The Arrangement

I resisted one last time, trying to twist free. Once more, I was pinned. Grabbed by the wrists.

You’ll never see home again.

My teeth gnashed together as I spat on the floor. The inner voice was making me angry! Making me defiant.

Dallas…

Somehow I managed a look back over my shoulder, and all the fight drained out of me at once. I could feel a fist-sized lump forming in my throat. My heart, breaking...

My whole house was engulfed in flames.

Two

DALLAS

“Everyone okay? Anyone hit?”

The man in the passenger seat wiped his sweat away with one giant forearm. He slicked back a mop of thick blond hair and turned to look at us.

“Negative,” said the man sitting beside me. “But I think I got one of them a few times, center mass.” The driver merely shook his head.

“Vests?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then damn.”

The blond turned his gorgeous blue eyes on me, looking me up and down. Taking stock of me. Maybe even trying to determine if I was hurt as well.

“My house!” I snarled. “Why is my house—”

All at once I was set free, and my arms were my own again. I started by rubbing my wrists, which hurt like hell, while staring venomously back at the guy with the goatee sitting next to me.

“Dallas…”

I tried not to squint at the mention of my name, but it was too hard. Glancing back again, I could see dark smoke rising in the distance, blocking a whole big swath of the bright, twinkling stars.

“Dallas listen,” the blond said, his voice placating. “I need you to know—”

It happened in a flash, and exactly the way I planned it. One moment I was distracting the guy next to me with a hand near his face, the next I was pulling his gun from its holster.

“Hey… HEY!”

I flipped the safety off the Glock 19 in one smooth motion and slid my finger through the trigger guard. From there it was only a quick swing of the arm… and I had the barrel jammed up against the back of the driver’s head.

“PULL OVER,” I said sternly. “Or I paint the windshield with this guy’s brains.”

Goatee put his hands up slowly. The blond guy did too.

“Easy, Dallas. We’re on your sid—”

“Fuck that!” I stammered. “If you were actually on my side you’d be back at my house, helping me put out that fire.”

They looked at each other, then back to me.

“Trust me,” I said. “Safety’s off. And if you think I’m kidding—”

Faster than my eye could even follow, the blond in the front seat disarmed me. His hands slid over mine, turned my wrist sideways until it hurt, and plucked the pistol from my open grip.