He throws a wild punch, catching me on the jaw hard enough to snap my head sideways. Pain blooms across my face, but I’ve taken worse from men twice his size.
I slam my fist into his gut, doubling him over, then drive my knee into his face. He hits the bathroom floor with a grunt and slides down the wall, leaving a crimson smear on the tile.
I step over him, pistol now in my grip, finger hovering over the trigger.
“Now,” I say coldly, turning back to the other two, “let’s try this again.”
Blue Button-Down is dragging himself toward the door, leaving a thick smear of blood from his broken nose. Black Polo is slumped against the wall, clutching his ribs and wheezing in pain. Neither of them makes a move.
The girl on the bed hasn’t stirred.
But I’m not done. Not until I know exactly what they did—and who sent them.
“Charlotte,” I repeat, crouching down next to Blue Button-Down. “Brunette woman. One of you pricks chased her down to the loading dock yesterday. You remember now?”
I catch Blue Button-Down's looking at Black Polo—just a flicker, but it's enough. Fucking amateurs. That silent communication tells me everything I need to know.
“You,” I growl, stalking over and grabbing Blue Button-Down by the throat, slamming him against the wall with the barrel of the gun pressed to his temple. “You’re gonna talk to me. Now.”
His eyes bulge, his face going red as my grip tightens. I ease up just enough to let him breathe—but the gun stays right where it is. Cold. Unforgiving. Waiting.
“I don't—I swear—” he chokes out.
“Wrong answer.” I slam him against the wall again, harder this time. His head bounces off the drywall, leaving a dent. “Let's try again. Charlotte. Why are you after her?”
Sweat beads on his forehead. “We're just following orders, man. I don't know any Charlotte.”
“Bullshit.” I press my forearm against his windpipe, “Who's giving the orders?”
“Jason, shut the fuck up,” Black Polo hisses from the floor.
I smile without humor. “Jason, huh? Well, Jason, your buddy there just threw you under the bus.” I lean in closer, “What's your connection to the Heaven's Rejects?”
“How do you?—”
“Answer the fucking question.”
“We don't...we just get the girls.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. “What girls?”
“For transport,” he answers, then immediately clamps his mouth shut like he's said too much.
I grab him by the collar and lift him clean off the floor. His feet kick at air, boots scraping helplessly against the wall.
“Transport where?” I snarl.“Who is buying them?”
Black Polo stumbles to his feet, one arm cradling his ribs. “You made a mistake, asshole. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
“Enlighten me.” I drop Jason and turn on his friend, stepping toward him with the gun still raised. “Because right now, all I see are three pieces of shit who are about to fucking die.”
Black Polo sneers, spitting blood on the carpet. “You kill us, and they’ll send ten more.”
“Then I’ll bury ten more.”
He lunges—fast, reckless, desperate.
I fire.
