Page 130 of Fight or Flight
Shane is standing a few feet from the back steps. He’s bent over with his hands on his knees as he drags in harsh, labored breaths. I can’t tell if he’s about to puke or hyperventilate, but that’s not the biggest threat to him right now, and I shift my attention to Mason and his cronies as they circle him.
“Not so tough without your little attack dog, are ya?” Mason taunts when Shane lifts his head to look up at him.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say about me,” I say loudly and descend the steps, jumping down from the third to the lastone just because. “And here I thought we already talked about keeping our hands to ourselves and playing nice with others.”
“Fuck off, Hawthorne,” Ty, one of Mason’s cronies, says gruffly.
“No.”
“You want a piece of this?” Kyle, one of the other cronies, says, pulling a snub-nose revolver out from under his hoodie.
“And what are you going to do with that pea shooter?” I ask, looking between him and the gun.
“Take a step and find out.”
“Twenty-one feet,” I say casually.
“What?” Kyle glances at his buddies, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Twenty-one feet used to be widely accepted as the average distance someone with a knife can cover in the time it takes to draw, aim, and shoot a gun,” I tell him. “So the rule of thumb used to be that if there was a threat within a twenty-one-foot radius, you shoot first to make sure you neutralize them before they can get you. I’d say there’s only about nine feet of distance between us. That means you’ve already lost.”
Kyle exchanges a look with Mason. “I already have my gun drawn and aimed. That makes that rule useless.”
“True, you do.”
“So who’s the loser now?” He waves the gun erratically, his finger on the trigger. “One move and you’re going home in a body bag.”
“Oh, no.” I put my hands up like I’m surrendering. “You’ve got me. I guess that would make me the loser.”
He shoots me a triumphant look. “Now get the fuck out of here before my finger slips and you end up with some lead between your eyes.”
I drop my hands. “No.”
He cocks the hammer of the gun. “Do you think I’m playing?”
“Well, considering that’s a double-action revolver and it doesn’t need to be cocked, you’re either trying to look tough and stalling, or you’re an idiot who doesn’t know how his weapon works. Either way, you would have already fired if your threat was serious.”
Kyle flicks his gaze to Mason, and that’s all the opening I need.
Taking advantage of his distraction, I cut the distance between us in three quick strides.
He swings his gaze back to me, but I’ve already got my hands on the gun, and a single twist is all it takes to disarm him.
“Told you you weren’t serious.” I point the gun at the ground and press the cylinder release so it swings out. “If you were, you would have taken your shot when you had the chance.” I press the extractor rod so all of the bullets fall to the ground. “And now I have your gun.” I give the cylinder a quick spin and flick my wrist to snap it back into place. “So who’s the loser now?”
Mason’s cronies look between him and me a few times, and I throw the gun into the woods.
“Now,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “Are you going to fuck all the way off? Or am I gonna make you?”
Kyle and Ty exchange a look, then glance at Paul, the other moron who has a death wish, but instead of heeding my warning, all three of them dive at me, their arms swinging wildly as they attack.
I don’t bother stopping my grin.
Fuck yeah.
Kyle is the closest, and I focus on him as he aims a jab at my face and follows it with a sloppy left hook. I easily block both hits, then deflect the ones from Ty and Paul as I sweep Kyle’s legs out from under him with my foot.
He tumbles to the ground like a felled tree, and a quick kick to his stomach sends him rolling away as he curls into himselfand makes a pathetic, gurgling sound as he struggles to pull in a breath.
