Page 80 of Grind
Zeroing in on the spots he needed to target, Frank didn’t notice Paul snapping his hand as if it were a scorpion’s tail before pain seared his thigh.
Paul stuck a syringe in his leg.
“You cunt!” Frank growled, slipping over the floor as he ripped the thing out.
His hand passed over the small side table with Ezra’s food, and he grabbed a small lemon-shaped bottle of the tart juice Ezra put in his salads.
Frank didn’t think. The moment Paul darted toward him, he turned the bottle at the fucker and squirted lemon juice into his eyes.
A dull grunt escaped Paul’s lips as he covered his face, but the adrenaline-fueled moment came to a rapid halt at the loud knock on the door.
Reality was coming for them, and Frank was too stunned to react before the sound was joined by a female voice.
“Is everything all right? I’m coming in.”
He spun around as the door opened, and a tiny woman entered in pink scrubs. She adjusted her thick glasses and stared at them. “Where is the patient?”
“Bathroom,” Frank and Paul said in unison.
“And… what is going on here?” She lowered her glasses and frowned at the food and dishes scattered all over the floor.
“I… slipped,” Paul muttered, still rubbing his eyes.
Frank did everything in his power to avoid acknowledging Ezra who lay on the floor on the other side of the bed, out of the nurse’s sight. But in the corner of his eye, Frank did see him crawl under the bed.
“You can ask the janitor for a mop and bucket,” she said sternly and slammed the door behind her, as if to make sure they understood she wouldn’t be dealing with the mess.
Frank sucked in a lungful of lemon-scented air and faced Paul again just in time to hear Ezra speak.
“Don’t come any closer!”
Frank turned into ice when he looked down and spotted Ezra on the floor, gripping Paul’s gun and aiming it in their general direction.
Paul was still squinting and rubbing his eyes as he scowled, blindly patting the nearby table until he found a jug of water. “Your hands are trembling. What do you think you’re going to do with that, Sugar?” he asked and then poured the clear liquid straight into his face to wash away the acidic juice.
Frank growled, filled with so much hate for Paul he wanted to rip him apart and hear his blood squelch, but didn’t want to be caught by a stray bullet if he scared Ezra by making a sudden movement. “Don’t underestimate him. I taught him how to shoot.” A bluff, but it would make Paul think twice before his next move.
Water splashed onto the floor and dampened the front of Paul’s shirt by the time he shook his head like an animal. He pinned Frank with his reddened eyes. “What is up with you? There’s hundreds of boys like him.”
“There isn’t. He’s special to me,” Frank said plainly. There was no point in hiding these cards now.
Paul glanced at Ezra who gripped the gun so hard his knuckles were white. “He’s seen too much, Frank. You know it.”
He did. If Ezra chose to talk to the police, slipped a note to the nurse or something along those lines, Frank’s junkyard operation could be compromised. And while he could take the blame for whatever was found there, all the men who depended on him, his chosen family, might not get end up unscathed either. But he could not give up Ezra’s life for anything, even all the other people Frank cared about.
“He won’t talk. My business is on the line too, and I vouch for him.”
Paul wiped his eyes again, his chest working at a slow pace as he took that in. “You’ve gone soft. I should have kept you on a diet of pretty boys all along. Then none of this would have happened.”
“I make my own choices,” Frank said sternly, knowing Paul meant all the other choices he’d made in the past too, including the ones that led to them parting ways.
Paul raised his hands. “I know, I know. Let’s call a truce. I didn’t think you were so serious about my sloppy seconds.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Paul. I’m real close to ripping you apart even if it means the cops get involved.”
Frank hated the smirk emerging on Paul’s face. It was sly, and always preceded some bullshit falling out of that lying mouth.
“So you do still have your instincts. And our little scuffle showed me you’re definitely in your prime. There is a job I’d appreciate your help with—”
