Page 142 of Long Gone

“As in you took it or someone else did?” Malcolm asked.

“As in it doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, it exists all right,” Malcolm said. “I’ve seen it.” Then, before I had time to prepare, I saw a flash of light and a loud boom and the gun to my temple was gone.

My ears rang as I turned to see Skip flopped back on his seat, the gun on the dirt floor. A bloody hole was in the center of his forehead.

I swung back to face Malcolm, but he was already untying my legs.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruffer than expected.

“You killed him.”

“I got what I needed, and we both know he was never going to let you go alive.” He started working on my other leg. “I did what I needed to do.”

“They’re going to tie this to you,” I said, my brain working a million miles a second, scrambling for ways to hide his involvement.

“I’m one step ahead of you.” He got my second leg untied, then moved my chair so he could reach my wrists. “This is Pinky’s gun.”

With a start, I realized he was wearing gloves. “Pinky?”

“We had a nice little chat outside when I showed up. He’s a shit guard.” When he finished untying my wrists, he said, “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

“I’ll crawl if I need to.”

“It won’t come to that.” He grabbed my elbow and helped me stand, though a wave of dizziness washed through me as soon as I was on my feet.

“I’m pretty sure I have a concussion from the accident.”

“We’ll deal with that once we’re out of here.”

I nodded and regretted it again, then took a step toward the staircase and nearly fell. Malcolm scooped me into his arms and carried me up the stairs, turning sideways so we fit through the narrow staircase.

When we reached the top, I saw two men I didn’t recognize standing guard with shotguns. They cast a glance at us as Malcolm carried me to a black sedan. But as soon as we passed, they turned toward a man sitting on the ground, his legs extended.

I had a feeling I knew how this situation was going to play out, but I had to know something first.

“Wait,” I said, and Malcolm came to a halt. I pushed on his chest and he got the message that I wanted down. He lowered my legs, and it took me a second to gain my balance before I took couple of steps toward the man.

“Pinky?” I asked, staring down at his defiant face.

“What’s it to you, bitch?”

“Manners,” Malcolm growled.

To my surprise, the guy flinched.

“Did you help Skip kill Hugo Burton?”

“Why do you care?”

“Answer her question,” Malcom said menacingly.

A sneer lit up his face. “Did I pull the trigger? No. But I had plenty of fun with him first if that’s what you want to know.”

I turned to Malcolm, shocked at myself when I said, “Do what you want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pinky demanded, but I was already walking to Malcolm’s car.

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