Page 43 of Switch

He coughs, wheezing. “I—”

I don’t let him finish. I slam my fist into his gut, and he folds like a fucking chair.

Then I see it. A bag. Open. Spilled onto the ground. And my stomachdrops. A roll of duct tape. Zip ties. A fuckingknife.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach down, yanking the bag open, going through it like I need proof of what I already know. This wasn’t just some sicko creeping around. This fucker wasplanning something.

I grip the bag so hard my fingers ache, my chest heaving as realization sets in. He was going to take her.Hurt her.No. He’snotwalking away from this.

I pull out my phone and hit the number I need. Piston.

He picks up on the first ring. “Yeah?”

“Get Tank. Bring the van.” My voice is deadly calm. “I got a problem at Bella’s.”

A beat of silence. Then, “On our way.”

I shove my phone back in my pocket and crouch down next to Mike, gripping his hair and yanking his head back so he has no choice but to look at me.

“You just made the biggest mistake of your fucking life.”

The van pulls up ten minutes later, Piston at the wheel and Tank in the passenger seat. They take one look at the situation—at me, at Mike, at the bag—and they don’t ask questions.

Tank cracks his knuckles. “You want him breathing when we get there?”

“Barely,” I growl.

Piston nods, and together, we haul Mike into the back of the van. He tries to struggle, but one hard punch from Tank and he’s out cold.

We take a drive—long enough that no one’s going to hear what comes next.

The warehouse is abandoned, a place we’ve used before when things needed to gethandled. It’s cold and damp, the kind of place that makes a man rethink every bad choice he’s ever made.

And right now, it’s the last place Mike’s ever going to see if I have my way.

We drag him inside, dump him onto the concrete floor, and wait for him to come to. It doesn’t take long.

His eyes blink open, groggy at first, then wide with panic as he realizes where the fuck he is.

“Wakey wakey,” Piston drawls, rolling his shoulders. “You and us? We’re going to have a little chat.”

Mike’s breathing picks up. “P-please, man—”

I kick him in the ribs, cutting him off. He chokes on a wheeze, curling onto his side.

Tank crouches beside him, grabbing the bag and dumping its contents right in front of him.

“Tell me,” Tank says, his voice dangerously low. “What thefuckwere you planning to do with this?”

Mike’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes darting between us.

I crouch down next to him, my fists clenching. “You were going to take her, weren’t you?” My voice is quiet, deadly. “Duct tape her mouth. Tie her up. Do whatever sick shit you had planned.”

Mike shakes his head frantically. “No, man—I wasn’t—I just wanted to talk to her—”

I don’t let him finish. My fist slams into his face, blood spurting from his nose. He cries out, but I’m not done. I grab the roll of duct tape and slap it onto the floor between us.

“You were just going totalk?” I growl. “Then why the fuck did you needthis?”

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