Page 83 of The Witness

The man that stood over me was almost as big as Michael. He wore a black leather vest with patches across the chest, dirty ripped jeans, and steel-toed boots. He picked me up like I weighed nothing, carried me around to the other side of the van, and shoved me down on my knees.

Michael and the bald guy were circling each other about six feet apart. Blood streamed from the bald guy’s nose. It coated his lips and teeth, making the snarl on his face look demonic.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Coyote. I didn’t send anyone after you.” Michael moved in controlled sideways steps, knees bent, hands out in front of him. He looked ready to strike.

“Bunch of fucking Mexican gang bangers. They said one of my people did their boss dirty in Cuba. I knew it had to be you. Should have offed you as soon as Smith had your loyalty.”

“I’d never—”

“Stop your bullshit.” Coyote jutted his bloodied chin at me.

I gasped. Behind me, the biker had grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me half up off the ground. The pain made tears fill my vision. I clambered to my feet to relieve the pressure.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” Michael’s voice was ice cold. He’d pivoted, his attention split between me and Coyote.

“I’m going to give her to the recruits when I’m done with you. She’s a little old for those boys, but they don’t care as long as it’s got a cunt.”

Michael took a few steps toward Coyote. He softened from his battle stance, his shoulders rounded, and his hands hung at his sides. He looked defeated.

Oh shit. He was giving up to save me.

“Coyote. Leave her out of this. I’ll go quietly.” Michael sounded desperate, almost panicked.

“Michael. Stop. Don’t.” The words tumbled out. They were more sobs than actual commands. The guy holding my hair used his other hand to take my upper arm in a punishing grip.

“It will be okay, Sabrina. They are here for me.” Michael didn’t turn in my direction. He’d closed the distance between him and Coyote.

“Yeah, we can make a trade if you come politely.” Coyote wiped blood from his chin with his forearm. He’d used the hand holding the gun.

What happened next, I only fully understood because there was a security camera recording the loading zone. Quinn showed me the tape later. She had to put it in slow motion for me to see.

Michael pounced on Coyote in a move so fast it was a blur. The blade of a small paring knife he’d been using all night to cut lime wedges glittered in the LED security lighting for a millisecond before slashing through Coyote’s throat.

Coyote was taken completely by surprise; he’d had no time to raise the gun or turn away from the impending attack. He fell to his knees, and his weapon clattered to the ground.

Michael scooped it up and turned in a single fluid motion to aim it at the biker holding me. He slipped the small knife into the pocket of his vest where it had been all evening, freeing both hands to grasp the gun.

“You want to die for this?” Michael used the toe of his black shoe to poke Coyote’s limp body. A pool of blood had already formed and was growing. It trickled toward a storm drain.

“Ah, chill man. Just chill. I’m going.” Hands up, the biker took a few steps backward, then spun and ran. His boots echoed on the pavement as he raced around the corner of the building.

Michael lowered the gun.

We crashed together, arms around each other. Our lips met in a messy, uncoordinated kiss that was all passion and no technique. If I could have climbed inside his chest and held his heart in my hands, I would have just to be sure it was still beating.

Behind my closed eyelids, the image of the gun pressed to his head replayed in slow motion and full color. My own personal horror movie.

The tears running down my face flavored our kiss. I dug my non-existent nails into his back. I wanted to carve my name into his skin. He was mine.

Breathless, we broke apart. I buried my head in the curve of his neck. The scratchy polyester of the black vest he wore did nothing to sop up my free-flowing tears. I took a ragged, soul-cleansing breath and stepped back.

“Never do that to me again.” I crossed my arms around my middle to keep from reaching for him. “I thought you gave up. You aren’t allowed to do that. You stay brave, I stay brave.”

“Okay. Understood.” He was tucking the gun into his waistband.

“No, I don’t think you do.” I tipped my head back; the stupid security lights burned my tear-swollen eyes.

“Explain it then.” He was taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

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