Page 249 of Mayhem and Minnie

I shrug.

His finger is on the trigger and he levels the barrel at me, probably thinking it will intimidate me.

“We’ll have a turn with the girl and you get away with your life. Sounds like a bargain?”

I press my lips together, feigning terror.

I glance back at Minnie and she’s watching me closely.

“That sounds like a bargain,” I start. They smirk and laugh, practically patting each other on the back for their show of strength. “But I’ll have to refuse.”

Taking advantage of their inattention, I tackle the guy with the gun, pushing the back of my palm against his wrist and aiming the gun upward. He squeezes the trigger and a shot goes up in the air.

Hmm. I wonder how long it will take for someone to call the police after that noise. Or, seeing the state of the area, perhaps this is a normal occurrence and no one will care. I truly hope for the latter so I can take my time with these brave lads.

Moving to the side, I slam my forearm against the boy’s shoulder while holding on to his arm.

He cries out in pain when his shoulder pops out of its socket. His arm goes limp, and it’s easy enough to grab the gun from his hand.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one carrying a gun.

What is it with youths and guns anyway? They can’t be more than eighteen.

One of the other guys points his own gun at me, his finger itching on the trigger as he tries to get a good aim. His hand is shaking, and I bet his clothes are already soaked with nervous sweat.

“I’ll kill you,” he cries out. Even his voice is trembling. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Do it, Drew,” the guy in my hold wiggles anxiously as he tries to escape. “Shoot him!”

“Fuck, man!” He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls the trigger.

Ah, newbies.

He doesn’t even make sure where his target is. And as I note his finger pressing against that little mechanism, I merely grab the dude next to me and push him in front of me to act like a shield.

He gasps.

The shooter gasps too.

“You shot Mickey, dude. What the hell!”

Mickey cries out in pain as he crumbles to the floor. Drew’s eyes bulge in his head, sweat already dripping down his face. He aims the gun toward me again, but his hand is trembling so much, the barrel of the gun moves haphazardly and he misses again.

I’m not a fan of guns—never been. It’s just a coward’s weapon. Can you even feel you’re killing someone if you’re not up close and personal? Can you actually feel the life slipping from your victim’s body if you’re a distance away, averting your gaze and hoping you hit a mark?

No.

I prefer barehanded fighting to guns. And I prefer knives to fighting. But at the moment, I can’t be picky since I don’t have any knives at hand. Pity. I could have carved a pretty image on their faces—something along the lines of loser, rapist, coward. Or a combination of the three. Of course they didn’t rape anyone yet, but seeing their bravado, I have no doubt they have in the past or they will in the future.

Youths these days, man.

They’re more dangerous than the ordinary criminal. And it’s not because they might be strong or particularly smart. But because they’re reckless. Their frontal cortex isn’t developed enough yet to realize what they’re doing, and just like Drew, they aim recklessly everywhere, hoping something sticks.

“Minnie, hold this,” I call out and throw her the gun I nabbed from Mickey.

She uses a small fraction of her power to telekinetically bring the gun in her hands. She then aims it at the other man.

“Uhm, Marlowe?”

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