Page 20 of Halfway to Hell
“Oops.”
Using his foot, Texas rolled him onto his back. He unfastened Dalton’s pants and started yanking them down. When Dalton began to struggle, Texas slapped him hard across the head, drawing a groan.
Flipping him back over, Texas grabbed the scissors and carefully cut the duct tape binding Dalton’s ankles, freeing them enough to pull the pants off completely.
Dalton started kicking wildly, but Texas was faster. He pulled his gun, pressing the barrel against Dalton’s temple.
“Stop, or I’ll kill you. Not tonight, but don’t make me get there.”
Dalton froze; his wide eyes locked on Texas’s steady gaze.
Texas stood over Dalton, scissors in hand, flicking them open and shut. “You move, I’ll cut your balls off,” he warned, then reached down and snipped the boxers right off.
To make sure Dalton knew exactly how close the scissors were, Texas gave his balls a sharp tap with the shears.
Then, grabbing the woman’s underwear, Texas pulled them up over Dalton.
“Don’t those look nice?” he laughed coldly.
Next came the jeans—slipping them on was a struggle, thanks to Dalton’s tight skinny jeans and the sweat pouring off him like a sinner in church. Texas left them unfastened and finished by duct-taping Dalton’s ankles again.
Keeping Dalton pinned on his back, Texas grabbed the t-shirt and tied it tightly around his eyes. He secured it with duct tape wrapped around his head.
Picking up the tin snips, Texas jabbed them cruelly into Dalton’s groin. The man immediately began to sob. Pussy, Texas thought with a sneer.
Time was running out. Despite his disgust, Texas forced himself to the worst part. He grabbed Dalton’s flaccid penis—still awkwardly covered by the woman’s panties—and positioned it between the two sides of the jeans’ zipper.
With the pliers in one hand, he gripped the zipper’s toggle. With the other, he pulled Dalton’s skin taut, then slowly zipped the jeans up, trapping the scrotum inside. The zipper’s teeth bit into the delicate skin, drawing blood that seeped through the fabric of the panties.
Texas yanked harder, determined, until the zipper was closed all the way. He stepped back, gathering the tools and stuffing them into his bag with deliberate care. He bent over and slapped Dalton hard across the cheek.
“Next time you hurt a female, I’ll come back and do worse.”
Dalton lay on the grimy living room floor, sobbing uncontrollably, snot bubbling against the duct tape sealing his mouth.
Texas didn’t leave through the front door. Instead, he slipped out the back, moving quietly through shadowed yards and hopping a fence to disappear into the next block.
Two blocks later, he found an unlocked shed and slipped inside. There, he stripped off the thrift-store clothes and changed back into his regular gear. Using a plastic bag from the thrift store, he stuffed everything he’d worn inside the house, tied it tight, and shoved it back into his backpack.
With a quick call, he summoned an Uber, then walked to the street and waited, blending into the night.
Chapter Eight
Texas hadthe Uber drop him a block down from the bar. He walked the rest of the way back, the evening air sticky and thick with the buzz of nightlife. After securing the bag to his handlebars, he slipped inside through the back door—the same way he’d left earlier.
The bar was packed, if it could get any busier. The hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the low thrum of music filled the air. Texas weaved through the crowd, spotting an empty Miller Lite bottle on a nearby table. He snagged it and headed for the bar.
The bartender was swamped, juggling orders from a half dozen impatient patrons all waving for her attention. Catching her eye, Texas held up the empty bottle. She nodded, sliding a fresh beer his way and then, surprisingly, handed him two.
Texas froze for a split second, confusion flickering until he caught the figure standing just behind him—Eros. Damn Nakota.
Without missing a beat, Texas handed Eros the extra beer and nodded toward the door. Time to step outside.
Standing in the fresh night air, Texas didn’t have to wait long before Eros spoke.
“Did you get things worked out?”
Texas never could get anything past Eros. Damn Nakota sixth sense, he thought.
