The Criminals son

8

This took way too long. So sorry. I'm going to try to post more frequently. Stay healthy everyone!!!!

The next time I awoke I was alone. But this time I was not in the cold, dreary place I had called a room the past few days. This room was different.

Sunlight filtered through the windows, as I found myself surrounded by a mattress of feathers. Decorations of diamond and gold littered the walls. A mirror surrounded by diamonds, a wooden bureau with elegant carvings, and golden lamps sat on the draw.
The room was beautiful.
A toilet flushed and the door across from me burst open, revealing none other then my father. He held a towel, wich he tossed away as he went to his draw, giving me only a quick glance as he passed.

He was dressed in a tight fitting, black T-shirt, that showed off his muscles. They were bulging, almost as if fighting for space. He also wore grey sweat pants.

He grabbed a blue t-shirt and sweat pants form his draw. Tossing them on the bed he went back into the bathroom.

My muscles ached, screaming at me. After changing, where I avoided looking at my mangled body, I stood in the room, debating my escape or not. If I opened that door I wouldn't know where to go.

In the end, my decision was made for me.

¨You going somewhere?¨

I flinched as a hand came down on my shoulder. Would this be the loving father who had comforted me during my panic attack? Or the hateful one who had beaten me?

"No sir." A pathetic voice sounded throughout the room. No way was that weak and wobbling voice mine.

"You must be hungry, my boy. Come. Let's eat." And with a hand on my shoulder, he led me out of the room. I sighed in relief, looks like he's in a good mood today. Hopefully.

I was led through the maze of hallways to what finally revealed a kitchen. My father guided me to a chair, which I was promptly pushed into as he sat across from me.

The room was grand. A diamond chandelier hung from the ceiling. The silverware and plates were lined with gold and golden candles decorated the tables. Vases of flowers perched on the tables in beautiful combinations of lavenders and lilies. But the most beautiful thing of all was the open windows. They led to a magnificent hallway, that if I strained hard enough, revealed a door, peaking around the corner.

I quickly avoided looking at the door or windows. If he saw me looking I would surely earn myself another beating.

A chair scraped across the floor besides me, at the same time as the imposing figure sat down next to me. It was John.

He gave a small nod, before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. My cheeks flushed, my mouth dropping in horror. I was now surrounded by my captors, the ones who had beat me only a few days ago.

And they were acting as if nothing had happened.

After only a few minutes of silence, the only sound being my sweat as it dropped from my forehead, another group arrived. They were the ones who had been with my father before.

The woman sat to my left, with the other men surrounding my father. At least I could thank them for something other than the suffocating silence. They laughed and talked, but I couldn't focus on what they were saying. I knew I should be listening, this could be important!

But every bone in my body kept me spaced out, seperated from these people. The ones who had taken me and were now laughing and talking like normal. I couldn't stand to watch something so normal in a situation that was anything but. My mind has simply shut down.

After a few minutes of laughing and talking the group quieted as two young men entered the room. They wore black pants and white shirts, no older then twenty, clearly new members of the gang, eager to rise the ranks but for now stuck serving breakfast.

With them the brought plates of food. Enough food to serve a country. My stomach grumbled as the sweet smell of sugar encompassed the room. My eyes widened in amazement! Any breakfast food you could think of was here. Pancakes, waffles, french toast and scrambled eggs. There were fruits of every kind and bagels of every shape and size.

My stomach growled loudly in the silence of the room as my eyes roamed greedily over the food, practically devouring it just by looks.

But one glance at my father had me sitting back as the others picked up their conversation, grabbing food and laughing as they threw fruit back and forth. His eyes pierced into mine, warning me from taking a bite.

My stomach clenched. I was starving, the food in front of me beckoned me to devour every last bite. But I desperately didn't want a repeat of before. I knew my weak body couldn't take it, but it couldn't take it as much as it needed food.

My mind was a whirl as I desperately chasited myself, trying to build up the courage to take a bite. Was I really this weak? Why couldn't I fight back? I could imagine the heavenly bite of waffles, as the sticky syrup dripped off the gooey bread, settling my raging stomach. But just as I pictured the bite of heaven I could picture the room falling silent as my father stood, face a picture of anger. I could feel John's hands on my arms as he led me from the room.

With a sigh of defeat I sat back, slumped in my chair with my arms crossed. I gave the man across from me a look that clearly said fine, you win. I knew that probably wasn't the best move what with this man's whole respect, yes sir, no sir, blah, blah, blah thing. My heart clenched in frustration. Was this really my only way of fighting back?

But the man simply smirked. He sat back laughing with his friends, letting me suffer in agony. They continued on talking and laughing for a whole minute as my face reddened and my hands clenched under folded arms.

John patted my shoulder in mock sympathy, right on my battered shoulder, but I dared not pull away as I knew he was looking for any sign of disrespect.

Finally, after minutes of agonizing torture, my father caught my gaze, making a dismissive gesture allowing me to eat, as if I could have the whole time. I finally understood.

A show of power. And it had worked.

I felt powerless and completely at his mercy. Heck he was deciding when I could eat or not.

All this rushed through my mind in a second before hunger took over. My hands grabbed greedily at the fruit, the closest thing to me. Strawberries, melons, and orange slices soon littered my plate. The others ignored me as I reached across the table for the waffles.

A big hand knocked mine out of the way, grabbing the plate before me and pulling it toward himself. John.

The man grabbed a waffle and stacked it on his already piled plate, smirking at me before offering the plate to my father. He simply glanced at me before smirking himself taking the last piece, placing it on his plate.

I stifled my anger. It was no matter. I piled my plate with pancakes before gobbling down my food. I tried to listen to the conversation, picking it apart for any information. I soon realized it was useless. The talk was all about sports. If not sports, food. Insults bounced back and forth as they argued over the best quarterback of all time.

They carefully avoided all talk relating to their work or my capture. Probably ordered.
I studied my father. He was definitely not what I expected. My heart had broken to know the man in front of me had been my only source of hope for years. Supposedly. I was yet to see any proof, I reminded myself.

But the proof was there, in the way he smiled, his broad shoulders, and sparkling eyes.

These people were clearly his friends, they joked and laughed, throwing insults in a way only family could get away with. But there was something else. A hidden unease filled the room. Glances were thrown in my direction, occasionally a glare or two. I was obviously not welcome by these people. But they were too scared of their fearless leader to say anything.

It showed in the way they glanced at him before laughing, never daring to insult him or be the one to start his rampage. This man, my father, was one to be feared.

Kinda just a filler.