaiting me. The crimson gang had stormed our neighbourhood once again, leaving devastation in their wake. Reports indicated they had ransacked my father's six shops, pilfering an alarming amount of jewellery and confidential documents in the process.
"We've got to do something about this!" my father roared his voice a mix of anger and hopelessness. "Every single day, more people are complaining about this gang, and no one is doing anything!" my brother chimed in, his frustration evident in his clenched fists.
But it wasn't as simple as wanting to fight back. The Crimson gang was not to be underestimated; they held both power and numbers. To confront them without a well-thought-out plan seemed like a reckless suicide mission. Jared's father, firmly opposed the fight, especially with the gang's leader at the hospital. I inhaled deeply, feeling the overwhelming weight of the situation crashing down on me.
Suddenly, a notification pinged on my phone, interrupting my spiralling thoughts. Hesitantly, I opened the message from an unknown number: "Come to the abandoned house off Mayhem Road, just you and me. No men allowed. Yours truly, James, commander of the crimson gang." My grip on the phone tightened, the edges digging into my palm as anger and fear surged through me. I excused myself and retreated to my room, wrestling with a storm of thoughts. Should I go? Was this a trap? Could James actually be trusted? Trying to quell my anxiety, I decided, "Whatever. I'll just go. It doesn't matter; nothing worse can happen."
When I arrived at the dilapidated building, an eerie silence enveloped the area. The air felt thick with tension, and there was no sign of James. I shifted my weight, impatience gnawing at me as minutes crawled by until I heard the sound of clapping echo through the darkness.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Isn't this the famous Mr. Damon Barron?" James's voice sliced through the stillness. I turned to face him, feeling a chill run down my spine; the rumours had been painfully accurate—he looked like hell itself, a shadow of the man he once was.
"Please, save the praise. I haven't done much," I replied, locking eyes with him. A daring challenge hovered in the air between us. He should be trembling, knowing the consequences of his betrayal. And then, as if summoning the shadows themselves, his men emerged from the darkness. More than twenty figures materialized, brandishing crude sticks and heavy hammers, their eyes glinting with menace.
"Seems like you're not a man of your word," I shot back, fury igniting my voice as I met his gaze. Foolish me for having placed my trust in him. I braced myself; it was going to be a long and perilous night. I could only hope I'd see the dawn.