Page 77 of Three of a Kind

I can’t see the next attacker coming up in front of me, but I hear his heavy boots on the concrete. My eyes pop open as I swivel and kick him in the gut. Bringing both guns up, I shoot him at center mass.

An unsilenced gunshot wizzes past my face, startling the hell out of me.

I twist and crouch, appraising the closest threats.

Three more of my shots land in their targets. I’m sure to count my rounds in each gun as I go.

“No, I want him alive,” the same voice from earlier growls.

That doesn’t stop two more bullets from landing only feet away from me.

I scan, preparing to roll, but the cracking sound that radiates through my skull is the last thing I hear as it all goes black.

My head rolls around as the throbbing in my skull registers.

I yank my wrists, which are twisted behind me, but it’s clear I’m bound.

Handcuffs are significantly more complicated to get out of, but some shimmying tells me they used zip ties.

Thank fuck for that.

My eyes refuse to focus on anything.

I’m in one of the warehouses nearby where the altercation took place, if the high-ass windows are any indication. The floor is concrete, and my hands are bound to a pipe that goes from the ceiling to the floor.

So, yeah, it’s pretty safe to assume I’m in a warehouse.

The door to the small room opens with a scratching sound and a clank. Dustin Barrett, the slimy fucker, strides in, leaving the door open behind him. He comes to a stop a few feet in front of me and tilts his head.

It’s too late to pretend I’m still knocked out, so I do my best to fake being able to focus on his face.

“Who are you?” Dustin asks.

“We’ve met. Don’t you remember?” I chuckle, but it’s a bad idea. I can feel my pulse in my eyeballs, which doesn’t seem like a great sign. I’m sure I’ve got a concussion, at the very least. “You’re the shitty uncle. I’m the friendly neighbor. Come on, man. This has to be ringing some bells.”

I vaguely see the fist fly at my jaw, but I’m in no position to stop it.

My head bounces to the side, which only increases the throbbing in my temples.

“I’ll ask you the same question you asked earlier. Who hired you?”

I tilt my head forward and spit blood on his expensive loafers.

My tongue swipes over my busted lip as I try to pretend like there aren’t three of him.

I decide the middle figure is a safe bet on which one is real, so I focus on him. “No one hired me. As a matter of fact, I declined your brother’s offer of employment.”

“Then, why the fuck are you here?” he snarls, grabbing the front of my hoodie and violently shaking me.

It’s a pathetic torture attempt if that’s what he’s going for, but my brain is also feeling especially scrambled. “Keep that shit up, and I’m going to hurl all over your shoes.”

“Just fucking answer the question,” he growls close to my face.

“It’s a free country. I was minding my own business, got a little tired of Cali, so I came to check out New York…” I chuckle darkly. “Then, I met this pretty little thing that lives down the hall. Not a mean bone in her body.” I shrug, trying to shake off his hold on my hoodie. “I decided I was going to keep her. And you know what I won’t stand for, Dusty?”

He slams his fist into my cheek over and over again.

Luckily, his punches remind me of my little sister’s, when she wasn’t even swinging at full capacity.

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