I've been working on this for a while. It's just a little snippet from a later chapter in a multi-chapter story. Any interest?

Disclaimer: Pointless, but alas; I own nothing but the poor protagonist.

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The bare bulb above me swung slightly, indicating someone was moving around upstairs. I knew someone was keeping a guard, making sure no one was coming for me. I let an impatient breath of air escape my lungs at that thought. No one would be coming after me, but they were careful little pricks. No, Thugs. That's all they were. Teenaged delinquents who thought they were something special because they belonged to a gang; because they followed Tim. Well, they'd be getting the surprise of their lives once I got out of here, dead or alive.

I glanced at where Curly was sitting on a crate by the door, looking away from me like he couldn't stand to see my face. He knew this was betrayal. He knew that not going through with this was also betrayal, but to Tim – his blood – and not me. Fuck, I was screwed.

"You alright, kid?" I asked, my voice gentle as sandpaper thanks to the lack of drink service around here.

"Shut up," he hissed.

"Curly," I sighed.

"I said shut up!" he yelled, moving from his perch and storming over.

He was trying to look angry, he was trying to look intimidating, but all I saw was that scared little kid, that one who was hurt and lost and upset. I felt for him, but I'd never tell him that. Not that he'd ever listen to anything I had to say again, but it was the truth, pure and simple.

"Why the hell did you do it, Danny?" Curly asked, his voice shaking with pain and anger. "How the hell could you do it?"

"It was never personal, kid. Once a King, always a King," I answered with a slight smirk at the irony of it all.

Curly clenched his jaw, looking like he was going to scream if he didn't. I watched him pull his arm back and I steeled myself for the punch I knew was coming. And when it struck, it struck with more than just physical pain. Little Curly Shepard had actually hit me. That fact was what hurt the most. But it was the least of the pain I could expect. The real pain bringer was about to walk through that door.

"Curly," Tim's voice carried smoothly from the doorway. "I thought I told you he was mine?"

I watched Curly, not Tim, as he closed the distance between the door and where I was tied to that damn chair. Curly looked like he was going to tell Tim off for a split second before stepping back, his hands still in fists. I twisted my own fists, trying to get some slack from the ropes digging into my skin. If I could get one hand free…

"Hi, Tim." I smirked up at him. "Funny meeting you here."

"You won't think so when I'm done with you," Tim commented with a smirk of his own.

I froze inside then. So this was how it was going to be. Damn it. I was really hoping it wouldn't come to all this. I looked Tim over, noting the fact he never left home without his switchblade, and that he was aching to try out that new set of brass knuckles he'd picked up last week. It wasn't going to be pretty.

"Curly, go upstairs," I ordered, looking him in the eye, silently pleading with him to just go, not to watch as his brother beat the life from me.

Curly shook his head, looking again like that scared little kid. He looked like he did the day he fell off that telephone pole and broke his arm.

"Tim," I growled "Don't let him watch this."

"Let him watch. He needs to see what happens to traitors." Tim was smirking again and this time I didn't bother to steel myself against his fist.

All I could hope for was unconsciousness to find me as quickly as possible, so I could forget it was my own brother who was beating me, and that it was my own brother who would end up dying because of it.

Should I continue? Hide in shame?

Meh.

See ya in th funny papers!

Tens