Page 69 of Deja Brew

“You stupid bitch—“ he started, leaning toward me.

I had a mental image of spitting in his face. It wasn’t fear of repercussions that stopped me, but my own disgust that anyone would do something like that.

Instead, though, I shot upward off my chair just enough to make impact with the bottom of his chin, hearing a little crack as his teeth knocked together hard.

Hands grabbed me, forcing me back down onto the chair, fingers digging in painfully as the leader cupped his jaw and let off a string of words that had a few of his men moving away.

Likely going to get the restraints I’d been anticipating.

It was right when they were out of my sight, and the leader started toward me again, his hand fisted hard, that I heard it. That we all heard it.

Pop pop pop.

Gunshots.

But a lot of them.

Way more than back at Junior’s place.

This was so rapid that it had to be some sort of machine gun.

The men around me seemed to all move at once, reaching for their guns, but scurrying away.

Away from me.

Everyone except the leader.

Who was reaching for his gun too. But looking right at me as he did it.

I was about to jump out of my chair, grab it, and swing it, when something happened that took my brain a full few seconds to register.

Red spurted out of the man’s arm, making the gun fall, and a roar escape him as his other hand rose to close over the hole now in his forearm.

Someone had shot him.

His men wouldn’t shoot him.

That could only mean…

Junior.

It had to mean Junior.

No one else would come for me.

“Shale, get down!” his voice called, familiar and so, so welcome.

I didn’t even think.

I dropped to the ground and scrambled away.

But not before grabbing the gun that was now splattered with blood.

As I scooted backward across the floor, I saw them.

Not just Junior.

But a man who looked just like him, albeit older.

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