Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Made Of Scars	By : Dreamer2987 Category: 1 through F > Death Sentence Views: 1484 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Sentence and I don't claim to. I don't any characters from the movie. The only character I own are my original characters that I created. I'm not making any money/profit from this.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Layia groaned, turning over on the bed so she could look at the clock. 6:00 AM was rudely flashing at her, making her grunt and turn her eyes away from the offending sight. Only 6 in the morning, that meant she had gotten just over two hours of sleep. She sat up slowly, running her fingers through her hair as she looked at the crumpled mess of blankets and sheets that lay around her. Honestly she didn’t even know why she bothered. It was the same thing every night, she would do whatever she could to wear herself out and if that didn’t work so would go to the bottle. But no matter what she did the outcome was always the same, two hours of sleep, three if she was lucky, before the nightmares hit her. And once they did there was no going back to sleep.
Her body was still dripping with sweat making her hair cling to the front of her face and back of her neck. Same damn nightmare every night for the last ten years. At first she’d been able to get almost a full night’s sleep before it hit, but over the years the time between her head hitting the pillow and her body shooting up drenched in sweat had drastically lessened until she was stuck with two hours a night. It was a miracle she could even function, maybe her body had just gotten used to the abuse.
She pushed her frame off the bed, her feet patting lightly against the carpet as she walked down the hallway and into the living room. She sighed as she looked at the mess she had left last night, two opened bottles were on the coffee table by the couch, scotch and vodka, and there was a whole packs worth of cigarette butts lying around. She hadn’t gone to the bar last night, to piss Billy off, so she had to make use of her own bar.
She scooped all the cigarette butts into a pile and threw them into the trash before she grabbed the two half empty bottles of booze and put them away. If only her mom could see her now, wouldn’t she be proud? Layia scoffed at her own question. This would never be the life her mother chose for her, but sometimes fate handed you a shitty hand and you had to do your best with what you got. At least Layia was alive, she was safe, she was strong, independent, tough, smart, and she had her rare times of being happy, like the other night. That was enough, her mother would be proud of that right?
Layia shook her head, she wasn’t much for these emotional “sessions” and she didn’t have time for them. Today was the day she started looking for him.

“You think I’m that fucking stupid Jag?” Billy’s chest puffed out as he picked up a wooden table chair and threw it forcefully against the nearest wall, the force of the impact easily breaking it.
“No, no of course not… Billy man, listen. I tried, honest, I just don’t…”
Billy cut him off with a simple gesture of his hand. The wild, crazed look in Billy’s eyes driving Jagger to submission. “You really gonna try that shit again?” The man was flat out lying to Billy’s face and Billy hated being lied to, especially when it was regarding money.
“Tommy saw you yesterday.” Billy paused for dramatic effect. “Going into that run down pawn shop on east broadway with a box of shit and coming out with a fat little lump in your pocket.” Billy was standing right in front of Jagger now, his cold eyes boring down into him. “Then to top it off, I come here and see your fuckin bags are packed. Planning on ditching town with my money you little prick.”
Jag’s face fell. He was fucked and he knew it. He just stared at Billy; eyes open wide in fear, too shocked to answer his question.
“Thought I wouldn’t find out huh?” It was a rhetorical question and Jagger knew it. He had been planning on screwing Billy. He thought he could get the drugs, splurge on a whore or two, and leave town without paying Billy. Then Jagger would have lived to tell the tale of how he pulled over one on the Billy Darley, he would have been a fuckin legend.
Billy laughed, it was dark and maniacal, the complete opposite of the one he shared with the boys and Layia. She hadn’t shown up last night which was contributing to Billy’s deadly mood.
“I run this fucking town. I know everything ya little shit. I know about your family, that sweet little sister of yours, I know what whores you fuck, I even know what shitty brand of beer you buy.” Billy’s voice was laced with malice and Jagger wanted nothing more than to run as far away as possible and save his worthless ass. But it was useless, if he ran Billy would certainly shoot him dead without a second thought.
“Ya understand me?” Jagger nodded his head frantically.
“Now get me my fucking money.” Jagger quickly complied, happy to put some space between him and the pissed off gang lord. He reached down and grabbed a tattered shoebox out from underneath the old worn lazy boy in the living room. Pulling a thick wad of cash from it, he quickly counted out what he owed before frantically shoving the money into Billy’s waiting hand. Billy smirked and shook his head.
“What? That’s $500, I owe you $500.” Jag’s voice was shaking violently, fear ripping through every inch of him.
“Ya did. But when you decided to try and fuck me over the price went up.”
Jagger just stared at Billy.
“Fuckin moron… All of it… Now!” Billy had his gun aimed directly at Jag’s crotch. Bastard was lucky Billy hadn’t shot him the moment he walked in the door, but Billy enjoyed scaring the piss out of him too much.
“Billy, that… that’s all my money. I ain’t got shit else.”
“Not my fucking problem.” Billy cocked the gun, his finger ready to squeeze the trigger. “Last chance.”
Jag gave Billy the whole wad of cash, then stepped back deathly afraid of what Billy might still do to him.
“I trust you won’t be making this stupid fuckin mistake again.” Billy stuffed the money in the canvas bag, his hard eyes still on the trembling mess in front of him. “Next time it won’t just be the cash I come to collect.”
Jagger was shaking violently but he managed to nod his head that he understood.
“Well… just to be sure.” Billy aimed his gun lower and fired off a round into Jag’s lower leg. Jagger dropped to the floor howling in pain, tears springing from his eyes. He clutched at his leg as blood poured out of it, the pain searing through him but he knew he was lucky. He had attempted to screw Billy, he was lucky to be alive.
With the whimpers of pain echoing in his ears Billy tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans, straightened his jacket and left.

Shards of glass and rubble littered the floor, crunching underneath the pressure of Layia’s boots as she walked through the abandoned building that had once been her hell. The walls were decaying; parts of the ceiling from the upper levels had caved in. Tables and chairs were scattered all over the room, a lot of them falling apart. The doors to most of the rooms had become unhinged or had fallen off altogether. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and had a foul smell. It had only been 10 years since it had been used but the place was already starting to fall apart back then.
The wind whipped through the shattered windows sending a cool shiver through Layia’s entire body. Damn warehouses were always so chilly, not to mention cliché. An abandoned mental hospital, that would be different. She knew he wouldn’t be here. After everything that happened here he would have been a fool to stay.
She kicked at a broken beer bottle, the sound of it rolling across the cement floor echoing through the building. Every inch of this place held memories for her and none of them were remotely good. Those memories were trying to push their way to the front of her mind, push past the steel wall she had put up all those years ago, but she kept them at bay. She wasn’t here for a moment of self-pity or self-reflection. She was here in the hopes that that damn fool left something behind that could lead her to where he was held up now. It was a long shot, a very long shot but she had to start somewhere.
Her eyes scanned every inch of the place, all the surfaces and all the floors, even checking out the hidden nooks and crannies, for anything that was left behind. She eventually came to his room, the bed was coated with thick layers of dust, the mattress and sheets were ripped and torn, the mirror on the wall had been smashed, the drawers of the dresser ripped out, and his desk was overturned with papers strewn all over. Layia crouched down to the ground, and started sifting through the papers. Most of it was useless junk, no surprise there, until she came across a set of papers that contained a series of seemingly random numbers and letters. Layia recognized it as a code, probably for long since passed ‘transactions’ but she folded them up and put them in her back pocket just in case. Any other items of importance had been cleaned out.
Layia continued her search, careful to avoid the larger pieces of ruble and the rooms they blocked off. She had reached the end of the accessible part of the building, with barely anything to show for it. With a frustrated sigh she turned around and started to retrace her steps until a glint caught her eye. She bent down, moved aside a few small pieces of rubble, and clasped her fingers around a broken piece of jewelry. It was a silver charm bracelet, half of it was missing but Layia would recognize that piece anywhere, it was hers.

With her fingers tightly gripping the jewelry fragment Layia pushed open the front door of her place and stepped inside. She took the .45 from the waistband of her jeans and placed on the table in the entry way. Once she was in her room she placed the jewelry on the nightstand, before she shed her clothes in favor of a desperately needed shower.
Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed as the hot water rained down on her. She rested her right hand against the shower wall in front of her, deep breaths making her chest heave up and down. Being there had made her feel… vulnerable, a feeling she despised. She just had to wash the experience of being back there off her. She stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, by then the feelings brought on by being there had left her.
After drying her hair and fixing her make-up Layia got dressed for a well earned night at the bar. Tonight she wore her favorite pair of black skinny jeans and the same pair of black boots with heels. A form fitting gray tank top with white lace lining the top complete with a blue/green jacket that rested a few inches above her hips covered her torso. Time for round two. She just hoped those boys were ready.
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Made Of Scars