Page 26 of Abducted

Nate rubbed his hands together. “Let’s roll.”

Cal pulled his cap down low again. They stepped out of the truck and moved swiftly down the sidewalk toward the small group.

“S’cuse me, you got a light?” Nate asked as they approached the group. All three swiveled to look at them. Stamos had his short, curly hair gelled close to his scalp. Idiot Number One had long black hair fastened in a ponytail at his nape. Idiot Number Two had a poor bleach-blond dye job.

“Sure—”

Nate’s booted foot connected with the back of Idiot Number One’s knee.

He folded like a cheap lawn chair.

“What the fu—” Stamos and Idiot Number Two tossed their cigarettes and charged them. Cal threw a sucker punch to Idiot Number Two’s nose.

It crunched beneath his knuckles. He howled and staggered back. Blood squirted through his fingers.

“Here’s your chance, Ponytail. Run while you can,” Nate warned. Ponytail staggered to his feet and advanced on Nate. He stopped him with a swift kick to his solar plexus. Stamos’s eyes connected with Cal’s.

“Motherfucker,” he breathed. His hand dove for the gun at his waist, but Cal aimed his Glock at his head. Stamos froze as his body vibrated with rage and his eyes turned beady. Cal reached for Stamos’s gun and shoved it into the waistband of his own pants. He snagged him by the collar of his jacket with his free hand, then shifted him to a chokehold. Stamos struggled and bounced against Cal’s chest. Stamos’s heels connected with his shins.

“Hold the fuck still, you punk. We just want to talk.” Nate turned as Ponytail hobbled away. “Cal, look out!”

The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. He turned with Stamos still in his grip. Idiot Number Two slashed a knife through the air, then it sliced through his deltoid like a hot knife through butter. Fire shot through his shoulder, but it numbed in a heartbeat. His adrenaline stifled the pain.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.

“I got it, dude.” Nate charged. Idiot Number Two went down like a ton of bricks after a deadly dropkick to the face. “He’ll feel that later.”

Cal backed up toward Nate’s parked car. “Hop in the back and get the duct tape ready,” he barked to Nate.

He opened the truck door. Stamos hung in the crook of his right arm. “Someone’s probably called the cops,” he moaned.

“Not to worry, we aren’t sticking around.” He heaved Stamos’s 170-pound frame into the back seat, where Nate was.

“’Sup, buddy? We’re goin’ for a ride.” He peeled a strip of duct tape and worked at securing Stamos.

Cal climbed in the front passenger seat. “Be sure to seal his mouth. If I have to hear that dumbass pubescent voice again, I’m going to thump him.”

Nate tore another strip of duct tape. “Done.” Nate got out and climbed in the driver’s seat. “Where we heading?”

“Let’s take him back to my place, so he can pay for every broken thing in my house.”

Nate nodded, started the ignition, and peeled away from the curb.

***

“What do youthink, Cal, an eye for an eye?” Nate balanced his hands on his hips. “I guess it would be more like a couch for an eye, wouldn’t it?” he mused.

“Sounds about right.”

“I didn’t do it, man. I was at the club last night—all night.” He wrestled against the duct tape that secured him to the chair in the center of the destroyed kitchen. A red strip outlined his mouth where Nate had removed the duct tape.

“That so?” Cal uncrossed his arms over his chest and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Luckily I have security cameras. One sec while I log in to my account,” he said politely.

Stamos cursed.

“How much was that couch?” Nate lifted himself to sit on the edge of Cal’s quartz island.

“Ten grand.”

---