My smirk explodes as the fucktard does as told. “Looks like it’s your turn, Dom,” I point out with a casual shrug, well aware—but not giving a single fuck—that I pushed my luck past its limit several minutes ago. “Let’s see if you’re as responsive as your buddy is. Drop your shit or end up the reason we’ll all get to experience rigor mortis tonight.”
“I’ve got cameras all over this bitch, Ashcroft,” Dom warns, his voice disturbingly calm. He lowers his gun from Brock’s forehead and tosses it to the ground. He kicks it, the weapon joining Bobby’s across the warehouse. Staring into my eyes—the evilness pouring from him fisting my balls—he grins and points at the four corners of the ceiling. “Say hello, prick. You’re on television.”
I don’t lift my gaze from his. I don’t have to. I know he’s telling the truth. The asshole’s as paranoid as a prison escapee. From motion detectors to an arsenal of weapons stockpiled in his stables, the dick has every acre he owns covered.
“You pull anything shady,” Dom continues, “it won’t take long for Derick to figure out it was you and Brock. You’ll be begging for the cops to come get ya’s after he finishes what ya’s started here. Bet on that.”
Older than Dom by five years, Derick Lawrence—if at all possible—makes Dom look like an altar boy. After their mother died from an overdose when they were in high school, and their father took his last breaths in prison for murdering an innocent family during a home invasion, Derick raised Dom. Having no other living relatives, and knowing nothing but violence, Derick dragged Dom into the lifestyle he currently leads.
It’s safe to say Dom’s threat’s not a threat but indeed a fact.
Dom swings his attention to Brock, a sardonic smile resting on his lips. “But I can do better than that. I know where ya live, Cunningham. Never forget this, motherfucker. It was just the other day me and Derick took a trip out to Annapolis for a little get-together. I might’ve had a few too many beers in me when we passed your complex, but I could’ve sworn I saw a tight piece of ass getting out of your ride. Dark, wavy, long hair. Tits you could suck on for days.” He licks his lips, his smile vanishing. “It’d be a shame to hurt such a cute little thing. But no worries, my friend. I’d make sure to fuck her pussy real good before I made her pay for your disrespect.”
I automatically react, my fist connecting with Dom’s rib cage.
Hunched over like a cripple, Dom curls his arms around his stomach, a wheeze of pain slipping from his mouth. “Guess I hit a soft spot.” He lets out a scornful laugh and straightens. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m scrubbing her bloodstains off my clothing.”
Bobby lunges for his gun, but I lift mine, halting his forward motion.
“Too slow.” I aim it at his head. “You tryin’ to piss me off, dick?”
His hands shoot heaven-bound in surrender as I approach him. “Fine! I ain’t doin’ nothing, man! Just calm down, okay?”
I scratch my jaw, wondering if I should kill him or scar his mental state a little more than it already is. Not about to take any risks, my fist graces the side of his skull, knocking him clear the fuck out.
After watching all two hundred and fifty–plus pounds of his fat ass slither to the ground, I walk back over to Brock and rest my hand on his shoulder. “Wanna add a few colorful bruises to Dom’s face before we get back to business?”
“Yeah,” Brock answers, his voice eerily cold. A chill of unease shoots down my spine as he steps into Dom’s face, revenge lighting his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
It takes me a second to realize what’s about to happen, but by the time I’ve gathered my thoughts, Brock has his gun shoved in Dom’s mouth, his free hand gripping the psycho’s collar as he whispers, “You threatened my girl’s life. Say good night, motherfucker.”
Adrenaline expands my veins as Brock pulls the trigger, blowing Dom’s brains straight out the back of his head.
Blondie screams, her deafening cries slicing through my ears as I try to process what’s happened. Fuck. Frozen, I can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing I’m capable of doing is watching a tidal wave demolish my dreams, wiping out my future as Dom drops to the ground. Lifeless body twitching, blood pools around what’s left of Dom’s head, his eyes wide open as his last garbled breath evaporates into the air.
I blink, oxygen rushing into my depleted lungs as Bobby comes to and reaches for his gun. “No!” I yell, snagging Brock’s attention. He swings around and pops off a shot, the bullet hitting Bobby in the center of his chest. The impact knocks him back, his body coiled into a ball.
Brock crosses the warehouse and stands over him, the tip of his boot pressed to his throat. “What’s the code to the room holding the blow?”
“Fuck you!” Bobby wails in pain. “You ki-killed Dom.” Another hiss of pain follows a measured smile stretching his lips. “Derick’s gonna ea-eat you alive.”
Brock digs his boot harder against Bobby’s esophagus. “Answer me now, motherfucker, and I won’t kill you. What’s. The. Code. To. The. Room?”
A glimmer of hope sparks in Bobby’s eyes as blood bubbles up from his mouth, oozing down the side of his cheekbone. He coughs, gurgling out, “The code spells ‘die pig.’ 343744.”
Brock tilts his head, not a hint of remorse on his face. “Thanks for the information, but I changed my mind, asshole.” Before I can take a breath, Brock sends a second bullet into Bobby’s chest, this one tearing through his heart.