Durability (The LockDown Series Book 3) (19 page)

“You better kid, because I’ve had enough of your ungrateful behaviour. In a few years you will be joining me at work, learning what I do and you will enjoy doing it. There is no other option in this Leighton, you will become me whether you like it or not.” There is no way I will ever treat my children the way he does me.

“Yes dad.” I answer robotically, like it is programmed in me to answer that way, to agree with what he tells me.

“We’re here.” He slams to a stop, his tyres slipping on the mushy, waterlogged leaves in the country. It is beautiful today but we have had horrible rain for the past two weeks so it is like a bog.

I open the door to my dad’s car and shift and wiggle myself from the seat. “Here, now!” he commands me from the boot where he stands. I close the car door and run around to where he is. “This is what you will learn to use Leighton. By the end of today I want you to be able to load and shoot the fucking thing or so help me god. So you better try hard.” He picks up a small gun from a lockable foam lined case and shoves it into my hands.

My eyes bulge in my head at the metal thing. It is heavy, almost weighing my tiny hands down. “It’s heavy dad, how am I supposed to use it?” I duck as his hand clips the side of my head.

“You try, try very bloody hard Leighton. I was shooting at your age, so will you. You think your granddad let me go out without a gun on me? There are dangerous people out there kid and you need to stay protected.” In my head I don’t believe that is the reason at all, he never cared about my welfare and safety, the man beat me on a weekly basis, so he doesn’t give a damn whether I am ok or not. I want to know what the real reason is, what his job is, the one that I am supposedly doing when I am older. I love the way my life has been planned out for me.

Not.

“Come.” He pulls me along behind him, the gun struggling to stay in my hold, the grip thick enough to need both my hands to hold it still. “Don’t drop that, it’s loaded,” he warns me and my heart speeds up like I have been running track at school for the last two hours.

He pushes the doors to an old barn in the middle of a field. The dust hits me and makes me choke. “Now, lift the gun up and look down the barrel. You’ll see the little stick at the end; you want that to make a lollipop with the target. Aim for the target on the wall over there,” he tells me helping me lift the gun up. “This is a glock son, so the safety is this trigger here; you push your hand against it as you pull the trigger. There will be a kick so prepare yourself for it.” I don’t want to do this. It is scaring me, the thought of even holding the deadly weapon. I am supposed to be playing football not shooting things.

“I’m scared, I don’t want to do it dad,” I tell him as my hands begin to shake and sweat.

“What did I say about your ungratefulness Leighton? You will do as you’re told, you will aim that gun and pull the fucking trigger or there will be hell to pay.” The look in his eyes is unlike anything I’ve ever seen and it makes me shiver with fright. I know I have to do this right now or my arse won’t have a reprieve because of it.

I lift it like he has explained, aiming so the stick makes the lollipop, my arms are aching from the weight. I take a deep breath and pull the trigger.

“That’s it son, well done,” my dad encourages me.

This is the first time it is to happen, I have been trained and taught what to do. It is simple in my head; step by step has been planned by me. It is my first job and my dad has been pressuring me for the past week to make sure I am ready.

Age ten, I learnt to shoot, and now five years later I am taking my first human life.

Fuck! This is so messed up it isn’t even funny.

“A little tighter, you want him to feel it,” he tells me as I wrap the rope around the guy's limp torso. I pull harder on the ropes, the roughness cutting into my hands. “For fuck sake Leighton, tighter! A girl could get out of that.” My dad scolds me. I think he must have forgotten I am only fifteen years old. Sure, I’ve been forced to work out, building muscle and stamina, but I am in no way comparable to an adult man.

I put my foot on the back of the chair and heave the rope until it bites into the guy and he wheezes a little, struggling to draw breath. “Better, now secure it.” I tie it securely and let the remaining rope go.

“Now, over to you son. Make me proud.” It is sick, I had found out my dad’s job, the job he wanted me to have. He kills people for a living, not a nice quick-shot-to-the-head dead, no my father is sadistic, always drawing out their deaths, playing and toying and tormenting them till they wished someone would end their lives. I am being forced into this, I have no other option. As I have gotten older, I have explained to my dad, over and over, that I didn’t want to play any part in this fucked up business, but that is the point in time when his gun hits my temple and his finger lays on the trigger, ready to kill his own son.

I walk in front of the guy, bending down. At fifteen I am already nearing six foot and I am a little built from the weight lifting my dad insisted on. “So, here’s the deal mate. You’re obviously here for a reason so let’s get this over and done with okay, because I have a girl at home waiting for me and I don’t really wanna keep her waiting to be honest.” I slap his cheek lightly. I have to pretend to enjoy this or there will be hell to pay with my dad.

The only thing I have to look forward to in my life now, is Josie, who at this precise moment is in her house, waiting anxiously for me to come home. God she is perfect, and a year older so she has developed to an angelic standard. I had lost my virginity all of two weeks ago, and as of now, have fucked her a grand total of 53 times. Yes, I am counting because it is the only good thing in my life right now.

I am going to try my hardest to get through this, get myself home and wash away today’s filth and then go to her house and stay there, away from my father and away from that house.

“You can’t handle Josie son, she’s far too womanly for your scrawny self,” my father tells me. Thanks for the confidence dad.

“Wasn’t what she was screaming yesterday when she cum around my dick dad, so fuck off yeah,” I tell him. My balls are growing with my age and I am standing up to my dad more and more. I am now six foot, he’s only six two. There isn’t much height between us and I am far more muscular, agile and quick, than he is.

“Don’t be a brat.” My dad clips me round the ear and it pisses me off that he still treats me like a kid.

“So anyways, I’m in a rush so how about you tell us why you think you’re here.” I stand straight and pump my chest out a bit.

“Fuck you.” He spits at me. I’d probably do the same if I was in his position, being hunted and slaughtered like an animal.

I take my flip knife out of my pocket and bend down to his height again. I flip it open with as much noise possible. “Well, you see, that wasn’t the answer I required, and it just delayed me a little, so how about we give you an incentive to play nice. Either you answer my questions when I ask them, or I’ll cut your fingers off one by one and shove them down your throat. So, let me ask again, why do you think you’re here?” I am turning a little sadistic myself and I damn my father to hell for slowly turning me into him.

“Because you brought me here.” He answers sarcastically and I lower myself again, placing my knife to his bound hands.

“Eenie, meenie, minie, mo,” I say as I point to one finger after another. “This one will do,” I say malevolently, lifting it from the position it is in and placing my knife to the knuckle joining it to his hand. I fight the urge to throw up because I am stronger than that, I need to be stronger. I dig the knife in prepared to, if I have to, take his finger off.

“Okay. Stop,” he shouts and I laugh at how easy he cracks.

“So, last chance before I just remove your hands completely. Why are you here shit face?”

“Be, be, be, because I killed someone.” I can see his eyes welling up and it makes me feel a little sorry for the guy, until I hear the cough of my father behind me and I decide his fate is much preferred than my own if I refuse to carry through this job.

“That’s right, well done, now, you know it’s bad to kill people don’t you, so who did you kill?” I am talking to him like he is a child; I know how much it pisses people off.

“My uncle,” he replies, his eyes at the floor.

“LOOK AT ME!” I shout at him and his head shoots up. His eyes are glassy with his petrified tears. “Good boy. Now, why did we do that?” I ask him.

“Because he pissed me off,” he answers and I laugh in his face.

“Because he pissed you off? Right, well, someone needs to learn to control their temper don’t they.” I slap his cheek again.

“Dad, what do you want me to do to this little prick?” I turn my head and look to him.

“You not taken in anything I’ve taught you Leighton?” I nod and take a deep breath as I prepare to kill him. I am beginning to get nervous now, my courage and guts withering a little.

He looks sad and scared as he looks at me with his dead eyes. I am about to take someone’s life, about to stop somebody from living.

Oh god!

“Gun son.” He orders me from behind and I slip it out from my belt.

“Goodbye,” I tell the guy and I push the muzzle to his skull.
Sorry,
I mouth and pull the trigger.

BANG!

“You seriously need to pull your shit together Leighton,” Marcus snaps at me as he spars with me, letting me vent some of the hatred that is manifesting inside of me. It has been two weeks since I left that hospital, every night my head replaying those horrid memories of how I became this tortured, violent psychopath.

I haven’t contacted anyone, not even my best friends know of my whereabouts. It isn’t fair to subject any of them to this, none of them have seen me this bad and I have no inclination to let them see me now. I am their leader, their strength; the last thing I want is for them to see me lose control and outright kill
some poor bastard.

No, it isn’t happening. I am not returning to my home without complete control over myself and the dire need inside of me.

I haven’t even begun to chip away at the shell that encases the beast, let alone face it head on. I am afraid of what will happen when the steely resolve crumbles to the floor and leaves me beneath the rubble, whilst every person I love and care for try their hardest to pull me from under.

“Calm yourself kid, think. Control, precision, you will fall on your arse if you let this beat you, I can assure you of that little fact.” The fucker has been pissing me off all week with his words of wisdom. How the fuck does he know what I’m going through? Sure he thinks like me, as does every other psychotic prick on this shitty earth, but it isn’t like he does anything about the crap he is living with.

“Yeah, because you're so in control of your own fucking life Marcus, how about take a leaf from your own fucking book and sort your own shit out before you start criticising every move I fucking well make.” Wrong move Leigh, wrong fucking move.

“Think you’re tough mate; think you’ve been through half of what I have? You would crumble, you would fucking break into a thousand tiny pieces if you had endured even an ounce of what I have. So you ask, why I don’t take a leaf from my own book. I’ll tell you why, because of Him, because of that old fucking cunt who controls every aspect of my shitty existence. You think it’s easy to just walk away? I’m not like you Leighton, I can’t just run away every time something happens that isn’t under my control. You need to face your problems Leighton, all this anger, hurt and self-hatred, it will keep building, manifesting inside of you and drowning you, to an extent you won’t be able to wake in the morning without the scent of blood around you. You really want that? You want to be waking up next to your wife, son and baby and the first thing you crave, instead of her warm tight cunt, is the warmth and scent of blood.
You live and breathe it, it controls everything you are and you would do anything to just taste a few drops of the adrenaline and the erection it fucking gives you.” He starts pushing me, his hands firmly on my chest. “You fucking want that do you? You want to lose everything you fucking have? Because if that’s what you want Leighton Fucking Lock, then go, go kill people, go ruin everyone’s fucking life like you’re doing your own because right here and now I couldn’t care for your pussy-hole bullshit any longer, I have my own crap to deal with.” He breathes out harsh, his face mere centimetres from my own. His darkened eyes glare at me, making me cower. I think of everything he has said, about waking and not even caring for my wife, that is not what I want. I need to be there for her, Joseph and for Melissa at the very least.