Chapter 1: An Offer You Can't Refuse

Drew's POV

"Please don't kill me," I panted, the words barely audible through my sharp intakes of breath. I could feel every part of my body slowly shutting down. My ribs ached with growing pain every time I drew air into my chest, and my vision tinted red with blood.

This was it. I would die here. Seventeen years old. Left in the street. No trace of the killers. That would be Drew Torres.

I waited for the end, waited for just one of the three men surrounding me to pull the trigger. But there was nothing but the faint sound of the concert music far off in the distance. I concentrated on the sweet music, the drums that I loved so much. Or had loved.

"Get up," a low, menacing voice demanded.

I struggled to open my bloodshot eyes, squirming on the pavement. What had I just heard?

"Get up," it ordered once more. This time, I was sure I had heard correctly. Immediately, I responded, pushing off the ground to sit upright on the cold gravel. My whole body ached with agonizing pain as I struggled to stand on my feet, but eventually I was; dizzy and off balance, but I was standing.

"What's your name?" The tall one demanded.

"D-Drew," I stuttered.

"Drew what?"

"Drew Torres," I answered, quivering under the man's intense glare.

The men exchanged a look amongst each other, smirking bluntly as if murder was as rare as a white lie. "I'll tell you what, Drew," the man chuckled, "I'm not going to kill you."

I glanced up timidly at the man, the smell of the tobacco in his mouth wafting in the air between us. "Y-You're n-not . . .?" I stammered.

"No," he confirmed, "If . . ." My heart sank as the man turned to his partners with sick amusement, "You need to shoot someone," he decided, smirking at the horror that came over my face.

"No," I pleaded hoarsely, "No, please. I won't – I can't – I can't do that."

The man shrugged, lifting his gun up to my chest. "Oh, well," he sighed, "I just thought you could be some fun. It's too bad."

"Wait!" I protested, my voice cracking with panicked sobs.

"Yes?" He hissed slyly, cocking an eyebrow.

I glanced between his eyes and the gun still pointed at my heart. "I-I'll do it," I cried, a tear streaming down to my nose before I caught it quickly.

The man grinned. "There's the right answer," he chuckled menacingly.

He removed the bullets from the gun and thrust it into my hands. "Because, I'm such a nice person" – the man and his two partners busted into laughter – "I'll give you some time to think about who you're going to kill . . . Make sure it's someone you hate." The men cackled once again.

"We'll see you tomorrow night in the alley outside the Dot," the man directed sternly, "Make sure your victim is there – tell them whatever you need to . . . a lie isn't going to matter once their dead."

I gulped and the man smirked.

"Oh, and Drew Torres, brother of Adam Torres, who attends Degrassi Community School and lives just off Queen's Street," the man snickered as my eyes widened with terror, "Don't try to bail . . . because we'll find you," he threatened.

I nodded, dizzily, my heart dropping to my stomach as I accepted the black, polished gun. I still clutched it inside my jacket when I emerged from the dark alley way, the blood vanished from my clothing without a trace.