"The fuck YOU looking at?" You recoil at the sound of the voice at your ear, cringing when you recognize the face behind it.
James "J-Dawg" Williams was a man that you didn't want to be your enemy. With a height of 6'3, a chiseled figure and an attitude as rotten as they came, it was no surprise that he intimidated his way to the top of the school's food chain of thugs. With his crew at his side, those who dared to speak against him were quickly beaten to a pulp- you had decided it'd be a while yet before his circle would graduate to killing.
Because of that, you knew it would be worth it to get a hand on some of his dirty secrets. It took a tangled web of little white lies and one too many risks for your liking, but it was worth it to show the whole school how "gangsta" J-Dawg really was. The day you used the school TV network to play the video of little grade school James breezing through the state spelling bee, awkwardly adjusting his glasses as he spoke in clear, proper english was one of the sweetest in your life.
It was also one that James never forgot. Afterall, there is no better way to make enemies with a gangbanger than to destroy his street cred.
"James..." you begin, knowing how much he hates being called by his proper name. "I knew you and your homies were gay, but kidnapping?"
"What the fuck are you talking about!?" The black man spat, the indignance oozing from his voice. "This is your fault!!" The details of the world around you become clear enough to make sense of. James is beside you, tied to an old wooden chair, rope cutting across the torso of his name brand jacket and tape keeping his hands on the arm rests and basketball shoes on the ground. You start to think of the opportunities this gives you, until you look down and see yourself in the same state of immobility.
"Ey why don't both of you shut up!" A third voice yelled. Miguel Santos was at your left, struggling to free himself from his chair and mumbling in Spanish expletives the whole time. The shades on his face did little to hide the anguish in his eyes, his lips and goatee contorted into a sneer.
He was a gearhead, spending as much time under the hood of a car as he did at the local dance club. He was always seen chasing anything with boobs and a decent enough face, which would've normally gotten him into much more trouble than he wanted had his brother not been in a Latino gang. He considered himself untouchable, not because he himself was dangerous, but because nobody wanted to reap the whirlwind of his connections.
Needless to say, he didn't take too kindly to you keying his favorite, custom built car while he was at one of those clubs. You've been dodging him, and anybody who knows him, since.
"I'll do what I want! you ain't my daddy!" James said.
"Like you know who your dad is," Miguel answered.
"Why don't both of you shut up!" You declare. You can immediately feel the glare of both men piercing holes though your head. "If I didn't do this, and you two didn't do this, who the hell did!?"
A silence fell upon the room, the answer escaping you as well as your new buddies. The calm is broken at the sound of a turning doorknob at the end of the room, giving way to the creaking of the door as it swung open. You wait wordlessly, watching as somebody sets a foot into the room.