Page 88 of His Pet

“There’s nowhere to run, Matthews,” Small taunts. Pain explodes from my hip as he kicks me. At least he’s not shooting me. I still have a chance to get out of this.

“No one to help you.”

Except that’s not entirely true. I catch that flash of movement again. Someone’s hiding behind a shelving unit to my right. Not a cop, I’m pretty sure they’re wearing a denim jacket, but someone. They’re holding a phone like they’re recording Small beating the shit out of me.

I kick against Small and try to use my legs to take him down, but he’s too experienced to fall for the trick.

“Help!” I try again. I doubt the denim person will want to be a hero and jump into the fray to rescue a complete stranger, but maybe someone else will hear me.

“Shut the fuck up.” Small looks around a little uncertainly. I don’t think he’s noticed our audience, but he must feel something’s off. Unfortunately for me, that means he decides to cut our time together short. As he reaches for his gun, his badge glints in the light, a mockery of justice.

There’s a gasp. “Oh my gosh, are you seeing this?” a voice whispers loudly enough for the words to reach us. “He’s got a gun!”

“What the…” Small points the gun to where the stranger is hiding. They squeak and duck behind a crate.

“Oh my gosh, he’s going to kill me! If I don’t make it, I want to thank all of my viewers for your support. You’ve been great!”

“Get the fuck out of there,” Small yells.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.” A petite girl steps out into the open. “Please don’t kill me.”

She’s still holding the phone, presumably streaming, even as Small aims at her. She’s shaking, but there’s something off about her expression. Also, she looks vaguely familiar.

“Please, sir. I have a dog. A puppy, really, even though he’s already got almost forty pounds. You can’t make him into an orphan. I also have, like, a family and stuff like that. And fans. Lots of fans.”

Small stares at her like she’s lost her mind. To be fair, it does look like it. “What the fuck are you talking about, bitch?”

“Hey!” She glares at him, completely disregarding the gun in his hand. “There’s no reason for name-calling. It’s also very misogynistic of you to insult me based on my gender.”

Small blinks. Then blinks again. For a moment, it looks like he’s about to shoot her, but then he strides toward her and tries to yank the phone out of her hand. Tries being the operative word, because despite being short, the girl’s surprisingly strong.

“Hey, don’t touch me!” she yells.

I struggle to my feet. I’m not sure whether I’m about to rush to Denim Girl’s defense or bolt out of here, but I can’t do anything lying down.

There’s some more shoving and shouting. Denim Girl screams, even though Small barely touched her. “Let go of me!” The gun glints in the overhead light as they fight over the phone.

Should I help the girl? Should I run?

I shift on my feet unsteadily. Before I can decide, Denim Girl shoves at Small and he loses his balance.

The world slows as I watch Small fall, his neck hitting a metal shelf with haunting precision. A sickening crack echoes through the warehouse.

The girl screams again. “Oh my god, he just tried to… He tried to grab me! And then he fell and… Did you see that?” She’s not talking to me. She’s asking the audience on her phone, which she somehow managed to hold on to throughout the altercation like it’s glued to her damn hand. “He’s… He… I…” She sounds close to hyperventilating. “He’s… He’s dead!” She launches into another wave of ohmygods, but I’m not listening to her anymore.

Small’s dead.

Small’s dead?

I limp closer and look at his body. His neck is twisted into an unnatural angle, his eyes glassy and empty. Yep. Definitely dead.

What the fuck?

The warehouse doors slam open. “POLICE! Everyone on the ground!”

The stream. Someone must have noticed it.

For the second time in two days, I’m held at gunpoint and forced to lie on the floor as the missing deputy and half a dozen of her buddies storm the building. At least I’m not naked this time.