Page 77 of Ready to Cash Out

Erasmus smiled.

Trev made a face and turned away, his ears ringing and his stomach turning. He really hadn’t wanted to see anyone die today or ever, and Howell made the third person he’d seen murdered in the last hour.

“Yous were supposed to fuckin’ wait until I got the kid outta here!” Junior continued to scold. “Asshole!”

Erasmus shrugged. “Now we can go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Trev warned. “You can both fuck right off.”

“Come on! See?” Junior patted Trev’s shoulder. “Now your lil’ boyfriend can spin whatever dumbass story he wants to! Wasn’t that so fuckin’ nice of us?”

“How do you even know that will work?” Trev snarled. “What if they don’t believe him and still kill him?”

“Sucks to be him?”

“This is bullshit.”

“Let’s get goin’, kid.” Junior grabbed Trev’s arm. “You can scream at us later, but right now we?—”

“Fuck you!” Trev snatched up the lockbox and cracked Junior as hard as he could over the head with it.

“Ow! Yous lil’ fuckin’ bitch!” Junior howled, clutching his head.

Trev turned to swing at Erasmus, but Erasmus was faster.

So much faster.

Erasmus slipped behind Trev like a shadow and slammed his gun against the back of his head.

Shit, shit, shit.

Trev collapsed, the world fading into darkness.

Trev woke with a groan, his head pounding worse than any hangover. He felt the back of his head, gingerly tracing around a sore bump. He was in the back seat of a car, maybe a truck, and Erasmus had fucking knocked him out and…

Jupiter!

Trev bolted up. “Hey! Where the fuck are we?”

“Aw, good mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” Junior chirped from the front seat. “How was your lil’ nap?”

Erasmus was driving and said nothing, though he did stare at Trev through the rearview mirror for a long moment.

Fuckin’ creep.

“Fuck you!” Trev growled. “Turn the fuck around! We’re going back.”

“No can do, kid.” Junior shrugged. “We’re only, like, an hour away or somethin’. Sit back before I make yous sit back, all right? We don’t wanna hafta knock yous out again.”

Erasmus smiled, indicating that he clearly didn’t mind.

Trev’s head hurt too much to argue and he melted into the seat, defeated. He felt around to find the duffel bag and his lockbox, and he briefly considered whacking Junior again.

This sucked.

Short of causing a car accident and then trying to flee on foot, Trev saw no way out of this.

The best thing he could do was let this play out and meet Cold.

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