Page 111 of Kings Against the World

“You’re coming with me,” he announces. “All of you. We’ve got a guest appearance to make at averyspecial meeting.”

He slides the cigarette between his lips, flicks his lighter, and takes a deep drag. The smoke billows from his pursed lips as he turns and blows a cloud into my face. I clamp my mouth shut and resist the urge to sputter out a cough, my eyes squinting against the chemical smoke.

I won’t let him know how much it reeks or stings being blown right in my face. In my eyes.

Ozzie, on the other hand, bucks against the man restraining him. “You asshole! You dipshit motherfucker—let me at you! Just you and me, Boone. I’ll break your goddamn face!”

Boone lets out a delighted laugh, shaking his head as if Ozzie’s rage only amuses him. His attention shifts back to me. “So, is the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing for real?”

He waits for my answer as Ozzie continues jerking violently against the guy holding him.

When I don’t provide an answer, Boone seems satisfied anyway. His tone is teasing, like he’s soaking up every moment he gets to taunt us. “I’ve gotta admit, you two seemed like an odd pairing when Oz told me you were together. Then those little sweet kisses you exchanged during the tournament…”

He places a hand over his chest in mock sentiment. Some of his other men grunt out thick laughter.

“Man, it made my heart melt. It made me think you might actually be into each other. And that’s gonna make things so much more fun. Know that.” He nods to his men. “Tie them up. We’ve got places to be.”

We’re marched out of the Steel Saloon. I drag my feet as I’m nudged me forward, and I manage to throw a quick glance over my shoulder.

Mick is the only one who remains. He managed to make it to the stockroom like Ozzie said. Which means he’s our only hope to alert the rest of the Kings.

The henchman gives me another rough shove. I stumble over my own feet as we reach the back of a van and the henchman throws a coil of rope over my wrists. He begins looping and knotting the rope wherever he can, tightening it so the rough material abrades my wrists.

The same is happening to Ozzie and the others. We’re being bound by rope while the rest of his men move toward the other vehicles they’ve brought with them. Then they shove us inside the back of the van. I’m pushed so hard, I tumble with no free hands to catch my fall.

Instead my knees do. My left one hits the metal framing at the van’s entrance, sending a sharp jolt of pain ringing through me.

That’s sure to bruise and swell.

The doors slam shut and they bang on them tauntingly.

Ozzie is on the floor of the van next to me. He waits to speak ’til the doors up front are popping open and the two who’ll be driving our van climb in.

“Are you fucking crazy? What the hell was that back there?”

I breathe through the pain and shake my head. “Keep your voice down.”

The van lurches forward, the engine rumbling as it rolls along the uneven terrain. I shift against the cold metal wall, my stomach in knots. Through the windows on the van’s back doors, I see the other cars falling in line behind us.

“They’re taking us to the meeting,” I whisper. “The one between the Steel Kings and the Road Rebels. They’re going to use us as leverage.”

Ozzie exhales, his jaw clenching. He’s looking toward Mudd and Flanagan. “Get ready to fight dirty. Kick dust in their eyes if you have to.”

I shift my wrists against the binds again. The rough material scratches against the delicate skin of my wrist. I breathe slower, drawing in steadier breaths. I’m forcing my mind to focus. My thoughts into clarity.

Stay calm.

I’ve spent years chasing this moment. If this is the end, I’ll make sure Boone doesn’t walk away from it either.

I turn to Ozzie. “Reach into my pocket.”

He eyes me in confusion. “What?”

“The switchblade,” I whisper. “I grabbed it off the floor when Boone yanked me up. I slid it into my pocket.”

Admiration passes over his features before he inches closer and maneuvers his bound hands toward my jean pockets. It’s not easy considering both his wrists are knotted together and his hands are large.

But his fingers are long as they dip into the denim pouch and feel around for the switchblade.

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