Hi, Innoverse here! This is a re-do of the story 'Eat Bitter, Taste Sweet.'

I'm taking a shot at a multi-chapter story, since I came up with a pretty good idea to center this around. It's not going to be all Mary-Sueish (yes, the main character has a fatal flaw, and is not perfect at everything) and it's not going to be sappy romance. There will be some romance later on, but it's not going to be overflowing with it. Just little things.

I've also edited this and took out the swearing—I decided against having that in my story so it would appeal to more people (the worst you should hear is 'crap'). But I'm still keeping it T for mildly suggestive references, but nothing too bad, I promise. It's probably going to be angsty at parts, as well.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own PJATO.

- CHAPTER I: WRENCHES AND BULLETS -

"Come on, Kenny, just in here."

I quickly ushered my five year-old little brother down into the empty wooden cabinet, trying to ignore the rough slam of car doors outside and my oblivious Uncle Mark, snoring loudly on the dirty couch. He climbed in soundlessly—even though he was young, he could understand the severity of the situation. I pulled myself in after him, pulling Kenny onto my lap in order to fit in the cramped space. I closed the wooden door quietly, clutching my little brother close as I heard the front door bust open, and the pop of a warning shot being fired into the ceiling. He flinched, winding his hands into my clothing and sobbing silently into my chest. I kissed the top of his forehead.

I heard my uncle scramble off the couch—no doubt running to get whatever kind of firearm he might have stashed around. But another shot was fired upwards, and my uncle's footsteps stopped. I could hear the breathing and snickering of several men—all sounding giddy, like they were about to pull a prank rather than commit murder.

One of them cleared their throat. "You really think you could hold out on us that long, Mark? Like we couldn't find you?" He spoke with a heavy Southern accent.

I heard my uncle stumble. "I—I don't owe you anything!"

"Suuure," the man who'd been talking before said sarcastically. He must've been the leader. "You didn't bet ten grand last month. You didn't say you'd have it in a week. You also didn't bet that fine niece of yours."

My blood boiled in my veins. That idiot had bet me at one of his stupid poker games? If he lived through this, I was going to beat him bloody.

"Come on out, Natalie!" another taunted. "We won't hurt ya'!" I'd sooner die, I thought to myself.

"Unless you count being sore in the morning!" There was a bunch of ugly laughing. I shivered against my little brother, wondering how everything could've gotten this bad. It'd all started going downhill when my mother came back for the second time—a Greek goddess. She'd left for eleven years, and then decides to come back because of pity? She'd had my little brother, and then poof! Surprise! She's gone again, just like I told Dad she would. But he didn't believe me, so he took it harder the next time. She didn't even tell him which goddess she even was.

So then he'd committed suicide from the sadness of being left twice. I'd found him, gun in his hand, blood splattered on the wall. That image will never get out of my head. He left me—only twelve when he'd done it—with a one year-old brother I didn't know how to take care of, and an uncle who didn't ever do anything for anyone but himself. So now, four years later, we're stuck in a wooden cabinet while some gamblers murder my uncle. Quite a fall from glory.

"Take her!" my uncle shouted. I rolled my eyes. "I don't care! Just don't kill me!"

"And the ten grand," said another deep voice—the fourth man.

"All my money's right there," my uncle gave up, probably pointing to the safe he had hidden behind a picture frame. "Take all of it! The combination is 4,5,1,9!"

What a coward, I thought. I heard two sets of footsteps walk over to the frame, and rip the painting off the wall. There was some shuffling around, and then I heard the lock click open. A grunt of approval, and then the shuffle of paper as they counted out the money. We waited in the cabinet for what seemed like forever, Kenny shaking against me as I stroked his hair.

"At least twelve grand," the deep voice announced. "Now, where's the girl?"

I tensed. "I don't know," my uncle said. "I haven't seen her in a while."

There was another shot into the ceiling. "Well then, let's find her."

I heard footsteps around the house as they turned over things and threw others around, looking for me. Silently, I rolled over so that my brother was against the bottom of the cabinet, pinning him under me protectively. I wasn't going to let anything happen to him—no matter what happened to me. He stayed perfectly still under me, tears still leaking down his cheeks. I gently wiped them away with my thumb, and he burrowed his face into the crook of my neck.

"Come out, come out..." the leader—the one with the gun—taunted. I heard another gunshot, somewhere close by. Kenny jumped under me. I held him tighter as I heard the footsteps enter the kitchen, where we were hiding. I sucked in a sharp breath as he fired into one of top cabinets, and then into the one next to it. Crap.

"Come on, Natalie," he said like he was a negotiating business man as he fired into the cabinet next to us. "We could have so much fun together."

I pressed Kenny as tightly as I could to the floor, hoping to every Greek god I could think of that he would fire high enough not to kill him. I heard him empty the clip and click in another, then I closed my eyes as I heard him squeeze the trigger. I bit my lip hard as I felt the bullet graze my left bicep, and the blood started dripping down my arm. Kenny looked up at me with wide eyes. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against his, and thanked the divine forces that the wound wasn't too serious, and that it wasn't my dominant arm.

As he walked around the house, calling my name, I tried to think of a plan to get out of here, and run away like I should have months ago. I glanced around the cabinet, looking for anything I could use as a weapon—an old board, a pipe, anything. Finally, lying in the shadows in a corner, I spotted an old, rusty wrench. I hefted it like a club and swore to myself it would be a last resort—and that I'd try to sneak Kenny away instead of going out and just clubbing them all.

If I could get us out of here, I had stashed stuff in a secret place a few blocks away, and then we'd be gone. I would be done with this place, and I could finally take care of my brother. I wasn't going to let anything happen to him at all.

"Kenny," I whispered almost soundlessly. "Listen to me." He nodded a little, telling me he was listening. "We're going to leave the cabinet. When you get to the screen door, you are going to open it and run and never stop or look back, okay?" He nodded again. "Run to the secret place I showed you earlier this month. Wait for me. If I don't come by tomorrow morning, go to the police station... a—and tell them you're alone. Promise me."

His eyes widened, and he seemed to understand what the meant. He opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head firmly. "Promise me," I repeated.

A tear slipped out of his eye. "Promise," he whispered.

I nodded. I gently wrapped my arm around his back, and pulled us both into a sitting position. I heard footsteps in the back, which meant they were probably searching my room. I gently opened the cabinet a crack, and peered out to find an empty kitchen—a clear path to the screen door. I took a deep breath and pushed out, pulling Kenny with me. We silently tip-toed over to the door, until I heard close footsteps coming back out. I dashed over and ripped the door open, all but shoving Kenny out of it. He started sprinting down the road—he'd always been a fast runner—and I was about to follow him, when I felt a hand grip my arm.

Instinctively, I swung the wrench up, anticipating the man's height to about 5'7, average. It connected with the side of his skull and he stumbled, but his hand only gripped my arm tighter. He scowled at me and raised the pistol to my temple. My blood trickled from my arm and onto his hand.

"Well, well," he said in his southern drawl. "Someone's feisty."

I swallowed hard. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked at the road. Kenny was no where in sight. He was safe. At least I'd gotten one thing right.

"Take me anywhere, and I'll kill you in your sleep," I snarled, watching as my uncle and the other three men came out from the back. I glared at my uncle, wondering how he could do something like this to someone he was supposed to protect.

"Good thing I like feisty," he whispered into my ear, ruffling my choppy, blonde hair.

"Good thing I don't like you," I spat back. I strained against his grip, trying to raise the wrench, but he spun the chamber on his gun to a new bullet.

"I can pull the trigger faster than you can blink, sweetie," he said. I tried to remember how many gunshots he'd fired. He'd only had one spare clip—each clip held six bullets. Three in the ceiling, four in the cabinets, I heard two in the bathroom, three more in my room... Oh, thank the heaven's! He was out of bullets. He had to be. That's why he'd grabbed me instead of shooting me.

"Good for you," I hissed. I swung the wrench, and he pulled the trigger, but as expected, all that came out was a puff of air. The wrench cracked the side of his head—much harder then before—and he let go of me, stumbling backwards and clutching at the bloodied wound. I bolted out of the door, running down the pavement as fast my legs would carry me. I could hear the roughness of my breath and the pounding of my feet.

"Run, Natalie!" the man slurred behind me. "Run, you little punk!"

I thought that was a good ending spot.

I hope you enjoyed reading it! Reviews are appreciated. :)