Page 140 of Ship Outta Luck

Am I really, though? Unclear.

Despite the wine and my false bravado, I shiver. I really don’t want to die.

Seems unfair to get murdered by someone as annoying as Pierce, anyway. The wine bottle starts to slip, and the man in front, my hit-and-run and margarita-first-aid victim, squints at me.

“There’s other ways of getting information, Pierce.” His voice is thickly accented. “We don’t have to take her anywhere.”

I swallow, eyes widening.

“Nah, she’s smarter than her dad was. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to die like he did, do you, honey?”

Oooh, now I’m mad. Well, even more mad.

“Why?” The question slips from my mouth like someone else is speaking. “Why would you do this? Betray your country?”

Pierce throws the back of his fist against my cheek, and I stagger at his slap. “You know nothing about me or the work I do. Keep your mouth shut.”

“You hit me,” I gasp. I shouldn’t be shocked. I am.

My face is numb, mind reeling from being hit. I blink rapidly, trying to focus.

“Why?” I ask again, my vision foggy. I’m not sure if I’m asking why he’s a traitor or why he hit me.

I doubt there are good answers to either.

“Why?Why?Because I’ve spent years watching politicians take money, take bribes. Washington is a sewer. None of the work I’ve done matters, not when the corrupt assholes won’t do anything real to stop it. We’re going to change all that. We’re going to change this country, change the world.”

“So you gave in? Helped the enemy instead?” I touch a finger to my lips, and it comes away bloody. “Decided to make money for yourself?” Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop talking.

Even if he decided to hit me again, my mouth would probably just keep getting me in trouble.

“You think this is about money?” He stares, slack-jawed. “This was never about money, never about drugs. We’re not going down without a fight.”

“Who is we?” A fight? The bright coppery taste of blood slicks over my tongue, and I spit, trying not to gag on it.

“We’re patriots. I haven’t betrayed anyone.” His eyes are wild, fanatic. “Now tell me what I want to know, or things are going to really get ugly.”

“I don’t feel so great,” I say, reeling off the first excuse that comes to mind. Used to get me out of gym class. Sometimes. Once.

“You’re going to feel worse if you don’t start talking.” Pierce glares at me.

“Enough talking, we need to get her out of here,” the Russian says.

I shift, trying a new strategy. “Pierce, are you going to take orders from him?”

The Russian sneers at me. “You think he’s in charge?”

He licks his lips as I squirm, panic cresting at the malevolence in his stare.

Time. I need time, need to keep them talking.

Any minute, the cavalry will come bursting through the door, I’m sure of it.

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “Are you?”

The bottle slips in my sweaty grip, but I cling to it.

“What’s behind your back?” The Russian clicks the safety off his gun.

---