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He saw stars for a second, long enough for them to pin his other arm. He struggled, but he had no leverage.
“Hey, ass**le.”
Tyler. He’d swung the first punch—and he did it again.
Michael coughed against the chain on his throat. He gritted his teeth. He could pull power from the earth and throw them off, but he doubted they’d give him a free pass like Emily had.
Keep it together.
God, he’d been stupid. Every time he came here, he checked the store, and every time he left, he checked the truck. Every time, ready for an ambush.
Until today.
Tyler hit him again. Michael tasted blood.
Keep. It. Together.
“Do it,” said Tyler. “You know you want to.”
Someone kicked him in the side, and Michael redoubled his struggles. They were too heavy. He couldn’t get loose.
They kicked him again.
Power rushed through the ground, coming to his aid without his asking. He forced it back. He could take a few punches.
Tyler laughed and spit in his face. “Good thing Emily told us where to find you. I didn’t think we’d have this much fun all summer.”
Michael froze. Tonight at the batting cages—had she been stalling him?
You going to show me again or what?
He coughed. “Go to hell, Tyler.”
“Funny you should mention hell.” Tyler held up a butane lighter. “Since I brought the fire.”
Then he clicked the trigger. Flame burst from the end.
Michael tried to recoil. He only succeeded in slamming his head against the concrete again. He was straining against the chain so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe.
Flame lit Tyler’s features. He brought the lighter close to Michael’s face, until the heat was painful.
Michael strained away. He had no idea if Tyler would really burn him, but flame against his skin would definitely push his control past the brink.
“Do it,” said Tyler. He leaned closer, until Michael wanted to clench his eyes shut. “Do it.”
Michael prayed for another customer to arrive. But he knew how dead this place was.
Tyler put the flame against the chain. It seared right through the metal. “First we’re going to burn you, and then we’re going to burn your little brothers.”
The pavement cracked and split. Michael surged against their hands. He slammed someone into the concrete before he could stop himself. The chain went flying.
But then he heard someone yelling. The guys. They were scattering, stumbling away from him, tripping on the loose pavement.
No, not stumbling away from him. Away from the girl with the steel bar in her hands.
Emily, with a putter.
“Dad is going to kill you,” said Tyler. “What the hell are you doing?”
