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“What good is the word of a spoiled little manlet?”
Manlet? At nearly seven feet tall? Now I know he’s lost his damn mind. He doesn’t even know how to insult me in a believable way.
“Um, alright,” I say with a chuckle. “The offer still stands. I’m sure your men trust me, and I respect them a lot more than I respect you. They’re just workers caught up in a battle that’s not really theirs.”
I can imagine so clearly in my head the shifting of the eyes, the nervous wringing of the hands, and the silent agreement from all Lorenzo’s goons that maybe… just maybe, they should listen to me and not their compromised boss.
“Why don’t you come over here if you want to be so tough, huh?” Lorenzo finally says, trying desperately to flip the script.
“I might just,” I reply. “In fact, tell your guys to put down their guns so I can come talk to you face to face.”
Suddenly, there’s a noise from the door. I can’t peek out there and see what it is for risk of getting my face replaced with a bullet, but I do know something is going on. Has Lorenzo actually decided to confront me?
I raise my rifle, prepared for the worst, when I hear Lorenzo growling from down the hallway. “Come back here, motherfucker. Someone, get that guy!”
A dark figure dashes past me so fast that I would’ve missed him if I blinked. One of Lorenzo’s men, judging by what he just said. It looks like we have our first defector.
It’s too bad he’s going to get shot on the way out of here. There’s no way in I’m letting any of Lorenzo’s snakes out of this train alive.
I’m not that nice.
“Losing them fast, huh?” I call out to Lorenzo, hoping he’ll lose his cool and jump out to confront me.
He’s not listening to me, though. He’s busy yelling at his men to stay put, threatening them in a way that would only be done if they truly were about to defect. He’s at the end of his rope, and I’ve just lit a fire under his sorry ass.
“Don’t fucking walk out there,” he growls. “You hear me? I’ll shoot you myself.”
There’s a loud bang, and suddenly, a cluster of men dash past me down the hallway. Someone is shooting at them, and hear two of them drop.
Now is my chance. It’s time to put Lorenzo’s killing spree to an end.
I step out into the hallway with my rifle pointed toward Lorenzo’s compartment. He’s turning away, running to hide himself as deep as he can, like a roach caught in the sunlight.
I pull my rifle off my chest, throwing it to the floor as I sprint toward him. I won’t let him escape. My brain shuts off, and I turn into a beast again.
I have to kill. I need a victim to sink my teeth into, and Lorenzo is just the right flavor.
“Don’t run from me, coward,” I snarl, hurling myself at him so hard that I lose footing and end up flying through the air toward him. I clip his feet, sending him falling halfway through the door into the next section of the train.
His men have already abandoned him. He has no one to protect him, and he’s woefully unprepared for a fistfight.
He tries to raise his pistol to take a cheap shot at me, but I’m already on top of him. I smack it out of his hand easily, and his pupils double in size as he watches his only hope of defeating me disappear.
With him pinned to the floor, I take one last look at his face while it’s still intact. Truthfully, I’ve never been this close to the man before. Spitting distance, if you will. I’d like to take in the full splendor of his terror before I invert his nose and turn his brain matter into a paste.
His nose is already slightly crooked, and so are his teeth. I think I can fix that for him.
“This is for Lola,” I growl, pulling back my arm and slamming my fist into Lorenzo’s face as hard as I can.
His teeth fly into the back of his throat, but he barely has time to cough them up before I’ve smashed another several in. Blood bubbles down his lips as I punch his face over and over, pinning him in place with my body to keep him from escaping. He’s smaller than me, unable to squirm out of the tight position he’s found himself in.
“You’re going to die,” I say, though that should be painfully obvious right now.
Absolutely excruciating.
“Please,” Lorenzo says, reaching up and trying to grab my coat.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl, slapping his hands away. “You’re getting what you deserve.”
