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“Well, well, well… We were just about to give up on you,” Bowman quips.
I take in his short, greasy hair, the stubble covering his jaw, and his dishevelled clothes. He seems to be at his lowest point. Setting my eyes back on Thomas, I sigh with relief. He’s here. At first glance, I think he has a black eye, but as I step slowly around the basement, I see it’s only a dirt smudge.
“Louis!” The boy’s excitement at seeing me has my guilt deepening.
He springs to his feet, but Bowman is right beside him in a flash, pushing him back down. The guy is wired, and five minutes away from his demise. Four minutes if he touches the boy again.
The fucker doesn’t have a weapon on him. He’s relying on a child to shield and protect himself.
My instinct is to rush him and take him down, but with Thomas so close, I won’t risk it. Locking down the impulse to attack, I hold my hands up.
“You don’t want the blood of a child on your hands. Not when I’m here, right in front of you. I’m the one you want, and I’m not going anywhere.” When he doesn’t respond, I take a single step closer. “Let the boy go, and you can do whatever you like to me.”
Bowman’s eyes dart from me to the boy, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he weighs the decision he needs to make.
“You want to kill me? Fine. But not in front of the boy.”
He jerks his chin down at Thomas, and I try not to show the relief I feel when Thomas runs over and clings to me like I’m his hero. Swallowing thickly,
I keep my eyes on Bowman as I say to Thomas, “You remember my brothers?” He nods. “They’re waiting outside for you. Go out the back door and around the shop to the street. Run.” As soon as he’s running up the stairs, I turn the light off on my phone and call Chaos. “The boy’s coming out from the back. Take him home.”
I hang up before he can say a word and throw the phone down on a nearby broken chair.
Now that we’re alone, I shrug out of my cut and drape it over the banister. Rolling my neck, I dig out my dusters while he moves to pick up a crowbar hidden under the corner of the dirty mattress.
“You know,” I begin, sliding the cold metal down my fingers, “your brother cried like a bitch as I sliced him up. I get he was family, and you’ve gotta do your revenge thing, but I’ll make damn sure it won’t end well for you.”
Circling each other, he snarls, “You speak like you know for certain you’re gonna walk away from this.”
I snort, but I admire his confidence, even if it is unwarranted.
“You assume you’re gonna fight someone who cares if he lives or dies. It’s ironic, really. I’ve finally found a reason to live, yet if I die here, I’ll die knowing the boy is safe, and my woman is happy to have him back in her arms.”
Lunging, he swings the bar into my arm, but I barely feel it, instead focusing on throwing an uppercut he doesn’t block. He stumbles back, blood gushing from his nose, but he quickly shakes it off.
“Your brother was a grass, and deserved everything I gave him.”
That pisses him off. He launches the bar at me, and while I’m ducking to dodge it, he sprints forward and rugby tackles me to the floor.
I let him take me down and smash my fist into the side of his head as he concentrates on my ribs. Taking every blow, I crank my head up and bite down on his cheek, filling my mouth with his blood. He rears back, leaving a chunk of his skin between my teeth. Spitting it out, I see his fist flying toward me. I roll to the side, and his cry of pain when he smashes his hand into the concrete floor fills me with such satisfaction, I laugh.
My old man used to tell me to never let an opponent get me down on the floor. That once you’re down, you’re out, and it takes too much work and energy to get back up. But down here, I love the challenge of getting back up.
I throw my right fist into his ribs so hard, I hear his bones crack. Buckling, he slumps to the floor, panting sharply for every breath he so desperately needs.
“If you want to kill me, you’re gonna have to at least try. I’m not even breaking a sweat.”
“Fuck you,” he wheezes.
The stairs creak under my brothers’ boots. I clock them all but Riot and the prospect. Catching Chaos’s eye, he nods.
“The boy is two minutes away from Evie.”
Bowman takes in the new arrivals, and sheer defeat consumes him.
“You’ve got one chance to take me out. Take it now, because—”
“Stop playing with him, Psy. He knows he’s never gonna take you out and then get by us.”
