Brock nods, telling me all I need to know. Unless the sick fuck listens to what I say, I get to paint the goddamn walls with his blood.
“If you wanna walk outta here with your head intact,” I continue, “you and your pussy friend are gonna play by my rules.”
Dom tilts his head. “So now we’re playing a game?”
“Yeah, motherfucker,” I snarl, inching closer. Bobby moves with me, making sure his shotgun doesn’t lose contact with my skull. “We’re playing a game that, I assure you, I’ll win. I haven’t got a thing to live for, so the idea of dying tonight has me lit the fuck up. This shit’s the most exciting thing to happen to me since I found out how to rub one off.”
“Don’t ya go listening to him, Dom,” Bobby urges. “They disrespected ya. Ya can’t let them get away with that. If ya do, it’ll show you have vul-vulner-vulnerabilities.”
“Go back to school, you fucking re-re-retard,” I quip, wondering how the imbecile knows how to handle a gun. “You mean it’ll show he’s vulnerable, numb-nuts.”
“Fuck you, Ryder,” Bobby all but cries, sliding the barrel of the shotgun to the center of my spine. “The second one of these here slugs slices through yer’ bones, you’ll never walk again. I’m about to turn ya into a pa-par-paramedic. How ya like them there apples?”
“Jesus Christ, it’s a paraplegic!” I’m positive I’m already in hell. I narrow my eyes at Dom, pissed that he’s going to allow the stupidest man on the face of the planet to take my life. If I’m dying tonight, it needs to happen right the fuck now. This is an embarrassment to my ego. “I’m getting annoyed, and when I get annoyed, bad shit happens. When bad shit happens, no one’s happy. When no one’s happy . . . well, that’s not good. Actually, it’s pretty fucking bad.” I smirk. This shit’s comical. Yup, I’ve lost my goddamn mind. “If you don’t tell your boy to drop his gun, everyone—including the naked whore—is getting their beauty sleep in the morgue tonight.” I swing my eyes to Blondie and kick her a wink. “You ready to die, sweetcheeks?”
Full neon pink lips trembling, she lets out a cry, her body convulsing with a severe case of the shakes as I bring my attention back to Dom. “Despite what they say, brunettes have more fun, and they fuck a whole lot better. Besides, I’ve always wanted to add a bitch to my list of kills.”
Dom stares at me for several agonizing seconds, his mouth pressed into a hard line. “What are your terms?”
“Ah, they’re quite simple,” I answer. “First, Einstein’s gonna remove the barrel of his shotgun from my spine. The pressure it’s putting on my back isn’t good for a young buck like me. What can I say? I’m conscious of scoliosis and shit like that.” I hear Brock chuckle. Like mine, the bastard’s mental state’s in the middle of snapping. “Then”—I crane my head toward a row of monstrous shelving units—“Einstein’s gonna kick his shotgun over to those metal racks. After that, the rest is technicalities. You’re gonna follow your buddy’s lead and make sure your nifty little Desert Eagle also reaches those metal racks.”
Dom looks at Brock then back at me, skepticism brimming in his eyes. “Ya think I’m an asshole? How do I know you’re not just gonna kill us both?”
“Why, I give you my scout’s honor, of course.” I shrug, a lopsided grin tugging my mouth. “And—only because you asked—I do happen to think you’re an asshole. You’ve ruined a perfectly good Friday night for me and my friend. I’m feeling a tad bit . . . hostile because of this.” I sigh, feigning disinterest in life or death. “I’m getting bored, and my arm’s startin’ to hurt from holding it in this position. You have ten seconds or . . . well, need I further explain?”
Other than Blondie’s soft cries, silence cloaks the warehouse, suffocating my thoughts. Once again, time stops, holding me prisoner in its wicked grip. Dangling my future in front of me, Mother Time is in control. She’s the relentless cunt making the ultimate decision.
Vision tunneled on Dom’s expressionless face and sweat sluicing from my pores like filthy buckets of water, I take what could be my last breath.
Dom jerks his head toward Bobby. “Do what the kid said.”
“Are ya shittin’ me?” The words tumble from Bobby in an exasperated rush. “Ya gotta think about—”
“Don’t question me!” Dom’s eyes narrow into slits, fury reddening his usually pale complexion. “Just do it!”
Relief spirals through me, my pulse pounding out of control as Bobby drops the shotgun. Christ. The sound of it hitting the cement hardens my cock. A second ticks by and he kicks it, the sight of it sliding under the rack a goddamn visual orgasm.
Gun remaining pinned to Dom’s head, I nod my approval. “Well done, gentleman. If my hands weren’t occupied, I’d give ya’s a fucking round of applause. Considering Zipperhead thought the correct term for a paraplegic was ‘paramedic,’ I wasn’t sure he’d understand the logistics of kicking something.” I smirk, needing to make the dick pay a little more. “Now tell him to go stand in the corner—his back facing us—until I’m ready for him to load up our van.”
Jaw clenched, Dom stares long and hard at me before jutting his chin toward a corner. “You heard him.”
“This is insane, Dom!” Bobby stomps toward some random corner. “Complete bullshit!”