Page 63 of Thunder

My phone beeps again, and as I reach for my phone to silence it, the sharp sound of a gun cocking behind me freezes me in place.

A muffled voice cuts through the tense silence, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Don't move. Drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head. Now."

My heart sinks, the cold barrel of the gun presses against the back of my skull.

"Alright," I say, dropping my gun and then raising my hands slowly. "Take it easy."

"Good boy," the gunman says, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Now get on your knees.”

“Look, I’ve seen this movie, and you’re not getting a blowjob. You have to take me out to dinner first. Somewhere nice, too, like better than an Applebee’s.”

“Do I sound like I’m fucking around here?”

With a sharp blow that leaves colors spinning in my vision, the man behind me reminds me he is not, in fact, fucking around.

I hesitate, weighing my options; do I fight back and risk getting killed? Or do I comply and hope for an opportunity to escape—preferably one that doesn’t involve a blowjob.

“Now!” He barks

"Alright, alright," I say, lowering to my knees, the cold promise of the gun hard against the back of my skull.

“Fucking finally,” says the man behind me. “It’s nice to finally meet you face to face, Marcus. Or such as it is. I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

I can’t resist a partial turn; a turn that ends with the butt of the man’s gun smacking the side of my head and reminding me not to fucking move.

“You mean you’re…”

“Antonio Mancini. The man you’ve been hunting for. The man who’s going to kill you.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thunder

There’s a riot in my chest as I kneel on the cold, damp ground of the abandoned Solverson Warehouse. A riot fueled by regret, by anger, by the cold, sickening feeling that I might never see Lia again. Antonio Mancini has me right where he wants me—at the mercy of his gun pressed against the back of my head. This is it. I'm a dead man. Just my luck that I’m going to die in a warehouse for what used to be a medical supply company.

When Rook finds out about this, he’s going to nearly die from a laughing fit.

Maybe he’ll actually die.

At least then something good would come from my death.

A gunshot rings out, and I flinch, bracing for the impact. But it never comes. Instead, I hear Antonio curse behind me, clearly distracted.

"Who the fuck?!" Antonio shouts, turning away from me for a split second. “Come out. You’re a fucking dead man.”

I seize the opportunity and spring into action. My muscles tense, adrenaline surges through my veins as I lunge at Antonio, catching him off guard. Our bodies collide, fists flying. I land a hard uppercut on his jaw, immediately followed by a swift kick to his ribs, and finally, a knee to his face. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone echoes in the empty warehouse. Blood sprays, and for once, it’s not mine.

"Damn it, you biker piece of shit!" Antonio snarls, wiping blood from his mouth. He bashes me in the face with the handle of his gun, pain exploding through my skull. For a moment, everything goes black—but I shake it off and raise my fists. As Antonio aims the gun at me again, I counterattack, bashing him square in the face with all the force I can muster.

"Motherfucker!" he spits, and a busted tooth drops from his bloody mouth as he staggers back and falls to the ground.

I leap on top of him, my fists raining down on his battered face like a storm.

"This is for Eileen, you son of a bitch!"

"Oh, that old cunt? I’ll visit her before your body’s even cold in the ground," Antonio growls, trying to shove me off.

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