“Yeah, people don’t enjoy being fucking kidnapped, you dickwad!” I shook my head. “And where’s my hat?” I would’ve run for it, but Lawrence wasn’t as stupid as Hooker, and he didn’t step back. The gun didn’t waver.
“It’s only a quarter-inch blade. It’s barely a knife.” I snickered.
“The commissioner wants King to stop poking around in his business,” Lawrence said, then tried to slam the trunk down. Ifell to my back and used my legs to keep it open, but eventually, he put all his weight on top and the trunk snapped closed again.
“Fucking great,” I growled. The one smart thing they’d done was take my fucking phone, so all I could do was fold up my pocketknife, stow it, and try to keep myself from dying in this stupid fucking trunk again as the car started forward.
I wasn’t too worried, since they hadn’t taken me to any of the police stations. They were up to no good, and I’d stabbed one of them, so it would be pretty hypocritical of them to try to turn me in for it. Fuck it. I held my breath as another rocky ride kept me curled halfway into a ball to keep from bashing my brains out on a trunk wall.
The police car slowed down, and I figured we were back in the city with the start-and-stop motion of traffic. Someone killed the country music. I resumed kicking the trunk lid. I didn’t care if anyone knew I was in here. If they’d been smarter, they would’ve dropped me alongside the road out in the countryside. I gave the kicking my all, and as I was stewing on the many ways I wanted to skin these two alive, a thought popped into my head.
“I’m a complete fucking dumbass,” I muttered, then began feeling around in the dark. “Let’s see if a cop car has a trunk release.” My fingers skated over something near the lock, a small letter T, and I gave it a yank upward.
The sun blinded me as the trunk lid flew up. I blinked for a few seconds before getting my shit together. There was a car way back behind the police cruiser, and we weren’t going that fast, so I heaved myself out and rolled like I would if I spilled the bike, keeping my arms up around my head.
Impact fucking hurt, and I was dizzy when I came to a stop on my back. I kicked my ass into gear and crawled. The car that passed my feet by inches had the audacity to fucking honk, and I flipped them off as they went. There was a roar of laughter nearby, but no one rushed over to help me the way I would’veexpected after seeing someone spring out of a car trunk like a jack-in-the-box.
Of course, the cops hadn’t stopped their stupid car.
I seethed and got to my knees, swaying for a few seconds before stumbling to my feet. Instinct had me reaching for my phone, but it was gone. I put a hand out and almost fell over. Glancing up, I groaned.
“This is the shittiest day on record,” I growled out. The Whiskey Barrel was the Demon hangout, and three men were standing by the front door absolutely losing their shit as they pointed at me and continued cackling. The fucking bottom-feeders. It took me a second to recognize a guy we just called Crank when we spotted him out riding because he was missing more than a few teeth and jittered around. If he didn’t eat meth for breakfast, I’d eat my hat. The other two guys with him weren’t anyone I knew.
“That was a hell of a stunt. What did you do to piss them off, PD?” Crank shouted at me, like we were best buddies. I guess if he had to pick between me and the fuzz, I was the better choice.
“Fuck you. They’re permanently pissed. Might’ve stabbed one, though.”
The Demons were off laughing again, slapping each other on the shoulder, and I rolled my eyes as I began checking myself over. Nothing felt broken. Thank fuck.
“Don’t suppose you would let me borrow a phone, huh?” I called.
Crank flicked his cigarette in my direction, and I figured we were done being sort of friendly. “Not in a thousand years.”
Anger blazed through me. “I didn’t take you for a bootlicker with that nasty habit of yours.” I gave him the craziest grin I had, and his eyebrows dove.
“Hey, are you all right? I saw what happened,” a girl said, and I vaguely recognized her as one of the Harlots. I thought maybeher name was Kierra. She was on the young side and wore her brown hair in two long braids.
“Oh, I’m just fine,” I growled, then felt bad when she frowned at me. “Sorry, it’s not every day I bust my way out of a cop’s trunk.”
A small smile flitted across her lips and her brown eyes warmed.
Blowing out a long breath, it struck me that I wasn’t far from the Ink Well. Fuck it. I was doing something about this. I brushed myself off as the need for revenge drove out every other sensation in my body.
“I’m fine. They won’t be, but I am.” I nodded at her.
She gave me a serious nod back, and I took off on foot to my shop. The plan I made on my way was pretty simple. Go get one of my guns and blow a hole the size of a baseball in the commissioner’s fucking skull. Simple and easy to execute. I rolled my shoulders and let out a long breath as I finally reached the Ink Well and shoved in the front door.
The belljingled.
“Hey, you’re not scheduled to be here. Are you okay? Jesus, what happened to you?” Jake asked. He waved as I stalked through to the storage room. I rummaged around behind a few boxes of paper towels on the floor and opened the safe back there. Inside was an old Ruger without any sales history or serial numbers, and I dragged it out, gave it a once-over, and checked to see if I’d left the revolver loaded. Past me was pretty good because it was full of lead. Whistling, I stuffed it into my belt. I kicked the safe closed and hid it again. Sighing, I dragged the gun out and checked it over one more time while taking deep breaths.
“Bleak.”
I whirled around, and Faye focused on the gun and tapped her bottom lip with her shiny black fingernail. Her jet-black hair fluttered around her shoulders as she tilted her head.
“If I’m dumb enough to fuck up and die, I left instructions for the Ink Well to become a co-op, split between everyone currently working here.”
One of her eyebrows twitched. “I’m torn now. Should I be hoping you die?”
