Page 129 of Ramsay

“No,” I whisper but sure as shit, we turn into the drive.

I’m left reeling in the car while the poor excuse for a peace officer steps out to open the gates and I snarl when he slides back behind the wheel, “Fucker.”

He doesn’t bother with a response which is just as well because I’m out of words. What the hell are we doing here?

My suspicions are confirmed when we pull around a small hill and I see Crush waiting with a fat smile on his disgusting face. My veins burn at the sight, and I swallow my regret that he’ll never get what’s coming to him. With any luck, some other dick will do the deed, though.

We pull to a stop. Crush arches a brow as the cop opens the door. I shrink against the seat, not that it does me much good. There’s nowhere to go and despite kicking and flailing, Crush easily grabs my legs and pulls me from the car.

My head rebounds off the door before my ass hits the pavement. I grunt and push to my feet. My only choice is to run because I may have accepted my fate, sort of but I refuse to go down without a fight.

With any luck the dick has bad aim or maybe it would be better to die by gunfire. I suspect the alternative is going to be far more painful.

I think I get a pathetic two feet before I fall forward, a fireball of pain exploding in my leg as the sharp report of a gun explodes in my ears.

“Unh,” I moan, raking the ground. I manage to crawl another foot before I’m pushed to the pavement by what feels suspiciously like a fucking boot in my back.

Tears fill my eyes, but I will them away. I’ve got nothing left but my pride such as it is, and I refuse to give the fucker the satisfaction.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Despite the passage of time, I’d recognize that slimy voice anywhere and I groan as Crush’s right-hand dick, Stephen grabs me up and tosses me over his shoulder.

From upside down, I spy Carmen’s grave and the godawful angel my parents had erected to mark her eternal resting place. Why? Why here?

“Hurry up, I don’t have all night,” another voice proclaims and when I tilt my head, I gasp.

Yates? What the fuck is he doing here? Shit. Apparently, they’re all in on it together.

Stephen dumps me to the ground, and I roll to my back, rasping, “You.”

Yates doesn’t spare me a look, glancing at his watch and I move to a seated position, saying, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Stephen grunts before pain explodes in my skull and everything goes black.

∞∞∞

When I rouse, it’s to the grating sound of Yates’ bitching and I can’t help my grimace because fuck me but he’s annoying.

“Where is he? I don’t have time for this,” he says.

“Calm down. It’s barely been an hour,” Crush barks.

“You sent him a message, right?”

Who?

“Yes, now shut the fuck up. You’re getting on my nerves.”

“Now see here,” Yates says, and I peek through my lushes when I hear him grunt. To my surprise, he’s holding his bloody nose and staring at Crush with wide eyes while Crush circles around him.

I guess Yates isn’t so tough after all. Money doesn’t buy everything. Dick.

“You’re here because I let you be. Don’t fucking forget it. This is my party, old man.”

“Frank,” Yates rasps and I stiffen.

“Is dead. Useless fucker anyway. I’m in charge, you feel me?”

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