Promises Part 2 (Bounty Hunters 2)

The third one pulled out a cell phone and started dialing. Brian could hear the phone ringing, could hear a male voice pick up, barking angrily through the connection. He kept his count in the back of his head and tried to listen intently to the caller. Concentrating on his tone, accent, words or repeated phrases. The more intel he could gather the better.

“I know you said not to call you, but I wanted to be sure we had the right guy.”

There was more angry shouting across the line, and the third guy began looking more and more frightened. “Shit. Oh, my god. I think… Wait a minute. I don’t… I don’t—”

Brian tried to keep his thoughts clear. Any minute they were going to figure out that he wasn’t Quick. They’d tied his hands but not his feet, and they thought he was still dazed. If the guy with the gun came any closer, Brian could spring up and kick it out of his hand. He’d have a spit second to grab him while he was shocked, and have him between his thighs, choking the life out of him before the others could react. Hopefully, the others didn’t have weapons, but if they did, he’d fight until one of them shot him. Stay in fight mode. Stay in fight mode. He couldn’t let his mind go back to that cave. Not back to the hell he’d lived in for ten months. Couldn’t let the fear claim any other parts of him, it’d already taken his voice.

Keeping his breathing even, he thought of what was important to him. He thought about his big brother. About his team, his new band of brothers. He thought about Jenkins. He owed it to him to fight every day. He’d given his life so Brian could live. When Jenkins took his last breath in Brian’s arms, he’d promised him, promised he’d never give up in that cave, and he damn sure wasn’t going to give up now and let some haughty doctor take his life because of a mistaken identity, not after everything he’d been through.

He could hear Dana’s tricked out muscle car in the distance. If he was already here… so were the others. But where? Obviously, they hadn’t pulled into the parking lot; they had to be approaching on foot. Now it was time to notify the cops. He used his thumb to push the button for 911, he held it longer than needed, making sure they got the call. Cops would come flying towards them with sirens wailing and scare the shit out of the wannabe hitman. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long, but he was confident his brother and friends were getting ready to make a move any minute.

The gunman gripped Brian under his chin and knocked the butt of his gun into his jaw hard enough for him to fear it was broken… again. The pain was immediate and devastating, but he steeled his resolve. He’d taken worse blows than this pussy could give. This fake gangster wouldn’t know torture if he gave him a ten hour lecture on it. Now the Taliban… they knew how to torture.

“Shit. Stop. Stop. That’s not him.” The third thug let the phone dangle from his fingers. Now it was someone else’s turn to look sick. “This guy doesn’t have a long ass ponytail, Jake.”

“You idiot. Don’t say my goddamn name,” the leader yelled, pushing the guy hard in his back.

Okay, it was now or never. Brian couldn’t wait any longer. Only one man was wearing a mask, the other had actually used his cell phone to call the person who hired them, and now Brian knew one of the men’s legal names.

“What? What do you mean, it’s not him?!” The gun holder yelled.

The phone was blaring an irritating dial tone, and the third guy looked like he was about to shit himself. “The guy, Quick, or something. Has long hair. Really long. This guy is almost bald.”

“I’ll make you fuckin’ talk.” The gunman sneered and squeezed Brian’s already bruised jaw. Bile stirred instantly in his stomach and threatened to spew out from the pain. Brian spit the blood from his mouth onto the guy’s shoe. I’ll pay you myself, ya punk, if you can make me talk again.

“Answer me!” The man boomed, standing over him.

When he finally looked up into the man’s eyes, ready to make his move, he noticed a red dot, bright and steady in the center of his forehead. Brian tried to brace himself, but nothing prepared you for death. Ever.

Bye, bye.

The sound of glass shattering, and the disgusting grunt of pain from the gunman’s mouth right before his head exploded in the middle of their office, triggered an involuntary reaction in Brian. He tried to curl in on himself at the same moment the body was propelled ten feet away from him by the bullet’s impact. The lifeless body hit the wooden floor with a punishing thud. His arms and legs bent and twisted in unnatural directions. When Brian chanced a look, the gunman’s head was half off, practically split in two, and one wide-open eye stared back at him. He would’ve cried out if he’d been able. He needed his brother, needed him to save him… again.