Page 54 of Thunder

He sets a beer in front of me and slips the money into his pocket.

“Thanks. You know, I should tell you: I actually love my life. I love the hours and I make great money. Enjoy your beer.”

“Oh, fuck you.” I take the photo out of my pocket and slap it on the bar. “If you don’t want me to start some shit here, you thieving dick, I suggest you tell me if you’ve ever seen this man here.”

"Never seen him," he lies, turning away to pour a drink for another customer.

Disappointment gnaws at my insides, but I refuse to give up. I have come too far to leave empty-handed.

"Look again," I insist, my eyes narrowing. There's no way I'm leaving without answers. Not when Eileen is suffering because of this bastard.

"Sorry, pal," the bartender grunts, not even bothering to look back at the photograph. "Can't help you. Unless you want to buy another drink?"

“Fuck you, you think I’m made of money?”

My clenched fists tremble with frustration. With a heavy sigh, I snatch the photo from the bar and turn to leave. But just as I'm about to leave, a gruff voice behind me says, "Hold on there, buddy."

I whirl around to face a rugged man in a battered leather jacket. Tattoos snake up his arms, disappearing beneath his sleeves. His challenging gaze meets mine, and something in his eyes tells me he knows more than he's letting on.

"Seems like you're pretty interested in that guy," he says, nodding toward the crumpled photograph clutched in my hand. He’s got a funny accent, an odd mishmash of New Jersey and something vaguely European. Listening to him feels like having spoiled marinara pumped into my ears. "What's your deal?"

"None of your business. But if you know something, I suggest you spill it."

"Or what? You'll beat it out of me?" He smirks.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." I take a step closer to him. "This man poisoned someone I care about. I won't stop until I get answers."

"Is that so?" The man's voice is level, but I can see a flicker of something dark in his eyes.

"Listen, if you know anything—" I start, but I'm cut off by the sudden flash of silver in the dim light of the bar. The man's feigned indifference vanishes as he swiftly unsheathes a switchblade from his pocket.

"Sorry, pal. Can't help ya," he growls, lunging forward with lethal intent.

Time slows as the blade arcs toward me, its path as clear as the resolve in my heart.

The switchblade slices through the air, mere inches from my face. My heart races as I instinctively kick a nearby barstool, sending it hurtling toward my assailant. The heavy collision of wood and flesh echoes in my ears, reminding me just how close I am to death's door.

"Is this what you want?" I spit out, my voice laced with venom. My eyes lock with his, fierce determination burning within both of us.

"You’re in way over your head, fucking with shit way above your pay grade," he snarls, brandishing the weapon. “You were dead the second you started asking questions.”

This isn't just about finding answers anymore, this is about pure survival.

Panic erupts around us like a violent wave, sweeping through the bar and leaving chaos in its wake. Glass shatters, chairs topple, and the cacophony of screams and curses fills the air. My heart races as I watch people scramble for cover or shove their way towards the exits, desperate to escape the violence unfolding before them.

"Fucking bring it," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "I’ll fucking beat you until you’re begging to give me answers."

"You’re nothing but a dead man," he hisses, lunging forward once more.

I narrowly dodge his attack, feeling the breeze as the blade whistles past me.

"Better men have tried," I laugh, my pulse pounding in my ears. I can almost hear Bullet's laugh, urging me on, and Rook's gruff words of encouragement… or his sarcastic, well-intentioned warnings that I’m probably going to die. They're with me, in spirit if not in body.

"Your funeral," he sneers, his eyes glinting with malice. He charges again, the switchblade slicing through the air with terrifying precision.

As we circle each other like predators, I know that one thing is certain: this fight will end with one of us broken and bloodied on the floor, and I'll be damned if it's me.

Chapter Twenty-Three

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