Hello My Name Is Nothing

There is no permanent destination for me. I am a murder-without-hesitation hotwire expert. This is the story of how I finally may have found a home.


10. Ch. 7


                “Listen, I did not move to New York for two weeks to get killed. I knew I shouldn’t have come to such a big town for so long.” I muttered to him, although he heard every word I said.

                He placed the knife against my cheek, and I felt some of it cut my skin. “Oh, I see. You’re a little runaway, aren’t you?”

“Not exactly.” I snapped back at him.

“So moving from town to town, stealing cars and changing your appearance so no one knows you means you aren’t classified as being a runaway?”

“You know what, there are plenty of runaways for you to kill, but it’s not going to be me.”

“Oh, but killing a normal runaway is easy. No one cares about them or even knows their name so I can just bury the body without a doubt that a search party will be sent out. But a runaway who is wanted by a gang, especially a rival, well that’s a whole other story. I can threaten the gang, or just kill you now.”

“I think you should threaten them.” I said with a smirk.

“Nope, I like killing now better than later.” He was reaching for his gun when there was a crash, than shouting.

“What the fuck was that?” he yelled, still looking at me.

“What are you looking at me for, I don’t know.” He sighed angrily and placed a cloth over my mouth. I tried to not breathe it in.

“Just breathe it in god dammit. At least you’ll be asleep when I kill you later.” My lungs gave out and I took a deep breath of the substance. My vision became blurry, and then I passed out.


As our fifty gang members made it into the house, I went around to the window of the basement. I saw the back of Nothing’s head and a man leave the room angrily. I waited a minute then smashed the window. Shards went everywhere as I slid into the basement. Nothing was unconscious. I definitely liked this better than knife throwing and surprise kicks to my groin. I untied the ropes quickly then dragged the chair under the window. I stood up on it and shoved Nothing through the window. Then I pulled myself up through the window and I found myself on top of her small frame. I hastily threw her over my shoulder and called Paul once we were in my car.

“Paul, tell them to start retreating.” I said into the phone.

“Are you kidding? It’ll make us look like wimps!” he yelled back at the phone.

“Just tell them to retreat.” I said sternly, hanging up before he could answer. I drove off towards the house. I glanced at Nothing, making sure she didn’t wake up. She was not going to be happy to wake up with a Runaways tattoo on her wrist.


                I was getting pretty tired of waking up in different rooms. It had been, what, two days? I had already been kidnapped twice, knocked out three times, and met two gangs. I got up to find no restraints holding me down. Then I looked up to see Denver smirking at me from the chair in the room I was in. He was holding a tattoo needle. My jaw dropped and I looked down at my wrist to see it wrapped in plastic wrap.

“What the fuck is under the plastic wrap?” I said through gritted teeth.

“See for yourself. You’ve been out for like three days. The tattoo is probably healed by now.”

“TATTOO?!” I yelled, clenching my fists. Suddenly there was a small creak that came from outside the door of the room. I walked over to the door and pulled it open swiftly. Francis, Jackson, and Paul, who I assume had been leaning on the door to listen in, tumbled into the room. I sighed and went into the bathroom to undo the plastic wrap. On my wrist was the words "The Runaways" on my wrist. I screamed then punched the door of the bathroom door. I opened the door and took a few deep breaths before coming out and sitting on the bed.

“So,” I said, giving them a sugary-sweet smile, holding back my anger, “who did the tattoo?” None of them answered the question.

“Who…the FUCK…stabbed my skin so that it said the name of your gang?!” My voice rose as loud as possible and my face was probably red by now.

“It was Denver!” Jackson blurted out suddenly. My eyes flashed from Jackson to Denver and everyone else backed away from Denver.

“Where’s the nearest place I can shoot a wall?” I said through clenched teeth.

“We have a shooting room here. You can practice your shooting skills with Cara.” Francis added, breaking my glare at Denver.

“Whose Cara?” I said with a cocked eyebrow.

“My girlfriend.” Francis said simply.

“Is she part of the gang as well?” I replied.

“Kind of,” Francis explained, “When I first started dating her, she was a total sweetheart and hilarious. She has been my girl for two years now. We had been together for 1 year and we were on our way home from a date and a new Viper approached us. He kneed me in the crotch and Cara flipped out. She threatened him so well he was on his knees crying. She told him to beat it and he ran off. Then she flipped right back to being a sweetheart. I told the boys and she received a job as our ‘secretary’.”

“That’s a word for it.” Paul said with a scoff. Francis glared at him then continued.

“She basically threatens clients over the phone and joins us on some of our interrogations of friends of people we are expecting money from.” Francis continued on, “We’ve also trained her since then. She is still pretty sweet though.”

“Cool,” I said, getting up from my seat, “Where is this Cara?”

“In her-I mean your guys- room. You guys share one, even though Cara just sleeps with me most of the time, unless she is mad at me or PMSing.” Francis answered, “I’ll show you.” Francis led me out of the room, but not before I flipped Denver off. We weaved through what seemed like endless hallways then stopped at a door marked: ‘CARA: CLAIM OF FRANCIS’.

“Do you honestly need to put that on her door?” I said, pointing to the door sign.

“You get used to it. It’s normal.” He opened the door and shoved me in.

“Ever heard of knocking?” a British accent rang throughout the ginormous bedroom. “Francis, I told you we would talk about this-oh it’s you.” A girl came from around the corner. She had long dirty blonde hair and thick brown eyebrows. She only wore a bathrobe and her hair was damp from a shower. She had a green facial mask on fer face, but I could see how Francis had wanted to be with her.

“You must be Cara. I’m Nothing.” I said, not bothering to shake her hand. I just walked past her to see two huge king-sized beds. One had my bag on it so I opened it to reveal what little clothes I has and my weapons. When my hands wrapped around one of my knives, I immediately looked to my tattoo. Denver was going to pay, somehow. I took the knife and shot it straight ahead, aiming for the center of a flower portrait. It hit it right on target and fell to the floor.

“I’m guessing you got the tattoo without consent.” A voice brought me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Cara. Her green mask was off, and she wore jeans, a t-shirt, and an orange beanie.

“Yeah.” I said dumping out my weapons on the bed.

“Hey at least you don’t have a claim tattoo.” Clara held up her wrist. There was the Runaways tattoo, but above it was a less-new looking tattoo that said “Property of Francis” in curvy lettering.

“Yeah, I guess.”  I mumbled.

“So,” Cara said, “I didn’t hear your name before. What is it?”

“My name is Nothing.”

“That’s your real name?”

“If I told you my real name, you’d be backing away from me right now. I really don’t want to talk about my past. It was a time when no one understood why I did it”

“What did you do?”

My breath hitched and I thought of a distraction. “Let’s go to the shooting range. I need to get my anger out.”


                I was still pissed off at Francis for going to the bar. He told me he was just scoping out for Vipers that night in the city, but they went to bar instead. I yelled at him before storming off to my room. Sometimes I hated the tattoo that tied me to Francis forever. I had moved from London to go to university then Francis ran into me at the bar and we had a one night stand. I left, but then he called me telling me he loved me and he was claiming me as his own. Now we had gangs in London. I had been a claim for a couple days for one of the gang leaders of a gang. I was used to girls getting pulled off the street and not showing up until months after. But I thought I was leaving that behind at New York. But most of the time, as much as I hated to admit it, I loved him and I needed him.

                As I looked at the claim tattoo in disdain, I heard a creak and a door closed. I started yelling for Francis to go away when I saw it was the girl they brought into the gang. She mumbled her name then walked straight into the room. We talked for a little and when I asked her about her real name she stiffened up.

                “If I told you my real name, you’d be backing away from me right now. I don’t really want to talk about my past. It was a time when no one understood why I did it.”

                “Did what?” I asked, curious.

                She changed the subject and wanted to go to the shooting range. I wondered why she refused to say her past and why I would know her if she told me her real name. I was determined to find out who Nothing really was.








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