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I figured the mark had gotten free, gotten some balls, gotten a weapon, decided to fight me off and run.
It wasn't until I saw feet moving toward me that I knew.
Because they were familiar feet clad in familiar expensive Italian loafers that were brushed by the cuffs of designer suit slacks.
Two sets.
Only two people in the world they could be.
Even as I slowly got to my feet, my eyes found their faces.
Christopher and Michael.
Their faces were identical indifferent masks, giving nothing away as they watched me find my feet, as two men moved in from my sides.
That was when I knew what was going to happen.
I was surprised it wasn't worse, wasn't an execution.
But there was no need for so many men for a simple execution.
One would do.
So I wasn't going to die.
I was just about to wish I'd been blessed with a short, merciful killing.
Because I was about to be beat-out.
"Did you really think you could get away with it?" Christopher asked, tone cold as it often was.
I smirked at that, figuring if I was going to be in pain regardless, there was no reason to feign penitence, to kiss his ass.
If I was going to go down for this, at least I would get some words in.
"Got away with it for two months," I told him, smirking at the way his eyes got smaller. Helen's did that too when she was irritated. But it was cute when she did it. It was just pure ugly when he did.
Matched his soul, I guess.
"Had suspicions for a while, Mallick," Michael spat, ever the more prideful one, the one with the fragile ego.
"And yet you did nothing," I said, shrugging.
"In what universe did you think I would let you have my daughter?"
"The one where you clearly don't give a flying fuck that she even exists, let alone who she dates."
He ignored that, clearly not in a talking mood. He really never was. He was more of an action man. So he could get back to spending his endless piles of money on stupid shit.
"You're out. Obviously. As soon as you pick yourself off the floor, I want you to drag your ass out of my town. Got it?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
He turned, waved a hand, and walked away.
It was a split second before the pain started.
It was everywhere at once. Six fists pummeling into unprotected spots. And since I only had two arms, that was a lot of them.
It was half a minute before I took a fist to the liver, having me on my knees in another fifteen seconds, unable to think through the pain.
And once I was down, there was no hope to fight back.
I just had to block my head and neck and wait for it to be over as the feet started slamming into my stomach, chest, back, side of the head.
Blood was filling my mouth when someone finally found an opening and slammed a foot into my head.
Everything went black.
When I woke up, I was alone, a tooth loose in my mouth, blood puddled on the floor from my mouth and nose.
I tried to push up, hissing out a string of curses as my ribs screamed in pain.
"Fuck," I growled, rolling over to yank up my shirt, finding my skin mottled with bruises already, and pressing my hand into my ribs.
Just bruised, I decided with a small exhale of relief. Broken would mean I needed an X-ray. And there was no time for that.
I needed to get up, get in my car, and find Helen, tell her she had to run.
It was easier said than done, taking me at least half an hour to get from my back on the floor to my car in the lot.
Sweat dappled my brow, slid down my back with the effort as I kept swallowing down mouthfuls of my blood from the missing tooth and split lips and gums.
I drove to the diner, cursing when I saw her car wasn't in the lot yet.
She was always on time.
"Jesus," Vicky's voice called a she looked up from the ground, a cigarette hanging from her lips. "What happened to you?"
"Where is Helen?" I asked, trying to take a deep breath despite the screaming in my side, knowing I didn't need a lung infection from the shallow breathing on top of it all.
"She called. She had a flat tire. She had to get it fixed before she comes in. Is something wrong?"
Was something wrong?
No, it was every goddamn day that I looked like I just survived a plane crash.
"What shop is she at?"
"She didn't say. But she said they were pushing her up on the line because she's late for work."
Fuck.
There were at least a dozen places in town she could be.
And I had no doubt I was being watched. If I didn't get myself out of town, I was going to be catching a bullet with my skull.
