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“Baron,” I say, lifting the rifle again.
He leans over and spits, the sound of it hitting the tile making me cringe. Even in the dark, I can see the splatter of blood it leaves, dark against the pale tile. As my eyes adjust, I can see more dark splotches around him.
“Lo,” he says, rubbing his jaw and wincing. “Put that down and go get me my bag. It’s under the table next to the wall in there.”
He points toward the door of the buffet restaurant and then starts messing with some kind of bandage around his leg. I take three steps before my brain catches up with my body. Responding quickly was always rewarded. Obeying is a conditioned response now, a defense mechanism that keeps me safe.
But I stop now, turning back to see him unwrapping a blood soaked sweatshirt from his thigh. “What happened to you?” I ask.
“Go get the bag,” he growls.
I debate for a second, then lift my chin. “Or what?”
“Are you challenging me?” Baron growls.
“Maybe,” I say, repositioning my grip on the gun. My whole body is shaking, screaming at me to obey or run, but I keep my feet planted. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Baron says, his voice low. He’s not wearing his glasses, which makes him look disconcertingly like Duke.
“Except I have a gun and you don’t,” I point out.
He snorts. “You’re not going to kill me.”
I swallow hard. “How do you know?”
“You don’t have what it takes,” he says, going back to his makeshift bandage.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, lowering the muzzle a few inches. “I always did like Royal’s stance on the matter. Let ‘em live, make ‘em suffer.”
“Be careful where you aim that thing,” he snaps as I lift the barrel and catch him in the site. “You don’t know how to shoot.”
“On the contrary, I know exactly what I’m doing,” I say. “I may not be a killer, but I’m a hunter.”
“Bullshit. You’re prey.”
“Am I?” I ask. “You better tell that to my daddy. He took us hunting all the time when we were kids. Not just Dawson, either. All of us. See, he actually liked us. He wanted to spend time with us instead of using us to make drugs for him and trafficking us to his business clients.”
“Shut the fuck up and get my bag,” Baron growls.
“I learned a lot from you and Duke too,” I say. “How to really hurt someone. How to torture them. It’s always sex with you two.”
“Cut it out, you psycho,” he says, moving his knees aside when he sees me aiming at his crotch.
“It’s not so fun when you’re on the other end, is it?” I ask. “See, everyone thinks you’re smart, but you’re just as dumb as your brother. Neither of you could ever figure out why Mabel didn’t love you back. Maybe if you’re on the receiving end, you’ll understand. If you think about it, I’d be doing you a favor. You’d finally get it, and then you’d know how to get her back.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Baron growls, finishing the tight wrapping around his thigh. “Now do as I say, or there will be consequences.”
My knees threaten to buckle at the words that have always preceded the worst punishments. But I have a gun, and he doesn’t. He’s injured, and I’m not. I keep reminding myself of that even though my head is spinning. I lick my lips and press the butt of the rifle into my shoulder, stabilizing it and myself.
“Why?” I ask.
“It has my shit in it,” he says. “I need it. Now get it, and I’ll go.”
“Go where?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He sighs and plants his palm on the floor, like he’s going to push himself to his feet. My heart explodes in my chest, and I step forward and deliver a swift kick to the bandage he wrapped around his thigh. I jump back, expecting him to scream and alert the others. He falls sideways, writhing in agony, but the only sound is his ragged, panting breaths in the hallway.
“You fucking cunt,” he snarls at last. “You’re asking for it now.”
