Page 31 of The Cousins and the Brunette

“Forty thousand credits,” I spat out the sum like a curse. That money was supposed to be a fresh start for Kay and me. “You promised me forty thousand credits. Enough to get my sister and me out of the hellhole, out of the lower ranks.”

“Promises to someone like you are hardly binding.” He waved a dismissive hand.

“Someone like me?” I clenched my fists. If looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ash at my feet.

“Let’s not pretend you’re anything more than what you are, Brynn—a tool. And tools can be replaced,” Shoemaker said coldly.

I choked back the lump in my throat. “What are you talking about? We had a deal, Mr. Shoemaker.”

Deals. Promises. Words that meant jack in this cesspool of a city. I should’ve known better, but hope’s a stubborn bitch that refuses to die.

“And now we don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” He turned his back on me, effectively ending our conversation.

“Hey!” I shouted, grabbing his sleeve. “You can’t just—”

“Actually, I can.” The steel in Mr. Shoemaker’s tone made me let go instantly. “Boys!”

My stomach dropped faster than a lead balloon. I knew that tone. It was the sound of shit about to hit the fan, and I was standing dead center.

The front door swung open, and two mountains masquerading as men emerged. Their presence alone was intended to intimidate—their scarred knuckles, their biceps bulging like they were smuggling melons under their shirts, their faces twisted into permanent sneers by past fights or maybe by their own cruel nature.

Great. Tweedledee and Tweedledum on steroids. Just what I needed to make this day complete.

“Teach this bitch a lesson,” Shoemaker commanded.

“Sure thing, boss,” one grunted, his voice gravelly.

“Sounds fun, but she won’t put up much of a fight.” The other chuckled, cracking his knuckles.

“Wait, you can’t—” My plea cut short as a fist smashed into my stomach, folding me over with the shock of pain.

The other man socked me in the face, making my head whip and stars in my eyes.

“Please!” Tears welled up as I gasped for air, the taste of iron flooding my mouth. “Stop!”

The next blow sent me to the hard ground. I tried to fight back, covering my face and head with my arms. Fists and boots rained down on me until I curled up, trying to protect myself. The world spun around me in a blur, the sharp pain of each hit amplified by the sound of Shoemaker’s cruel laughter.

My body felt like a punching bag, each impact sending shock waves through my bones. The metallic taste of fear mixed with blood in my mouth, and I wondered if this was how I’d meet my end—beaten to a pulp on some dirty floor. Kay’s face flashed in my mind, and a surge of determination cut through the fog of pain.

I screamed. Tears blurred my vision as I desperately tried to defend myself, but I was overpowered by the brutal force of my attackers.

The world turned upside down and inside out, each throb of agony punctuated by their brutal assault. When I stopped moving and coughed up blood, the men paused. They were panting and staggering a bit. I could barely open my eyes.

My entire body felt like it was on fire, each breath a struggle against broken ribs and battered flesh. The hard cement walkway beneath me did little to ease the burning pain coursing through my veins. I wanted to curl up and disappear, to wake up from this nightmare.

Through my swollen, half-lidded eyes, I saw Shoemaker’s polished shoes approach. He crouched down beside me, his face a twisted mask of sadistic pleasure.

“Oh, Brynn.” He tsked, tracing a finger along my bruised cheek. I flinched at his touch, a pathetic whimper escaping my split lips. “You should have known better than to cross me. I always get what I want, one way or another.”

His words sent icy tendrils of dread down my aching spine. What more could he possibly want from me? I had nothing left to give.

Mr. Shoemaker snapped his fingers and the men hauled me roughly to my feet. The world tilted and spun, my legs barely able to support my weight. Bile rose in my throat.

“Take her to the car. And be discreet. I don’t want any more attention drawn to this little...incident,” Mr. Shoemaker ordered, straightening his cuff links, as if he were sending off an unwanted piece of furniture.

“Gotcha, boss,” they growled in unison.

“Shoulda kept quiet, girlie,” one of them taunted through the haze.

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