Page 100 of Grind
Time stopped.
But it was only his brain that remained in limbo for a bit too long, because Frank’s body was already moving.
The bullet hit the ceiling without even grazing Ezra, and when Frank saw that Paul was ducking to pick up his fallen gun, he charged at him like a bulldozer. The bastard rolled back over the floor, sprung to his feet like a much younger man, and grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter. At least he couldn’t shoot them anymore.
“Give me a chance to flee, you fucker!” Paul rasped, backing away, because they both knew their chances in this fight have changed drastically.
Too little too late. Their long-standing truce has ended the moment Paul threatened Ezra in Frank’s home.
Frank might have been bare-chested, but that knife was no scalpel. As long as he avoided a stab in the guts, he’d survive, so he fell forward, grabbing the wrist of Paul’s offending hand and his throat. The wall was too close for the bastard to maneuver out of Frank’s hold, and he grunted when the wood creaked at the impact. He would try to kick, but Frank knew Paul’s technique by heart and came close to step on his feet. Then, with the firmest flick of his hand, he broke Paul’s wrist, and the knife fell.
The moment Paul ceased being a serious threat, Frank wrapped his arm around his neck and turned with this flesh puppet in his arms. Blood buzzed in his veins like angry hornets when he met Ezra’s eyes. “Do you want me to…?” he asked, even though the tears streaking down Ezra’s red face made Frank want to make the call on his own.
Maybe he shouldn’t put this on Ezra’s conscience, but he was here and deserved a say.
Frank kicked Paul’s legs, making him sink to his knees, and tightened his stomach muscles, to protect himself from the elbow flying back at him, but Paul must have understood how dire things were, because he grabbed Frank’s forearm and tried pulling on it.
“Please—”
Ezra nodded, holding Frank’s gaze, and that was that.
Frank twisted Paul’s head and dropped him to the floor.
He took a deep breath as his mind emptied. He didn’t feel sorry for Paul, but maybe it had happened too fast and hadn’t hit him yet. Paul would have never stopped imposing on Frank, and Ezra would have always been his go-to target to threaten Frank into compliance.
Frank took note of Ezra’s trembling lips. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, lifting the dead body as its head lolled from his to side. “I need to deal with them first. They seem trigger-happy,” he said and headed for the door as if this were a bad dream.
“Oh—okay,” Ezra muttered as Frank gravitated to the exit, barely feeling any of the tension and fatigue that normally followed a difficult fight. He announced that he was coming out and hoped the bastards waiting outside would keep their offer of sparing everyone if he gave them Paul. Whether he was to be dead or alive hadn’t been specified.
Their headlights shone straight at the house, and Frank lowered his eyes, squinting as he stepped outside, dropping the limp form to the porch. But since it was Paul, and that fucker could never make things easier on people, his carcass rolled all the way down the steps and into the mud.
He could see a gun lowering at the periphery of his vision, then one of the men stepped forward, into the light.
“Is he… dead?”
Frank took a deep breath. “Things got out of hand, but you got what you wanted so take him and get the fuck off my property.”
Now that his eyes were starting to adjust to the bright lights pointed straight at him, he saw the men looking at each other. Clearly, they hadn’t heard about Wreck & Repair’s other services.
A man in formal clothes stepped forward, placing his gun in a holster under his suit jacket. “Why? You’re the one who murdered him.”
“And you wanted him dead, so take the damn corpse.” Frank couldn’t believe he had to argue about this. As if this evening hadn’t been enough of a shitshow.
“He’s on your land.”
“You cornered him here,” Frank said, taking a deep breath.
The stranger took a moment to think, and then struck gold. “You want money, don’t you?”
Frank took a deep breath that got stuck somewhere in his throat. “Yes, I want fucking money if I’m to dispose of him for you,” he said through gritted teeth.
The leader sighed and exchanged a few words with one of his companions, who walked over to the trunk of their vehicle and opened it. “Fine. I suppose I owe you for disturbing your peace tonight. No reason to burn bridges,” he said as his man approached Frank.
Dressed in a gray T-shirt under a short jacket, he seemed deceptively normal, but the way his gaze wandered over Frank, looking for weak points and weapons, suggested he was no ordinary goon. He stepped over Paul’s body and reached Frank, then offered his hand like a polite gentleman should before offering him a wad of cash. There was a hundred dollar bill at the top, and based on this Frank estimated his payment was a couple thousand. This one time, he didn’t care about the exact sum. He just wanted them gone, so he could tend to Ezra.
“KP, give him my card,” the leader stated as the foot soldier was about to leave.
Frank stopped himself from rolling his eyes, because this wasn’t a time to make enemies. So he kept his face neutral as the man passed him a card.
