Bully Lord

Part-6

Rain lashed against James' face as they shoved him down a narrow alleyway, the uneven cobblestones scraping his skin with each stumble. Fear, cold and primal, coiled in his gut. The bravado he'd shown earlier was a distant memory, replaced by the desperate need to escape.

But escape proved impossible. The bullies, emboldened by their overwhelming advantage, cornered him against a brick wall. James, his breath coming in ragged gasps, braced himself for the onslaught. Punches rained down on him like hailstones, leaving bruises blooming across his exposed skin. He tried to fight back, swinging his fists with all his might, but his blows lacked the force to land any real damage.

The bullies seemed to revel in his pain, their laughter echoing off the damp brick walls. One of them, a wiry boy with a cruel glint in his eyes, landed a particularly vicious blow to James' stomach, doubling him over with a pained gasp. Tears welled up in James' eyes, blurring his vision. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, threatening to send him sprawling to the ground. But he forced himself to stay upright, fueled by a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, someone would hear their commotion and come to his aid.

Suddenly, the world tilted. A sickening crack echoed through the alley as Lemon connected with James' head, wielding a metal rod he'd snatched from a nearby garbage can. The pain exploded in a white-hot wave, stealing James' breath and sending him crumpling to the ground. He lay there, his body a broken puppet, the air knocked from his lungs. A choked sob escaped his lips as a wave of nausea washed over him.

Through the haze of pain, James saw Lemon looming over him, the metal rod glinting menacingly in the dim light. A chilling realization dawned on him. This wasn't just about revenge; it was about dominance, about crushing the defiance he'd dared to show. In that moment, James knew he was in serious danger. 

Panic surged through the narrow alley. The rain, a relentless drumbeat moments ago, seemed to hold its breath. James lay motionless, a broken figure crumpled against the cold brick. One of the bullies, a scrawny boy named Mark, his face pale, stammered, "Lemon... you think you killed him?"

The metal rod clattered to the ground as Lemon, the bravado drained from his face, stared at James with a mixture of fear and disbelief. He knelt beside James, his hand hovering hesitantly over his chest. "Crap," he muttered, the word thick with dawning realization. "I... I went too far."

Another bully, a hulking brute named Tony, knelt beside James, his fingers fumbling for a pulse. The seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity. Finally, Tony shook his head, his voice barely a whisper, "He's cold. No pulse."

Terror, raw and primal, gripped them. They had come here to settle a score, not become murderers. The alley, once a haven for their bullying, now felt like a tomb. The rain, resuming its relentless rhythm, seemed to mock their fear.

"We gotta get out of here," hissed Mark, his voice trembling. "There's no camera, right?"

They all scanned the alley, their eyes darting nervously. Relief washed over them when they confirmed the absence of any CCTV. "No cameras," Tony confirmed, his voice tight.

"Let's go," Lemon rasped, his bravado shattered. "We can't stay here."

They fled the alley like rats from a sinking ship, the rain washing away their footprints, but not their guilt. James, unconscious and alone, lay under the cold gaze of the streetlamp, the rain a chilling counterpoint to the warmth that had seeped from his body.