Changeling Pt.1 - Teil 5

"Wait!" he cried with upheld hands.

"What for? You're a done deal, mate." Mohawk rasped, his mouth twitching with some private joke, while he armed the gun, taking his time. It was a Beretta, a big, powerful handgun with a chromed muzzle, and it didn't look new or fake. For a second Kelaste had to fight against the urge to throw up as his stomach clenched into a tight ball, fighting to get back his voice.

"Don't shoot damn it! I've got money, if that's what you want!" he sniveled while gasping for breath, still holding up his hands as if he could summon a bulletproof wall. The sudden fear for his life made his concience laugh silently, but at the same time it felt intoxicating to drown in this panic. Was it like this when you loved your life?

Too tense to even shiver he watched the thoughts work behind Mohawk's eyes, face empty and composed even though he too was aware of the fact that someone would be dying soon. His facial expression made Kelaste's cock twitch. What would this man do to him if he brought him into his home? Would he even consider the money instead of the kill? Surely he'd been paid to come here and get him six feet under. Noone would kill a boy just because he'd been rude, now, would they?

"What kinda money?" Mohawk drawled after an eternity, gun never wavering. His steel-blue eyes pierced into Kelaste's eyes, gaze intense.

A short pause as his cock tried to pierce through the leather of his trousers, then Kelaste estimated the content of his safe, and purred with a hopeful lilt in his voice: "Threethousand dollars."

This time he could see something in the eyes of his captor, a short flicker of interest, some small piece of human greed going online in his head. A leverage he could identify, and Kelaste jumped right for it.

"I don't got more money, but you could have my TV.. it's a flatscreen, 36 inches? And maybe, maybe some other stuff? I really don't wanna die here." he whimpered, words tumbling hastily from his lips. And security cameras, a team of roughnecks to kick you right back where you belong, and a panic room... All just a penthouse away. his concience purred, while he blinked rapidly at the black maw of the Beretta.

Again he could see Mohawk think, estimate the value against the problems, and then he put up the gun, and made three steps into the cubicle to grab for Kelaste. His hand wrought around Kelaste's elbow to pull him onto his feet. "You come with me, scrap." he rasped, smiling broadly, as he spun him around and pushed him out of the cubicle without letting go of his arm. A second later Kelaste could feel Mohawks hand wandering beneath his jacket, then the muzzle of the Beretta pressed against his kidney.

"Move it, scrap. Time's wasting."