Page 53 of Bastard Prince
Andy watched the display with wide eyes, leaning farther and farther back in his chair to try and escape. When she finished, the knife landed perfectly in her fist, blade up, and she stepped close to Andy, slamming one booted foot on the seat of the chair between his spread legs, barely missing his balls.
“Wha—what are you doing?”
Francesca tilted her head. “I’m giving you what you wanted,” she said, sliding the flat of the knife along Andy’s wrist and slicing the zip tie that had bound him to the chair leg. She then leaned over to release his other wrist before flipping the knife closed and sliding it back into her jeans pocket. “I’m letting you out so you can go kick his ass.” She jerked her chin in my direction and Andy stared, his face white as I crossed my arms over my chest, flexing for good measure.
Francesca had some sort of plan here, and for now, I let her take the lead. The other guys all spread around the space, with Rock still near the door on my right and Benny on my left. A quick look told me that Trick had taken up a post in front of Willow, seemingly in an attempt to guard her from the scene in the room.
Yeah, I wasn’t gonna touchthatshit at all tonight.
Now that Andy was freed from the chair, Francesca stepped back, gesturing to the open space in the middle of the room.
“Well,” she said impatiently, “there he is, Andy. Go get him.”
Andy looked confused, rubbing his wrists as he stood on shaky legs and sort of waddled his way toward me. I didn’t move at all, just watching him come to grips with his new predicament.
“I can’t...I mean, I’m not sure I want to fight him, you know?”
“Oh, yeah? But I thought you were gonna teach that coward a lesson?”
“Come on, lady.” He turned, swinging his arms out as he shouted in a panicked voice. “I don’t want to fight him. Look at him! He’s huge.”
“Well, then. How about me?” And then, with absolutely no warning at all, Francesca punched that fucker in the face.
“Oh, fuck,” came the rasping curse from the skinny guy, but Francesca wasn’t swayed. She drew her fist back again, slamming it into Andy’s cheek bone, causing his head to whip to the side. A wheezing moan escaped him as he raised one shaking hand to his bloody face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” he screeched. “You’re all fucking crazy.”
“What’s the matter, Andy?” Francesca taunted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her fists were up, shoulders back and knees slightly bent, and from that stance alone I could tell that she was well-trained.
Holy fuck, my wife was amazing. I reached down and adjusted my swelling junk as I watched her, her focus completely on Andy as she moved toward him again.
“I thought you wanted to fight. I thought you were a tough guy who was gonna show Enzo a thing or two.” Francesca swung at him again, only this time, instead of a punch, she slapped him, the loud crack echoing in the otherwise quiet room. “Maybe you’re just a punk, Andy,” she snarled, her lip curling as she looked at him. “Maybe, you nothing but a little bitch junkie who isn’t worth the time it would take to dispose of your body.”
A howl of rage escaped Andy as he turned, his body lowered as he made a dive for Francesca’s midsection like he was gonna football tackle her to the ground. Dropping my arms, I made a move to intercept him, but once again, Francesca proved that she didn’t really need me. As Andy approached, Francesca spun on one leg, her other leg swinging high as her booted foot caught him right in the face and spun him like a top.
We all watched, silent, as Andy dropped to the concrete floor, rolling to his side and curling up in a ball with his arms over his head.
“Please,” he moaned. “Someone stop her!”
No one moved, we all just watched as Andy crawled back toward his chair, clinging to the seat like a life raft. The skinny guy in the next chair began inching away, hopping his chair as fast as he could to put distance between him and Andy. Meanwhile, neck tattoo guy was just glaring at them both, the disgust on his face plain to see.
Francesca moved to Andy, stepping up behind him and grabbing him by the hair to wrench his neck back. Reaching beneath her leather jacket, she withdrew a small pistol from the back of her jeans, pressing the barrel tight under Andy’s chin.
“What now, Andy?” Francesca asked. “You have anything to tell us now?”
Andy started to cry.
Francesca looked at me, lips pinched between her teeth as she tried not to laugh, and I found myself fighting the same way. This entire night was a goddamn joke, and if I didn’t laugh about it, I might end up killing someone.
Just as I was about to tell Benny to strap Andy back to his chair, a commotion outside the door drew all our attention. Rocco stepped to one side, gun drawn, as we waited to see who was entering our space. The place was pretty secure, but all things considered, it was best that we were all on alert. I noticed Francesca also had her gun up and pointed at the door, and I smiled.
The door swung open, Massimo’s large frame filling the small space as he pushed a struggling figure through the hatch ahead of him.
“Get your fuckin’ hands off me, man,” the kid said, spinning around and facing Massimo head on. And he was a kid, from what I could see, even if he was more stupid than he was brave. His long hair hung down over his face, but his thin arms and long legs pegged him as a boy just past puberty, not yet grown into his limbs.
“Watch your mouth,” Masi growled, his deep voice rumbling through the room.
“You have no idea who you’re messin’ with, man,” the kid tried again, not really seeing the danger he was stepping into. “When Frankie the Wolf finds out what you did to me, you’re gonna regret it, man. Just you wait.”
