Franklin cursed for the tenth time as he swerved past a rolling gasoline barrel. It grazed the left side of his car. He placed the gun back on his lap. If he shot wrong, they would both be fried. And he didn't particularly like his life, but ending it after such a triumph with the heist of the century. And the millions of dollars heading his way. Hell, that would be dumb. But still Trevor was accelerating away from him at a dangerous speed.
He didn't care if he killed them both or not. If he stopped, he was sure Franklin wasn't going to hesitate putting a bullet through his head. The kid had his mind set. He had seen it in his eyes, right after the pulling of the gun. If he kept going and kept himself alert at every uneven spin of his wheels, he would stand some sort of chance of escape. Locate a old warehouse, buy a load of play things, and torture the crap out of the kid until he felt a little less cantankerous and forgiving. Then- And only then, would he put him out of his misery.
The truck was at its fastest. Its rev at full force, as he steered it haphazardly down an open stretch of road. He was that distracted by the hood prick behind him, he failed to notice the black Obey Tailgater surging down the right hand side of the buildings, separating the approaching intersection with Michael behind the wheel. Until the last millisecond where he heard the sound of high revving over his own engine.
The metal bumper crunched into the passenger side of the truck, scraping black onto red. The headlights shattered and crumpled, before mingling into a distorted stricken mangle. The force of the smaller ploughing vehicle and the angle it struck, was enough to cause the truck to jerk and launch into a uncontrollable spin. The bonnet crashed into one of the larger gasoline tankers, astonishingly avoiding any sparks at impact but spilling the contained fuel within, all over the vehicle and Trevor inside. The Tailgater grated to a sudden halt, as Michael slammed the brake pedal to the floor.
"Mmmrgh! Shit!" Michael muffled into the airbag, as it sprung out. He wrestled it aside, and shoved his door open, stumbling out in a daze right before Franklin's headlights. "Easy."
"Holy- Did you? Man, that was intense." Franklin breathed, stepping out of his car and rushing to aid Michael, as he looked like he was about to fall sideways onto his already trashed bonnet.
They both looked at Trevor, just as he fell ungracefully out of his truck into the pond of fuel. There was a deep cut on his forehead, that he momentarily touched with a look crossed between disgust and shock. He stared at the sticky red rubbing together between his thumb and fingers, letting his line of sight pass over to Franklin and Michael standing a little way away. Anger flared through his veins like wildfire, it would have been enough to ignite the fuel just on its own if he didn't vent it out. God, he was such a fool for trusting them. Michael was a snake. He knew that , yet he had stupidly ignored all the signs as Franklin grew closer to him.
"Mmmmggrh Michael!" Trevor spat venomously, slamming his hand back to the ground with a splash. Something, other than the fact that his whole body felt whip-lashed from the crash, kept him on the ground, rather than diving into a fist frenzy with his old friend. But right now, the idea of pummelling the shit out of his face was intoxicatingly pleasant. Treachery didn't even come close to what he had just done to him. He thought he had meant more to Michael than this. "I should of known it was you! You fake motherfuckers! This is it, huh?! Just gonna cap me!?"
"Don't fuck yourself over T with all your self pity. You had this coming a long while ago." Michael cut in.
"Gggnnrah! Fucking Judas's! The whole city. I'm surrounded by you fuckers! You wanna piece of me? Fuckin' come get me! You wanna kill me? Ar, take a fucking shot!" He yelled in defeat, swallowing the taste and smell of the gasoline.
Michael staggered uneasily, holding a hand to his own head to steady his blurred vision. He couldn't hear the gunshot and looked to his left to see Franklin hesitating unsurely. Damn. The kid looked troubled. "Take the shot, Franklin." He ordered, staring from him to Trevor. If he continued to delay, his old friend would undoubtedly turn the tables on them somehow and disembowel them for this act. "DO IT!" Oh god. He had no idea what he was doing. All of this shit had hit the fan much too fast. Did even the likes of Trevor deserve this betrayal just because some higher crackpot up the ladder demanded it to be done? And above all to pick on the kid to carry out it out. T, Trevor was his oldest friend. Despite their recent disagreements and quarrels which had spiralled out of control at most points, he couldn't ignore their.. Their bond.
It was then, he looked at Trevor properly and saw the briefest glimpse of his tattoo on his left arm. RIP Michael. Standing out more than it should of done. He could see Franklin getting uneasy under the pressure, gripping the gun tighter in his hands as he continued to aim it down at Trevor. "Goddamit Kid." Michael sighed, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and pulling out his own pistol. He swung it in the direction of Trevor.
Trevor coughed against the fumes and stared down the barrel. He should of known Michael would have been the one to end it. But still he couldn't hide the overpowering betrayal reflecting in his eyes, as the fear spiked over all his other raging emotions that had led him on this path to death. "You.."
"I'm sorry." Michael said honestly, before in one snap of movement, he switched the angle and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced through the air straight into the waiting skull of Franklin, sinking deep and fulfilling its job of handing out a quick death. Trevor flinched. Franklin fell. Michael stared...
After a few more seconds of stunned silence, he holstered the pistol and ran a hand through his hair, took a shaky breath, steadied that rising feeling of fuck-my-life-and-everything-in-it and stared back at Trevor coldly. "Get up."
To be continued..
[Please let me know what you think of chapter 2. Surprised? Yup, so is Michael. A review brightens up any author's day.]