“Actually, you got that wrong, too.” I lowered my hands. “Lindsey is a dragon. He got caught when she shifted.”
Something in his eyes flickered. Fear? Alarm? The notion that he now faced two dragons, not just one, had planted itself in his head? I hoped so. I doubted I’d need to teach Lindsey how to fight. Her dragon came naturally to her. And his best bud from high school was now coyote bait, and he might very well have no other henchmen.
“You’ll pay me every dollar, dipshit,” he snarled.
“Sorry. I won’t. I didn’t steal or sell your damn fentanyl. You just don’t listen, do you?”
“Then you’ll die. And so will she.”
“What are you waiting for, asshole?” I growled. “Shoot me. The gunshot will bring my boys on the run. You won’t get far before they run you down.”
“Bullshit.”
Austin hesitated, licked his lips. “They’re all gone.”
“Not all.”
As though I’d planned for it to happen, the trailer door swung open behind him.
“Boss?” Sammy began.
Austin wheeled, bringing the gun around to aim at a startled Sammy. I lunged for Austin’s waist, tackling him to the floor. The gun fired. Kneeling his back, I punched him several times on his head, and hurt my knuckles without doing him much damage. Austin squirmed hard enough to twist around, rage and hate snarling his features.
He aimed a punch at my face, missed, and received a broken nose for his trouble. Yelling, he tried to lift the gun, but I seized his wrist in both hands and snapped it like a twig.
Screaming in agony, Austin dropped the gun. I picked it up, then stood up, panting. “You piece of shit,” I growled.
I glanced at Sammy’s pale face. “Call the cops.”
He departed in haste.
Austin, seeing my momentary distraction, kicked my knee sideways. Now I screamed in pain, falling to the floor, wriggling in agony. White hot fire lanced up from my knee to my groin. Faster than I thought possible, Austin got to his feet and stumbled through the door.
I collapsed.
Chapter Fifteen
Lindsey
I rushed through the ER doors, barely allowing them time to hiss to either side of me before dashing between them. A pair of uniformed cops with a man in a suit and tie stood near a trauma room. Guessing that’s where Brody had been taken, I dashed toward them.
“Brody?” I asked, breathless.
The plain clothes cop, his badge clipped to his belt, his gun in a shoulder holster, eyed me up and down. “And you are?”
“His friend,” I replied, frantically looking past him, “neighbor. Both. Is he all right?”
“Got his knee tied into knots from what I hear,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Detective Skinner. May I ask your name?”
“Lindsey.” I relaxed a fraction.His knee. He wasn’t shot.
“Ah.” He smiled as he shook my hand. “You’re someone I need to talk to.”
“Why?”
“I’m the ranking detective investigating the fires at his house, and the arson guys told me about you. I’m lookin at Austin Rivers as my prime suspect.”
I nodded. “Yeah. He thinks Brody stole ten kilos of fentanyl.”
