Page 91 of Cash

“Hmm.” Finchie tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if I believe him. Do you believe him, Roland?”

“I’m not so sure, Mr. Finch,” Roland replied. “Would you like me to ask him?”

“Please do.”

Brick watched as Roland handed the gun over to Finchie, and he grabbed the table leg from off the floor as Roland came toward him. “Oh, I would not get any closer if I were you.”

“It’s nothing personal, kid,” Roland said as he rolled up his sleeves. “Don’t worry. I’ll say hi to your mom before I—”

Brick cracked the table leg across the side of Roland’s head. The cheap wood snapped right in two, and Brick immediately followed up with a right hook. “You fucker! Fuck you! Don’t you fucking dare say a goddamn word about my mother!”

Roland staggered back, but he quickly recovered. He swung and clipped Brick’s jaw, taking on a boxer’s stance as he drove him into the far corner of the room.

Brick tried to keep his hands up to block Roland’s blows, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop them all. He was losing ground, and there wasn’t anywhere to run with Finchie having that gun aimed right at him. He had to think of something. He wasn’t going to go down getting the shit beat out of him in the corner of a nasty fucking basement.

When Brick’s foot hit the corner, he pushed forward. He didn’t have the technical skills that Roland clearly did, but Brick was bigger.

And he had an idea.

A really stupid, stupid idea.

He grabbed the front of Roland’s sweater and pushed as hard as he could. Roland was pounding his head and face, but Brick refused to let go of him. He held on, screaming as he charged, forcing Roland to back up…

Right into Finchie.

Finchie was right in front of the door with nowhere to go except into the hallway, but it was happening too fast. “Hey! Hey! Fucking stop!”

Brick snarled and summoned every ounce of strength he had, slamming Roland into Finchie and crushing them against the wall inside the hallway. He bashed his head into Roland’s face, smashing up his nose, and Finch continued to yell furiously, trapped behind Roland and unable to raise his gun.

Two gunshots rang out, startling them all.

They hadn’t come from Finchie’s gun.

The sound had come from the stairs down at the end of the hall.

“No!” Finch snarled, and he managed to get his arm holding the gun out.

Brick had to sacrifice part of his hold on Roland to reach for the gun so Finch wouldn’t shoot him right in the face. He grabbed the barrel and pushed up, cringing as Finch fired wildly, the bullets hitting the ceiling above them. His ears rang miserably, and he wrenched the gun away, catching Roland’s fist with his mouth for his trouble. He hit Roland back with the butt of the gun and then pushed off.

More guns were firing somewhere, and a man was screaming in pain until the sound abruptly ended.

Finchie bolted toward the stairs, and Brick had nowhere else to go except right back in the stupid basement room he’d just been trapped in. He ran in, trying to get a hold of the gun properly so he could actually use the damn thing and defend himself.

Roland tackled Brick to the floor, pinning him down and knocking the gun out of his hands.

Brick watched it go flying across the floor, and he tried to twist beneath Roland and push him off. He had to get the gun first. He had to get it first or Roland was going to shoot him. Roland was going to kill him.

Fuck, Roland was going to kill him.

Brick realized he might really die down here. He wouldn’t be able to see his parents ever again or Jules—oh, Jules.

Handsome, funny, sweet Jules.

Jules, who was the most wonderful kisser in the entire world and whose very touch sent Brick off into orbits of pleasure, a man who Brick wanted to spend every second with that he could, to be spoiled by, to laugh with and fuck like gods and talk with for hours on end…

Off in the distance, Brick heard more gunfire, and it seemed like it was getting closer.

Roland grabbed Brick’s hair and slammed his head into the ground. Brick saw stars, but he was able to turn onto his side so he could kick Roland in the stomach and groin. Brick had to get up. He was helpless like this, and he roared as he slammed his fist into Roland’s throat.

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