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I laughed again, using the wall for support as I try to catch my breath.
I’m delirious.
I look down the hall toward where Tony was, but he’s not there.
I walk a step.
And then another.
Every single fucking step more agonizing than the last…I’m clutching my side, heaving for breath. I need to find him.
I try to take a deep breath before hobbling toward where he went.
I should have kept going.
I’m close to losing consciousness again.
But I can’t leave him behind…
Not if he’s here for me.
Not if my men are here with him..
***
This is it. It has to be. I have to get close.
I etch closer to the hallway I saw him closest to and glance down at it.
I swallow. Hard.
It’s long.
Almost too long…
At least in the condition I’m in right now.
I wonder if I’ll be able to take on the next person ready to beat me senseless for trying to escape. I wonder if they’ll actually be able to stop me. I take another labored step. Then another. Then another. As I get closer to the middle, where plastic drapes hang haphazardly, I start to get more and more paranoid. I push them aside. One after another, after another, and when I finally get past the last one, I sigh in relief. Gunshots ring out from in front of me. As if from absolute nowhere…
I have my gun on the ready.
And as soon as I take a final step out of the plastic, to head toward my men, I feel a presence behind me and the unmistakable tip of a gun digs in my back. “Ready to die?” The woman’s voice growls.
“Maybe…” I sigh, bored to death of this game of cat and mouse. “You ready to finally pull the trigger?”
Most people might think I’m insane for baiting her. But screw it. If she’s going to kill me, then let’s get it over with. No use putting it off. She clicks the gun. But I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of reacting.
“So, what’s taking you so long to kill me?”
"Don't ask questions," she snaps. “And put down your gun!”
"Whyare you doing this?" I ask the old, wrinkled bitch. I’m not putting it down. She can shoot me if she wants. I’m furious I haven’t gotten an answer out of the pieces of shit yet. It’s been two days.
I’ve got broken ribs.
A cut cheek.
A busted head.
