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The gun shakes, the metal silently clacking together. A shadow rounds the bar and stops only a few feet away. Instead of immediately pulling the trigger, I freeze. I stare up at the faceless man, completely helpless.
“Found her,” he calls, his voice mocking.
He’s not jumping or attacking me. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.
But then he steps closer and grabs the end of the gun. He easily yanks it from my trembling hands and tosses it onto the bar.
“You were gonna use that?” He jerks his chin at the discarded gun. I stare up at him, my vision blurry. In the faint light, I can make out some of his features, but I don’t recognize him.
Reaching down, he grips my shoulder and tries to haul me to my feet. Instead of helping him by standing, I throw myself back to the floor. He lets out an irritated breath as he reaches for me again.
“If you want to play like that, we can,” he says. “Wasn’t gonna hurt you.”
I don’t believe him.
Blindly, I kick out. The bottom of my boot connects with his hand and he jerks it back, hissing as he shakes it out a few times. It breaks me out of my daze enough to not feel totally frozen. I scramble back until my back connects with the wall.
As soon as I’m forced to stop, I realize I should’ve run past him.
I’m cornered.
I can’t go anywhere.
“Bitch,” he snarls. His voice is faintly familiar, but I still can’t place him. He steps closer and I kick out again, my boot connecting with his shin. Instead of jumping back like I expected, he grabs my ankle and drags me forward.
I hit the floor at the sudden movement, my head knocking painfully into the wood. I twist and claw at the floor, splinters embedding under my nails. I try to kick with my other foot, but he grabs that ankle before it can connect with anything.
He drags me from behind the bar, my body scratching along the floor. I grip the end of the bar and hold on with all my strength.
Ezra said he was close. I just need to stay alive until he gets here.
He yanks on my ankles harder, and something pops. I grunt at the pain and try to hold onto the wood tighter. Suddenly, he drops me, my breath leaving me as I slam into the floor.
His hand slides into my hair and he wrenches my head painfully back, forcing me to look up at him. His hold tightens and I claw at his wrist, slicing his skin with my nails.
“Fuck.” He slams my head into the side of the bar and I cry out. Stars dance in my vision and my head immediately starts throbbing. He hits my head again, harder than before. “You gonna stop? Or do I need to knock you the fuck out?” I scream as he hits my head again.
Hot blood pours from my head, dripping down my face and neck, staining my skin. I press my hands flat against the wood before he can fling my head against it again.
“Stop!” I scream, my throat raw. He throws me back onto the floor, and before I can right myself, his heavy, booted foot lands a kick to my stomach. I grunt out a breath as I turn onto my side. He kicks again.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think past the pain.
He rears his foot back again, and when he brings it forward, it connects with my face, sending me flying onto my back. Blood clogs my throat, choking me as I cough.
I stare up at him, my breath gargled in my chest as I try to breathe. He bends and grips my hair, shaking my head as he brings me to my knees.
“I told you I didn't want to have to hurt you,” he snarls. “This is your fucking fault.” He shakes my head again, but I’m too dazed to say or feel anything.
“Got her?” the other man asks as he hurries in. “Fuck. What did you do to her?”
“Bitch tried to shoot me.” He uses his head to point at the bar.
“We were just supposed to take the money, not fuck with her,” the other says warily. The one holding my head laughs humorlessly.
“And let this stuck up bitch get away with what she said?” I blink a few times, trying to see through the blurry vision. What I said? What did I say?
Then it dawns on me.
