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I aim the gun at his front tire and pull the trigger.
“Huh.” My shoulders drop as I inspect the unblemished tire. “Not the effect I was going for.” I grimace, turning my attention back to the asshole. “It might take a while to flatten, but it will. You’re not going anywhere, asshole. But, at least, now there’s no temptation, huh?”
“Who the fuck are you?” He snarls like a feral dog choking on his leash, ready to tear me apart.
“I’m Raga.” I flip my hand with an exaggerated flair before shooting the back tire.
“What the fuck!” He jumps, eyes bouncing between me and the shot tires. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I told you.” I tilt my head, sizing him up. He’s huge, but his size doesn’t scare me. Thanks to The Kraken, I’ve been fighting people bigger than me since I was eleven. “I’m Raga.” I roll my hand in the air like a circus performer.
“Who?”
“Raga, your wife’s fairy godfather, and this”—I wave the gun—“is my magic wand.”
His lip curls.
“And you really don’t want me to use my wand on you.” I shake my head with a few tsks. “It tends to make a fucking bloody mess, and then I gotta clean it up. Believe me”—I grin—“it’ll suck for us both.” I heft my shoulders while tossing the gun between my hands. “So it’s time for you to be a good little fucker and start walking in the opposite direction.”
“You’re crazy,” he snaps.
“No. I’m pissed. Pissed that you hurt that woman. But even more pissed”—I grip the gun and point it directly at him—“that if you follow my instructions, I won’t get the opportunity to kill you.”
He blows out a few short breaths, chest rising and falling. “Where’s she going?”
“Who?” I taunt. I can’t help myself.
“My wife!” His hands clench.
“Oh, she’s off to never-never land.” I lean forward. “A place you’ll never-never find her. Now, start walking.”
He glares at me. Yeah, this one isn’t going to be easy to persuade. He’s got some fight in him.
If a fight is what he wants, I’m always game.
“Okay. I recognize this”—I gesture with my weapon—“isn’t fair.” I toss the gun to the left. It hits the ground a good ten feet from us. “There.” I push up my sleeves and smile. “Now we can do this the old-fashioned way.” I flick my brows, ready to tear the piece of shit apart.
He charges me and takes a swing. I swerve, watching his fist flash by my eye. I jab him in the gut, grab his head, and slam his face into my knee. I shove him back onto his doesn’t-know-what-hit-him ass.
He gives his head a jiggle. I’ve seen it before and done it myself when knocked out for a split second. It takes a bit to regain your wits. Not that this fucker has any wits. If, by some off chance, he thinks he does, I’m going to enjoy beating them out of him.
The hit doesn’t keep him down. Nope. I watch in amazement as the huge fucker pulls himself upright.
Okay. I’ve seen this before as well. It’ll take a little more than that to keep the asshole grounded.
“Again?” I grin.
Teeth bared, eyes protruding, he jerks off his flannel and throws it on the ground.
Why do guys always think removing their shirts will make them fight better?
It doesn’t. I’ve tried it.
“Okay. Come on.” I give him a full arm wave, taunting him. “Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got, big fella.”
He charges me again with full force. I haul my arm back and punch him in the face, showing him what I’ve got.
He drops back and hits the ground hard.
