He pulls his hands out of his pockets, and I see brass knuckles on both fists. Yeah, this is about to get ugly. Not for me—for him.
“You picked the wrong day to fuck with me.” I shake my head as I square up for a fight.
He approaches, but he doesn’t swing. There’s anger in his eyes that wants to be unleashed, and I realize one second too late that he’s just a distraction. Two more guys approach—one on each side.
Fight or flight. I won’t shed a tear of remorse for them. I might not be able to take all three, but I’ll make damn sure I take at least one of them with me on the way out. If this is how it ends, so be it.
I lunge at the thug in front of me before the other two get to us. He takes a defensive stance, but he’s no match for my training. I take him down, strip a pair of brass knuckles off his fist, and hammer his face several times before the other two grab me.
A quick throw sends the first one to put hands on me straight into the pavement. I spin to my feet and unleash a kick that catches the other one on the chin. Maybe three on one odds aren’t that bad.
The guy I threw to the pavement starts to stand, so I turn and crush his jaw with a brass-knuckle punch. He’ll be eating through a straw for a few weeks—maybe longer. The guy I temporarily stunned with a kick recovers faster than I expected and grabs me from behind.
He’s strong—fuck, much stronger than I expected. I try to break his bear-hug, but he squeezes me long enough for the thug who approached me first to collect himself. He’s bleeding from his head. I should have hit him harder—I should have ended him. I can’t fix that mistake now, and the result is a few hard punches in the gut before a stiff uppercut from his brass knuckles making my head spin.
I’m fucked now. I twist out of the bear-hug and swing, but they’re wild ones. I get my receipt for the beating I gave the guy who approached, and he doesn’t pull a single punch. I’m getting hit or kicked from behind by the other one. The only solace I have is that the guy with the shattered jaw doesn’t seem to be getting up.
But I’m going down, and it isn’t going to be pretty.
If someone had told me that I was going to be beaten senseless at the office—twice in two days—I would have wondered what kind of company they worked for. I never expected it to happen at mine. I did everything I could to avoid violence after I left the military. I didn’t expect to get turned into a human punching bag.
After I’m on the ground and get a few more punches along with plenty of kicks, I realize they aren’t trying to kill me. This is a message. I get it loud and clear, even before the thug that approached first grabs my hair and snarls into my ear.
“Since you weren’t willing to make a new deal with Mr. Diaz, he decided to go ahead and set the terms on his own. Your debt better be paid by the end of the day tomorrow—or else we’ll finish what we started—and next time, I’ll bring more guys.” He slams my head into the ground for good measure after he’s done.
If I wasn’t fucked before, I’m fucked now.
Before I can figure out exactly how fucked I am, I need to figure out how I can stand.
I don’t get that chance. The blood loss and shots to the head take their toll. I push with my hands to try to stand up, but I simply collapse.
My head spins until the darkness drains all the light from my eyes.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kiana
Sleep feels like a punishment I’m forced to endure. It’s not restful and when I finally get my bearings, I’m angry at my mother for giving me something without telling me what it was first.
I reach for my phone, but it’s not on the table beside me. That sends me into a panic that erases the fog clouding my brain. I throw the covers around, check under the pillows, and finally get down on the floor to see if it landed there. It’s nowhere to be seen.
“What the hell…” I brush my hair out of my eyes and sigh heavily. “I know I had it when I went to bed.”
In the other room, I can hear my parents talking. It actually sounds like the conversation is rather heated. I check my room one more time for my phone before giving up and heading toward their voices. If they are having a heated conversation, it’s probably about me, and I want to know what they’re saying.
“Good morning, Kiana.” My mother smiles and abruptly cuts my father off mid-sentence. “Did you sleep okay?”
“A little fuzzy this morning.” I blink a couple of times. “Have you seen my phone?”
“It’s in the kitchen.” My father’s voice is flat. He may have ended the conversation he was having, but it’s clear he’s not in a great mood.
“Why?” I glance toward the kitchen in confusion.
“We charged it for you, sweetheart.” My mother gently pats my arm.
“Ah…” I nod. “Thanks.”
I walk to the kitchen and find my phone plugged into the wall. It is fully charged, which I appreciate, even if I don’t like the fact they took it from my room. I have to pick my battles here. I could lay into my mother for literally drugging me and for taking my phone without asking, but that fighting isn’t worth having.
There doesn’t seem to be any point.
The screen is blank. No calls. No messages. I feel stupid for checking. Bram has washed his hands of me. If he got injured in some way, he would have had time to get in touch with me by
