“Okay, bitch. Playtime is over.”
She fans her arms out to her side,assuring me of her surrender.
I force her into one of the nearbyrooms and cuff her hands behind her back around a metal pipe. Not the bestsecurity, but it’s all I’ve got, and I’m more concerned about rescuing Tad thananything else. Once she’s secured, I head down the hall, listening for thecommotion I heard earlier.
Just figure out what roomthey’re in.
But it’s so quiet. Too quiet.
Has something happened to Tad?
My thoughts are a montage ofscenes where I show up just in time to see him the way I had to see Jeff at theend. Although, at least with Jeff, I was able to share a moment. A moment wherewe held each other, where I forgave him for all of his past transgressions. Forall of our fights. For every moment where we ever resented or hated each other.For everything. With Tad, I won’t have that opportunity. Not even to tell himhow much all our time together has meant to me. How muchhehas meant tome.
I continue to the end of the hall untilI hear a crash come from one of the rooms.
I break down the door and hurryin, scanning the room for the man in the ski mask.
Tad holds a knife before him as hestumbles through a pile of crates.
His face bright red, he reacheshis other hand out before him, clearly having difficulty seeing as he slashesviolently, indiscriminately, before him.
In the far corner of the room, theman in the ski mask crawls toward the other gun. He has a determined look inhis eyes. It’s not the sort of look I encountered with the cartel I busted upin North Carolina.
With them, killing was business.It wasn’t filled with sadistic hate or malice for who people were. Transgressorswere just an inconvenience who had to be taken care of. Hard to consider whichperspective is the worse of the two.
As he grabs the gun, he spinsaround.
I raise the pistol I took from hiscompanion and shoot him in the shoulder. The blow shoves him back onto thefloor, and the gun falls beside him. I hurry to him, take his gun, and thenhead to Tad. A bottle of pepper spray rolls across the floor. It must’ve beenwhat that bastard used on Tad.
I keep my eyes on the attackerjust in case he springs back to life.
A squinting Tad searches aroundfrantically, tears streaming down his face as he recovers from the pepper sprayattack.
“Tad, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Isay. “It’s me.”
I approach him, and he keeps theknife between us. I know he doesn’t mean it as a threat. He’s in shock.Panicked.
“Just lower the knife, Tad. Lowerit.”
His face trembles as he sets itdown before him and attacks me with a hug. He clings to me as tightly as ever. I’venever seen him this vulnerable. This afraid. I want to tell him that I’ll be byhis side forever to keep him from ever falling in harm’s way.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck,” he says as hebreathes frantically, his breath slamming against my neck.
I keep my eyes on the psycho whodid this to him, the one who’s responsible, not just for these assaults, butfor keeping Tad worried and afraid for his life for months. Who nearly took hislife that day outside the warehouse where we did the photoshoot.
I guide Tad to the door, keepinghim on the side of me opposite his attacker, who stirs back to life.
“Stay right where you are,” I say.
He has a conceited look in hiseyes. As if he’s thrilled that I’ve caught him.
“You can’t win against God,” hesays. “Can’t win against him.”
A sharp movement of his eyes to thedoor alerts my attention. I turn and spot the woman I’d handcuffed in the otherroom. The cuffs still tie her hands together. But she holds a blade that’s atleast a foot long. She lunges at Tad, but I shove him aside and the bladedrives through my own arm, tearing effortlessly through the flesh and muscle. Iturn my gun on her and shoot.
She flies back, hitting the railon the other side of the hallway and breaking through it as I did during ourfight earlier.
The knife still in my arm, I fallback, landing on top of Tad, who cries out in pain.
