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“Brian, I didn’t do that,” JayBoy pointed at Brian’s wound. He looked tired, defeated. “Shit. I don’t know who the fuck to run from!”
Brian didn’t care what this twerp was saying any more. His temple throbbed, and his left ankle was a little tender from the jump. He still walked tall, not showing any sign of weakness or fatigue. The kid no longer put up a fight, but he was yelling way too loud for Brian’s liking. He zipped the plastic tie around JayBoy’s wrist extra tight, then slammed his hand over his mouth just shy of hard enough to split his lip. If he didn’t shut up with the fussing. He would do just that.
“Arugh,” He groaned under Brian’s hot palm, but kept his lips closed.
Brian pushed him to sit next to the dumpster. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small tissue that didn’t help much with the blood still running down his face. He pressed the tissue to the cut to try to gauge if he needed stitches. Brian turned away from JayBoy and grimaced. Damn. Hopefully, some tape was all he needed to seal it.
Brian heard tires easing into the small entranceway at the rear of the complex. Assuming it was Ford, Brian moved to pick JayBoy up until he noticed the terrified grimace on his face. Something he saw over Brian’s shoulder had him petrified and cowering back into the corner. Someone he feared more than Brian.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The voice was deep, strong and held a slight edge of trickery. Brian turned slowly, keeping his hands visible, because whoever this was, it wasn’t someone to be played with.
Not if JayBoy’s warning was any indication. “I tried to warn you. I owe them too.”
Brian gritted his teeth, staring at the interesting trio. They all stood in front of a jet black—bulletproof—Suburban. Two of them looked like ordinary thugs if Brian had ever seen any. Low riding jeans. They appeared mid-thirties, young, buff and ready for trouble. One was slightly darker than the other. The one with the buzz cut had on a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt with ass-kicking Timberlands. He’d have been hot as hell if he hadn’t screamed dangerous. The other seemed more collected than the dark one. He had on a plain white tee under his tan Carhart coat, with a gold Jesus cross suspended from his neck by a long chain. However, Brian had a feeling he wasn’t very religious. Dark tribal tattoos licked their way up his throat. Brian didn’t move his eyes from their faces, but he could see they all were packing… and heavily. Wonderful. He’d encroached on gang territory, alone. Now he was in the middle of a bad drug deal. Usually bystanders didn’t just walk away.
“And who might you be?” Tattoos asked.
Brian locked his jaw and clenched his fists.
“Damn,” The odd one spoke up, watching Brian carefully. “Don’t know about this one, Ruxs.”
Brian turned and frowned at the third guy. Who is that, their gang’s accountant? The guy was slim, with black-framed glasses. He wore skinny jeans, with a button-up blue and gray plaid shirt… and a damn bowtie. Brian was still trying to figure them out when the geeky one held up his phone and snapped a picture of Brian’s face so fast that if he’d blinked he would’ve missed it. Brian growled but the dark one just grinned smugly and watched.
The geek pressed something in his ear and spoke. “Free. Run this face for me.”
Shit. What kind of organization had Brian run up on? He needed to get out of there, but he couldn’t leave JayBoy with them. He might never see the kid again. Brian would rough him up but it was always in a big brother kind of way because he wanted the kid to fly right. He didn’t want him beaten and killed over drugs. If he owed them, Brian would pay it, then maybe they’d let them out of there. Money always talked louder. As it stood, the tables had turned. If Brian wanted out… he had to get past them.
Brian held his hands loosely at his sides and started closing the distance between them. He didn’t want to appear threatening, or reveal the tricks up his sleeve, so he moved slowly.
“Cat got your tongue? Who are you, and why are you taking the kid?” This time the dark one opened his jacket and showed Brian the felt grip of a wicked Smith & Wesson Magnum tucked into his waistband. If he fired that thing at Brian, it’d put a hole in him so big, his funeral would be closed casket.
Brian needed to get to his phone, so he could speak, or get a little closer so they could read his lips. If they saw the way he got off that fire escape, or the way he moved when he was countering JayBoy’s wild slaps, they were smart to stay back.
