Page 115 of House Rules
He’s not alone.
Out of the van hops five other men. These aren’t the same caliber as the two who attacked me in the alley. They’re tall, muscular, and truly intimidating.
“That her?” the tallest of them says, taking a step towards me.
“Yeah,” Baldy says, smirking like a schoolyard snitch.
The big one steps forward and draws a bowie knife from the back of his jeans. The blade is wide, the edges jagged with rust. It’s not a weapon built for finesse—just damage.
“Now I understand what all the fuss is about,” he says, raking his gaze over me like he’s peeling away skin.
I take a step back before I can stop myself.
“Oh no, guys,” he taunts. “I think I scared the little lamb.”
The men behind him laugh. Knives appear in a dull gleam of steel. Two slide brass knuckles over their fingers with a glint in the streetlight that makes my stomach turn.
I almost want to tell them they won’t need the brass knuckles. My bones break pretty easily.
“What do you want?” My voice almost breaks on the words.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart—what was that?”
I square my shoulders. “What do you want?” My voice comes out stronger this time, even if my pulse is jackhammering.
He scratches under his chin with the tip of his blade, pretending to think. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what my boss wants. You know how it is—jackass boss rides you hard?—”
His smirk deepens. “Actually, I’m guessing you’re pretty familiar with a boss riding you hard.”
More laughter, and then he sobers.
“See, my boss isn’t too fond of yours. He sent me to deliver a little message.”
Fuck.
I should have stayed in Con’s bed. Safe. Warm. But no, I had to prove something. I wasn’t being stubborn. Just stupid.
“What kind of message?” I ask, stalling for time I don’t actually have. Praying for a miracle I don’t believe in.
He shrugs. “Not something you can write down. It’s more of a… show-and-tell situation.”
My eyes scan the street. No cars. No open businesses. No one to hear me scream.
The big guy’s gaze drops to my legs, then my chest. “Your little friends told my boss you were untouchable. We’re here to touch you. All of us. And we might keep touching you long after your corpse goes cold.”
Cold sweat beads along my spine, and the taste of metal goes sour in my mouth. I shuffle backwards, my bravado finally breaking.
“Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart. We’re just gonna have a little fun?—”
A sound rustles behind me, a rock or something scraping against the sidewalk.
The words stall in his mouth as his eyes shift past my shoulder.
I don’t turn. My fingers curl into fists.
Because either help just found me?—
Or it’s already too late.
