Grant sat in the backseat. His thighs, barely taking up the space given by his seat, seemed thinner than ever. The fourteen year old boy wanted desperately to be older. Bigger. Stronger.
"Uncle John," Grant said from the backseat, "I think I already know what the answer is going to be bu-"
"If you already know the answer, why are you still asking?" Garrett shrugged him off and turned the radio on.
"It's just that," The boy spoke over the radio jockey, "there was this girl at the home."
"Ohhh, so this is about a girl, huh? What's her name?" Garrett teased.
"It's not like that, she's seven."
"Woah, kid, seven? Don't you think that's a little too young for you?"
"She was nice to me and, I don't know, I want to help her. Do you think we can go back and see her tomorrow?" His pre-pubescent voice asked.
"Help her? Help yourself first, kid."
Garrett hadn't known it but he had just given the his nephew the most important lesson. One that would inevitably backfire on him.
"First lesson, don't put anyone else before yourself. Think about you and no one else. You and… family of course. It's not worth it." Turning the radio up, he took a left on Rouge street.
"Where are we going?" Grant asked.
"You'll see. Your dad and I used to come here a lot. This place made us strong."
Grant didn't like the sound of that but there was nothing he could do. Not from the backseat.
Lifting his leg over the middle compartment, the boy undid his seatbelt and hopped into the passenger's seat, "I can't see from back there," he justified.
"It's alright, we're getting out," Garret stepped on the breaks and put the car in park. Opening the door, he said, "did anyone ever tell you that your dad was an agent?"
Garrett walked around the car as Grant pushed his door open and stepped out onto the dry, dirt road.
"An agent, you're joking, right? No one in their right mind would have given that man responsibilities," the boy answered hastily.
"Watch it." The man warned, "Before he died, your father showed me the ropes. He toughened me up." Garrett looked coyly at the young boy.
"Don't agents have to be good people?" The boy asked, wind blowing in his dark hair.
"The thing about agencies like the one your dad was in, like the one I am in, in that, being good rarely gets the job done. Agencies like that need people like your father. That's why he was good at what he did. He was strong. Ruthless. Brutal."
"You don't need to tell me, I know."
"Sometimes, all it takes is for one person to give you a helping hand. You think that's gonna be some chick?"
"It's not like that."
John pulled out his belt and wrapped it around his fist, "no chick will make you strong. They only make you weak. And cause problems." He said as he struck him once.
The leather stung his cheek and Grant quickly rose his thin arms up in defense. A second whip broke the skin of his forearm and a thin red line began to appear.
"I can help you achieve greatness in it's true form. Power."
*
The next morning, Grant snuck off and made his was back to the foster home.
Hopping on a few moving trucks was clearly no issue for him.
Lurking around, Grant watched David kicked toys around in the front yard as Lizzie ran to save her most precious ones.
Lizzie stood alone holding a selected few of her toys as a tear streamed down her cheek. It was the first time he'd seen that little girl cry.
The leather-branded marks on his skin stung with the realization of his misfortune.
The seven year old girl who had been Lizzie's protector was gone.
She was gone and Grant knew he would never see her again.
He had only been there for two days. He hadn't even caught her name.
"What, did you think I would know where you ran off to?" The man's deep voice called from behind him.
Grant spun quickly on his heels. Losing his balance, he fell backwards to the ground. Grant was terrified of his father, even more so of his uncle.
"Time to start with the real trainning." He said, looking down at the boy and pulling him to his feet.
Grant knew there was no escaping the life set out for him.
At least, not alone.