Page 81 of Mayflower

His eyes suddenly freeze on me. His sobs halt. I pray that he is inconspicuous. I pray he has my Swiss Army knife in his pocket.

I crawl closer, my palms on fire against the broken glass. I’m sweating. I’m getting dizzy. Butcher couldn’t have shot my artery because I would’ve bled to death by now. I’m still alive. I can take him.

I see Sonny sliding a hand in his pocket.

Good boy. Do it.

I shift my eyes to Butcher. “You know what your problem is, Butcher?” I crawl another foot closer.

“Oh? Enlighten me!”

“You have a small island mentality. You are not a businessman. You are a headman at best.”

Butcher smirks and juts his chin at me. “Crawl.”

I move another shaky foot forward, only seven or so feet away from him. In my peripheral, I see Sonny fisting his hand close to his leg. He tries to move, but Butcher jerks him closer, a gun barrel still pressed to his temple.

Easy, I tell Butcher, sweat dripping in my face. I need him to point his gun at me, but ideally, somewhere else.

“You are not fit to be in charge of a business, Butcher,” I say to keep his attention on me. My head is dizzy. I know I’m losing a lot of blood. “It’s simple, really. You could’ve stayed in your lane, made deals, taken care of your people. But no, you had to go after Ayana.”

His gaze hardens. I know he wants to put another bullet in me. His hold on Sonny loosens. Good.

“And Ayana is a whole different breed,” I snarl through pain as I move slowly, pushing on my tiptoes for leverage, leaning on my cut-up hands so I can push myself up when needed. “You wouldn’t know what to do with it once you got it. Your brain is too small.”

Butcher’s hold on Sonny loosens even more as he brings all his attention to me. “Just fucking look at you, Mathew Levi. You are a beautiful sight!” He laughs like a maniac. “Crawling but still so fucking cocky. Once you are here, at my feet, I will make you lick my boots. And then I will shoot your boy right in the face. Right in front of you. Then I will get my men to crucify you. It will be glorious. And while you are bleeding to death, I will burn Ayana to ashes. What a sight!”

His gun is shaking. It’s loose. It’s slowly shifting lower, away from Sonny’s face and at me.

“You won’t ever get a chance,” I grit out.

Butcher slowly shifts the gun to point at me. “You still don’t understand who is in charge here. This is my fucking island.”

He is spitting poison. But right now, I’m only four or so feet away, looking up at him, holding his gaze hostage, his gun pointing down at my head.

“You are a fucking rat, Butcher. A rodent,” I snarl, noticing his expression darken. “You are”—I shift my eyes at Sonny—“a snake.”

In a flash, Sonny raises his fist and jams the Swiss Army knife into Butcher’s thigh.

Butcher wails, his hand with the gun dropping low in reflex.

I spring to my feet and throw myself between him and Sonny, then tackle Butcher onto the ground.

A shot pierces the air.

Pain grazes my arm.

But I put all my weight into Butcher.

Fuck him. Fuck his empire.

My hands and knees are on fire. My ears ring. I pull back and slam my fist as hard as I can into Butcher’s nose, hoping to cave his face in. I punch him again, sweat blinding me. He shifts, and suddenly another shot goes off, cutting into me with sharp pain in the middle of my chest, through the vest.

I keep punching and punching until suddenly, everything around me starts spinning, and I fall onto the ground next to Butcher.

There’s a commotion and shouting. Shots are fired. But the sound reverberates, replicates in the strangest way right next to me, deafening me.

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam.

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