Page 62 of Mountain Daddy

My knee drives into his stomach. He doubles over, retching.

I grab his hair. Slam his face into the brick wall.

Once.

Twice.

Blood streams from his nose.

“You like small-town girls?” I growl in his ear.

Slam his face again.

“Think they're easy to move?”

Again.

“Perfect for overseas clients?”

This time I hear something crack.

He's sobbing now. Begging.

I don't care.

Men like Dmitri don't deserve mercy. Don't deserve breath.

They deserve pain.

I let him drop. He crumples to the pavement like a broken doll.

But I'm not done.

My boot connects with his ribs. He screams.

“Please,” he whimpers. “I'll disappear. Never come back.”

“You're right,” I say, kneeling beside him. “You'll never come back.”

I wrap my hands around his throat.

His eyes bulge. Hands claw at mine.

“The next time you think about trafficking innocent girls,” I whisper, “remember this moment. Remember me.”

I squeeze. Watch the life drain from his eyes.

Almost.

Then I let go.

He gasps. Rolls onto his side. Vomits blood and bile.

“Get out of my town,” I tell him. “If I see you again, I'll finish what I started.”

He scrambles away on hands and knees. Disappearing into the shadows like the rat he is.

I turn to the cousin. He's still pressed against the wall. Pale as death.

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