I plucked the keys from his hands, then shoved them into my pant pocket.
“Do you have the keys to the truck?” I asked, stepping to the side of Stocky and staring back at Slender.
“No, I do not,” he answered with his palms facing upward.
I glanced down at the man who had been beaten to an inch of his life and shot in both knee caps. “What did he and the woman do?”
Stocky tilted his head at the man. “He took something from my employer that we want back. The woman is incentive for him to speak.” A frantic scream sounded from upstairs, and Stocky smirked.
I motioned with the piece, pointing it at the far wall. “Move it.”
Stocky and Slender walked across the room, past the lantern on the floor. They stopped shy of the wall.
“Place your hands on the backs of your heads, fingers laced, then get on your knees.” I checked the doorway for any black-clad figures or other signs of movement from the hallway.
Stocky lowered to his knees along with Slender.
“You’ve made a huge mistake here, pal.” Stocky glanced to the side. “You better hope—”
I struck Stocky in the back of his skull with the piece. He fell forward, hit the wall, then crumbled to the floor. I didn’t give Slender the chance to speak and knocked him out as well. Both men lay sprawled out on the hard wood—still and motionless.
A moan sounded from behind me.
I backed up to the man secured to the wooden chair. Blood pumped from both bullet holes in his knees. He’d lost a good bit of blood from looking at the amount that stained his pants. His face looked swollen, his right eye sealed shut. Thin streams of blood trailed from his nose and from the corner of his lip. “Man. You must’ve pissed them off good.”
He licked around his dry, cracked lips, then said in a weak tone, “Cindy?”
“Is that your wife upstairs?” He nodded. I grabbed his hands. “Let me see if I can—”
“No. Go help–her–first,” he said through shallow breaths. “I’ll be–fine.”
I glanced at the two unconscious men on the floor, then looked up to the ceiling of the room. “All right. I’ll be right back.”
His head slumped forward without a response. I backed away, turned, and left the room. I checked the hallway, then moved toward the stairs. The dim living room across from me showed no activity. Darkness loomed from the second floor, making it hard to see any movement.
My foot hit the bottom step. I stayed close to the wall and made my way up the staircase. Each plank creaked under my weight. The farther I went, the darker it got.
I glanced down to the first floor, then peered over the banister at the hallway, checking for any more surprises. All clear.
The faint voice of the woman lingered in the blackness, acting as a beacon for me to track her down. I hit the landing and swept the hallway. The familiar white light shone from down the hallway in the same direction of the woman’s panicked voice.
I peered over my shoulder down the opposite end of the hall—nothing but darkness. The door next to me rattled. I flinched, and turned toward the disturbance.
The doorknob twisted, and the door opened, revealing a shadowy figure standing in the low light.
“Come on. Work, damn you,” the man said under his breath, slapping what looked to be a flashlight against his hand.
A light flickered, hitting him in the face. He looked away from the bright gleam, then trained it at the hallway in my direction. A tattoo of a spider crawling out from under his jacket caught my eye. It reminded me of a past acquaintance that had similar ink. He was ruthless and dangerous.
I walked toward him, gun fixed at his head.
Spider blinked twice, glanced my way, then took a step back. “What the hell?”
“How many are in the room with the woman?” I asked, holding the pistol an inch away from his head.
His nose crinkled, brow furrowed. “What? Who—”
A dense thud slammed the wall down the hall. I glanced toward the sound. Spider swatted my arm to the side. My finger squeezed the trigger in surprise.
The pistol barked. Fire spat from the muzzle, framing the side of his bearded face as he looked away.
A ringing festered in my ears. The bullet punched the wall. Spider grabbed my forearm wielding the piece, then rammed his shoulder into my chest. My finger squeezed the trigger again, firing two more rounds that hammered the floor. He drove me out into the hall toward the railing.
My right leg buckled. I fell backward, landing on the railing. The wood cracked. Spider continued to push against me.
I reached around his head, fish-hooked the side of his mouth, then wrenched my arm. His head twisted away from me.
The door down the hall swung open. White light shone from the room. Shouting escaped the space and filled the tight corridor.
Spider pushed harder, trying to force me through the railing. The wood popped.
I jerked my arm and dug my fingernail deeper in the inside of his cheek. He released my forearm and reached for my finger that pulled on the side of his mouth. I rammed the grip of the pistol into the side of his skull twice before he let up.
Heavy footfalls tromped from down the hall. I turned away from the railing as it broke from the wall. Spider dumped over the side to the hallway below, hitting the floor hard.
The man from the room rushed headlong at me. I turned to face him, and brought the pistol to bear. He stopped dead in his tracks, lifted his arms into the air, then backed away.
My ribs
