Irish found help closer then she thought, running right into Spot and Jack, literally. Having knocked all three of them over, Irish climbed back up on her feet and spoke hurriedly, before she had even breath to. "Bittah… danger… Central Park," Irish gasped, as the boys looked at her in shock.
Getting back on their feet, Spot took control of the situation. "Say no more, lead the way Irish."
Leading the boys through a labyrinth of darkened alleys, lighted only by the flickering lights of street lamps, Irish came to an abrupt stop. Unsure of herself, she looked around, eyes wild with fear. The alley looked like every empty one they had passed through.
As she was about to claim to the boys that this couldn't be where she had last seen her friend, Spot leaned down and withdrew Bitter's trusty dagger from the ground, still wet with blood. Irish watched as Spot's eyes widened with fear and his icy blue eyes burned into hers.
"She was ok when you left her right?" Spot asked, his eyes clouding over with anger, frustration and fear.
Irish nodded. "But there was a boy who was holding a knife to her neck, he said he'd moidah her if I didn't leave… I don't know what he was going to do to her," Irish said, scared to death of what might have happened to Bitter.
Spot punched the wall in distress, making both Irish and Jack jump. "I'll kill 'em if they lay one fingah on her…" he growled lowly, his teeth gritted together in anger.
Jack and Irish followed as he stalked out of the alley, fury pumping through his veins. It was almost impossible to convince him to come back to the lodging house. They followed as he searched a good few blocks, up and down, meticulous even in his angry mood.
"Spot dere's no use… we have no idea where dey are an' it's almost pitch black out," Jack reasoned as Spot knocked down yet another ancient door, leading to another empty warehouse room.
"We kin look first t'ing t'morrow Spot, I swear… we all need rest… and maybe then we kin find more out about this gang from Gip…" Irish caught his attention with that, and Spot subsided to calling it a night.
"First t'ing in de mornin', an' you talk to dis gypsy girl t'night, got it?" Spot's voice was lined with fear and anger.
"Fine, now let's get outta heah, this part of town gives me de creeps…" Irish spoke softly, as if she spoke above a whisper, a million shadows would attack her. With that, the trio trudged their way back to the lodging house and went their separate ways.
Bitter awoke in the dark, her splitting headache releasing sharp pains into her head. She found her position awkward and found that her hands been had bound behind her with tight rope, digging into her skin. Shifting her legs, she found that they two were bound with the same thick rope.
Startled by the blinding light that seeped through the door, Bitter found her eyes coming upon a young boy, standing a little over five feet. He couldn't have been more then eleven years old. In his hands he carried a cup of water and a piece of moldy bread.
Bitter found herself pitying the small, blonde-haired boy, for she herself had been initiated into a gang at a young age. His red, chaffed hands trembled as he reached the bread to her lips, his insistent blue eyes helping her to bite into the hard moldy bread.
He spoke only as he finished feeding her the bread and water. "Shootah said ta let ya eat, but dat she's sorry dat she kin not untie yer hands fer yer own protection, much apologies Miss Bittah, an' I'se also been told ta gag you, jist in case ya git de urge to scream fer help," the boy said as he leaned down over her, pulling a dirty black bandanna from his pocket.
Bitter wondered to herself of the true color that the bandanna had once been as the boy shoved it into her mouth. Tying a thick string around her head and over her mouth, she tried hard to not choke on the grimy dirt that was sliding down her mouth.
If Shooter had sent someone older and less innocent looking, she would've fought like no tomorrow. Shooter knew her well, she knew her weaknesses and she was using that against her. The boy smiled and then kicked her hard in the stomach. "Dat's fer hurtin' Blade," the boy said as he spat on her, his once kind blue eyes revealing the true, cruel nature. He laughed as Bitter winced in pain, her cursing only murmurs thanks to the gag.
Closing the door behind him, she heard a click as he locked the door from outside. Bitter really had no chance of escaping, and she hated knowing it.