Page 7 of Finders Keepers
“Where is it, you faggot?”
Wesley gasped for breath, heat and pain diffused outward from both eyes.
Just then, hollering and laughing spilled from the club and carried across the parking lot. His phone vibrated against his ass—no doubt his ride share was leaving and taking his pre-paid fare with him. The toot-toot of a horn confirmed it. Fuck.
The guy shoved him into the aisle, no doubt out of the group of merrymakers’ line of sight. Wesley gasped again and doubled over, the pressure in his head throbbing viciously. A groan pushed free of his lungs.
Wesley wrenched out of the guy’s hold and tried to lurch away, but a hand grasped him by the excess fabric of his blouse at his lower back and kept him from escaping.
“Sir, sir,” said the accented voice, moving closer, getting louder. “It’s not in his backpack. Maybe he doesn’t have it.”
“Oh, he’s got it all right. This is the guy. My insider says it’s him. The thumb drive must be at his house.”
There was no way. That backpack didn’t have that many pockets.
Another set of voices ricocheted across the lot, getting louder as if they were headed that direction.Thank goodness.
Wesley listened hard, past the rushing in his ears and the pulsing of his heartbeat in his cheekbone. This could be his chance to get away. The voices moved closer, got louder.
The guy kept a hold of his blouse, but used a casual tone and started talking to his associate about getting together in a day or two.
Wesley concentrated as well as he could on the approaching voices, gauging their proximity. Not that he wanted to call attention to himself—he couldn’t afford for anyone to call the police—he just wanted to get away. Find a place to hide. Get home. Get cleaned up. Collapse into bed.
The voices grew loud enough that he could make out their conversation. In that moment, Wesley went limp, crashing to the ground and landing on his hands and knees, jarring his whole body in the process. Agony stole his breath and he rolled to his side. He panted through the waves of pain in his head, although that hurt too.Must move...
His assailant hissed a few choice epithets at him.
“Hey,” said one of the newcomers. “How’s it going?”
With every ounce of energy and wherewithal he had, Wesley returned to hands and knees, gasping at the pulses of pain in his head, and crawled a few feet before lurching to his feet with the help of a car and shuffling away as quietly and as quickly as he could.
“Yeah, good, thanks,” Wesley’s attacker growled.
“Hey, do you know where the closest IHOP or Denny’s is?”
“How the fuck would I know? Use your fucking cell phone.”
“Fuck you, man; just asking.”
Between his swollen eyes and the deep shadows between the cars, Wesley could barely see, but the safety provided by the bulk of the vehicles around him kept him moving. He turned left then right, cut between front bumpers, looped around rear bumpers and between them again, hauling in air, trying to get lost in the mass of metal.
Wesley pushed off a car, blinked to clear his vision, and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. Stifled a moan at the throb of hurt.Quiet...he had to be quiet.
He moved as quickly as he could. His pulse throbbed in his face. His head ached. He could only see out of his left eye; the right one had completely swollen shut.
He had to keep going. Had to find safety.
Wesley tripped. Caromed off a car. Swallowed his cry of agony.Fuck! That hurts!
He hit the ground, head bouncing against the asphalt. Fireworks burst inside his skull, and he clutched his head, a groan ripping from his throat.
He lay there, huffing through the surge of pain stealing his breath.
“Gonna find you, faggot!”
Shit, shit. Move! Hide!Wesley pushed to his hands and knees.
His harsh breaths sounded loud in his ears, in the darkness. More people laughed and called to one another. Hopefully, it was enough to camouflage the sounds he couldn’t help making.
