Page 65 of Pushed

I wasn't letting go.

“You sick fucking prick.” Hissing, I dug my fingers in firmer, yanking him over the table completely. “Did you honestly think that I would buy them from you? Did you really think that you could pass off two children and I would take them?”

“Every man has a weak spot, most of the men you deal with would die to have a piece of what you just threw away.” Glancing at the door, his eyes became shifty like he was waiting for it to be thrown open any second.

“You're not alone, are you?”

He wouldn't talk. Closing his mouth, he tried to pry my hands free. His fingers clawed and stabbed, raked and scratched. But right then, I didn't feel a fucking thing.

“Who'd you bring? Danny? Georgio?” His gaze stayed firmly in place, begging the guys waiting outside to rush in and save him. “Did Sylvan send someone with you?”

There it was. A flash, a moment of truth in the crusty, beady little eyes resting in the sockets. He had given me some insight, he had shown weakness when he wanted to be strong.

Is Sylvan watching me? Is he trying to test me?

“Who is it, Hans?”

The handle shook gently, opening slowly. “Hans? Machi? You guys alright?”

Hans attempted to speak, so I stopped him. Curling my hand around his throat, I squeezed down, cutting off any of the sounds he tried to make.

“Machi, what the hell man?” Fior stepped in, reaching for the gun on his waist.

“He's a liar, Fior, he tried to take the money and split with the girls.” Hans attempted to wiggle his head, but I kept him trapped.

Every muscle he had was useless, breaking apart in my hands as rage consumed me.

“Where are the girls?”

“They took off! Go! Go fucking find them!” Clamping down harder, I peered at his ghostly white reflection. “I'll deal with this dick.”

Fior disappeared out the door and I heard the rev of an engine and the tires squeal as he sped away. He wouldn't find them, they were gone, hopefully hiding in the shadows.

“Is there anyone else coming to save you?” Smirking, I dragged him around the table as his feet kicked and bounced around. The chair he had been using flipped backwards, hitting the floor and snapping into pieces.

Staring into his suffocating eyes, his nostrils flared as his lids popped open in fear.

“No? So, no one else is coming to help you. Doesn't that suck for you?” Drawing my hand back, I let it connect with his cheek.

His skin burst open, cracking wide like porcelain on concrete. But that wasn't enough, not for me, not for what he had done to those poor girls.

My knuckles crunched under the weight of my arm, hitting him again and again. The skin had started to peel back on my fingers, turning red and raw as I pounded his face.

Hans tried to fight back, but there was nothing he could do. No amount of apologies he tried to spew out or saddened eyes he wanted to feed me were going to work. He deserved every last second of pain for trying to sell me children.

Loosening my hand, he fell to his knees. I could see his lips moving, I could hear the soft vibration of his vocal cords as they tried to drum up a sound. Lowering my ear to his face, I could barely make out what he was saying.

'Our father. . .'

“No amount of prayers can save you, not now, not ever.” Hovering over him, my fingers pierced into my palms as I balled my fists.

Falling back, Hans kept his face up to the ceiling, holding his hands up to the sky.

Let him pray, let him have this moment. . .

Because it's his last.

My shadow painted his body in black glass as his lips continued to speak muddied sentences.

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