Page 123 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

My hands are bound behind me, wrists already raw and throbbing from the tight plastic ties. My feet are the same, ankles cinched and tingling with numbness.

Panic claws at my throat.

I fight to breathe through my nose, to not freak the fuck out, but it’s hard. It’s so goddamn hard.

All I remember is Bob calling me into the stockroom.

Said he needed help to move a fresh case of beer—something he never offers to do.

I should have known.

That alone should’ve set alarm bells off.

But I’m a bartender. I’ve been trained to clean up messes I didn’t make. I didn’t even hesitate. Just turned and followed him back like it was any other night.

Only it wasn’t.

I didn’t see the first man. Not until he was behind me, his arm a steel trap around my chest, the other slapping a massive hand over my mouth.

I couldn’t even scream. Couldn’t fight. Just a flash of motion.

Claws.

Long, curved, unnatural claws slicing through air and cracking across Bob’s face like a whip.

“We’re done now, right? My debt is paid!” Bob had begged, his voice trembling, lips already bloodied.

That’s when it hit me.

My boss didn’t just betray me.

He sold me.

Like livestock.

“Shut up.”

The voice had been low, harsh.

Unforgiving.

“We decide when your debt is paid.”

And then the man, the one I recognized as Tim, the same arrogant asshole from a few nights ago at the bar, slashed Bob across the cheek with those claws like it was nothing.

Just skin and meat. Disposable.

Bob hit the floor hard. A wet sound. Gurgling.

I twisted, kicked, thrashed, but there were too many of them.

Something hit me.

A fist? A boot?

I don’t know. But it slammed into the side of my head and the lights went out.

Now, I’m awake. And I wish I wasn’t.

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