Page 24 of Tormented
“Who’s going off half-cocked?” I yell, my neck straining with the force. “I’m completely ready to take that fucker down.”
As am I . . . .
Callum didn’t have to fucking hold his son while the kid cried. He didn’t have to reassure a goddamn child that he wasn’t responsible, and nothing he could have done would have changed the outcome. And he didn’t have to look at the confusion and heartbreak in his kid’s eyes while the boy tried to work out what he did wrong to make his grandfather send men with guns to shoot the shit out of their house.
My old man, my fucking father, put the frights up the wrong fucking family tonight.
He overstepped one boundary too many in his crusade to hit me where it hurts.
And now he’ll be the one crying, begging for respite . . . .
“Open the fuckin’ door.” I straddle the bike and move to kick the stand up, but Mighty drags me off over the tail. I swing wildly with my left hand at the big bastard, but he takes what hits I manage to land with a grunt, struggling to keep hold. I break free, shoving him backward into a couple of bikes before trying again to get mine going.
I manage as far as turning the engine over before a two-pronged attack from Callum and Mighty has me under the biggest son of a bitch’s weight while Callum kicks my stand back out.
“Just let me go,” I holler at the two of them. “He’s fuckin’ dead. That air-wastin’ motherfucker is dead!”
“Not tonight,” Callum grinds out, setting my bike’s weight on the stand and switching it off.
Mighty shifts position on top of me, doing everything he can to weigh me down with his forearm while he readies himself to stand. I bide my time, anger causing my limbs to twitch with unspent energy, and wait until he’s at his weakest, when his weight shifts between kneeling and standing.
He goes down like a ton of bricks, Callum leaping backward to avoid being knocked over in the aftermath.
“Dog,” I shout to the kid as he stands near the door to the common room, clearly unsure what to do. “Open the roller.”
His eyes flick to the control by the internal door, and he swallows.
Don’t say it, little boy . . . don’t invite trouble . . . .
“No.” He juts his chin out defiantly. The other two idiots alternate between watching me and checking what Dog’s going to do. “I’m goin’ to get King.”
“Like fuck you are.”
Callum’s hands shoot up, Mighty uttering a quiet “Easy now” as I point my piece at the kid.
“Open the door, Dog.”
He frowns and hits the switch with a sigh. The roller starts its ascent.
“Anybody moves and I swear to fuckin’ God I’ll take him out.” It’s low, it’s filthy, and it’s totally unfair for the kid who’s just doing his job, but needs must.
I keep my gun trained on Dog as I inch toward my bike. With a great deal of effort, I manage to remount, kick the stand up, and start the engine, all while keeping the barrel firmly pointed in his direction.
Go, before they stop you again . . . .
“Nobody fuckin’ try anythin’ stupid,” I say, waving my gun between the three of them.
“You’re the only one making stupid decisions right now, brother,” Callum mutters.
“Why would that be?” I ask, tucking my gun back in my waistband.
He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “How you planning on gettin’ into your old man’s place, huh? You barely made it out past his security. Don’t you think he might have a few more men nowadays?”
“A risk I’ll take.” I gun the engine to drown out his reply, and pull out of rank toward the exit.
The three of them stand stock-still in my mirrors as I cross onto the dirt. Positive I’ve got my exit sorted, I wind open the throttle and aim for the open gate.
They never leave the gate open . . . especially on a night like tonight . . . .