Revenge Taste Like Him

CHAPTER THREE: Spider

KYLA’S POV

“Hey, little girl. You’re on the wrong street. Keep moving before you see something you can’t unsee.” That was the first thing someone said to me on Denton Street?

I had been roaming the streets of Manchester for three days. Three days of trying to blend in, scavenging for food without feeling embarrassed, and sensing the vibe of a street before committing to it. I survived on leftovers, making do with whatever I could find.

Hunger was a real issue, but hey, where there’s a will, there’s a way. I scoped out bakeries, market stalls, and restaurant back doors before the day started. Leftover food was all over the place if you knew where to look.

As I turned the corner onto Denton Street before daybreak, I could feel the energy shift. Six guys in an alley to my left, doing some shady deal. Bags were moving, money was changing hands, and one dude was sniffing some white powder, which was way out of my league.

But I wasn’t interested in their business. I was more intrigued by two unmarked cars parked nearby with their engines off and lights out. The guys inside were trying to act nonchalant. The passenger in the first car kept checking his watch. That was my cue. Those were cops, waiting to pounce. And these dudes in the alley? They had maybe a minute and a half before chaos broke loose.

The guy at the center seemed to be the boss. He was in his early thirties, lean and calm, with a vibe that made everyone around him fall in line.

So, what did I do? I strolled right into the alley.

The big dude blocked my path, a real behemoth.

“Hey. I said, Keep moving. You deaf or what?” he growled.

My heart raced, but I ignored him and locked eyes with the boss man.

“There are two unmarked police cars on Denton Street,” I said cool as a cucumber. “Undercover cops too. They’ve been there for almost forty minutes. You’ve got maybe ninety seconds before they swoop in.”

For a moment, everyone just stared at me like I was some kind of weirdo.

Then the boss burst out laughing.

“Haha, this is gold,” he chuckled, looking at his crew. “Little girl is playing detective now.”

The others joined in, but I stood my ground.

He turned to me, grinning. “How old are you? Twelve?”

“Old enough to count police cars,” I shot back, surprising even myself with sass.

The laughter got louder, but I wasn’t fazed.

He shooed me away, acting all annoyed. “Go home, sweetheart. Go do your homework or something. Leave the street stuff to us grown-ups.”

Fine, I thought, suppressing a grin. Who did these jerks think they are? I walked away slowly.

One step.

Two.

Three—

“POLICE! EVERYBODY FREEZE!”

All hell broke loose.

Lights blinded us. Men yelled. Gunshots rang out.

Those tough guys? They scattered like scaredy-cats, running for their lives.

For a split second, I froze, trying to plan an escape.

Two of Spider’s guys got hit.

And the big dude who had blocked my way moments ago? He lay on the ground, motionless.

He went from tough guy to just another casualty.

That’s when it hit me.

Bullets don’t care how tough you act. And that was my cue to get out of there if I wanted to stay alive.

I bolted, not looking back.

And you know what? Running was probably the smartest move I made that night.

********

It sounds like you stumbled upon quite an intense and mysterious situation! I found him a few streets away, chilling by an old motorcycle with a lighter in hand, flicking it on and off. The flame kept lighting up his face. “Darn it,” he muttered. “Not again.” He seemed worn out. “Lost the deal. Lost two boys too.” As I approached, he tensed up but then relaxed a bit when he saw me. “You again,” he said. “Two of your guys got shot.” “I know.” “You should’ve listened to me,” I told him. He gave me a once-over. “Are you some kind of fortune-teller? You’re just a kid.” He noticed my wounded arm, but I hid it. “Got a place to crash tonight?” he asked. “Nope.” He stared at me for a moment, as if realizing how absurd the situation was. Then he sighed, got off the bike, and started it up. “Hop on.” And somehow, I did. And that’s how it all began. Cold Manchester air. Almost sunrise. Me riding on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle with no reason to trust him. I’m already exhausted and in need of support. Whether he’s a devil or a saint, I don’t really care at this point. The city whizzed by as the wind hit my face hard, making my eyes water. I just held on tight as we vanished into the dark.

Spider spotted police cars ahead and swiftly turned into a narrow side street. “Hang on,” he snapped. I gripped his jacket as the bike zoomed forward. For the next hour, we navigated through parts of Manchester I didn’t even know existed. Desolate industrial roads. Shadowy alleys. Deserted parking lots. Every time I thought we were heading home, Spider changed course. “What’s the plan?” I finally asked. “Making sure nobody’s tailing us,” he replied before falling silent. We spent the night under an old railway bridge on the city’s outskirts. Cold concrete. Rusty metal. A place where no one paid attention. Spider dozed off against a wall. I couldn’t sleep. The pain from my encounter with Mr. Henley worsened, making it unbearable. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw the alley, the gunshots, the bodies hitting the ground. Around four in the morning, feeling dizzy, Spider got up, stretched, and nudged my shoe. “Come on, wake up, kiddo.” “Where are we headed?” I asked, yawning, utterly worn out. “Home.” By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, we were ascending the stairs above a chicken shop on Brixton Road.