Page 77 of Bullseye
Mikey walks closer to me, flashing his slimy grin, and lands a hard sucker punch to my gut. Bending forward, I try to protect my abdomen, but Tony pulls the chain hard and forces me upward again. The large metal links cut into my arms and hold me upright.
“What the hell do you want, Mikey?”
“Revenge. For the two years and six months we did inside that you didn’t.”
He lands another punch and another—and yet I know that the less I fight, the faster it will be over.
“What, not fighting back?”
I see the disappointment in his small, dull eyes.
“It had nothing to do with me. It was Don Bordono. He sent me that day. It wasn’t supposed to be a hit. You weren’t supposed to be there. He got me out. Maybe if he’d sent you…” At least I still have the wits to try to make sense of the situation.
“Don Bordono’s done,” Mikey hisses.
“What do you mean, done?” I know Don Bordono must be watching this on at least one of his cameras. And I also know he’s going to let it play out to see what info he can gain from these two assholes.
“We’ve been working with Ironclad ever since we went down and did time. Our loyalty lies there.”
“You’re making the wrong choice.”
With another blow, he lands one more punch to my gut.
“Think of this as your warning, Bullseye. If we catch you working with Don Bordono again, we’ll kill you, your father, and Seneca—that hot piece of ass you screw.”
Watching Mikey’s slimy lips move as he speaks, I wonder why they haven’t killed any of us yet. It dawns on me. It can only be because there is someone bigger than them forcing them to keep me alive.
Ironclad. I was right. Ironclad wants me to kill Don Bordono. It only makes sense.
Hawking a disgusting loogie, Mikey spits in my face, and then Tony drops the chain, letting me fall to my knees. Bracing myself on all fours, I take some deep breaths, trying to stop the humming in my ear. Collecting myself, I glimpse Mikey and Tony rushing off, disappearing into the shadows. Wiping my face in my sweatshirt sleeve, I glance up just as Mikey stops and turns. He’s pointing at me.
“Stay the hell away from Don Bordono.”
So, they’re trying to scare me into working for Ironclad.
Dragging myself to my feet, I stumble to my bike and throwing my leg over, I rev the engine. My ear is ringing and my gut aches from the beating, but I can’t care. All I need to do is to stay balanced on the damn bike and ride straight into Mammon to kill Ironclad and free Seneca. Then, once she’s safe—I’ll explain everything and beg for her forgiveness.
And then, I’ll pray she doesn’t finish the job Mikey and Tony started here.
Peeling out and racing down the driveway and onto the side streets, I push the bike to its limits. But what does it matter if I’m safe? Once Seneca finds out that I’m the reason her brother is in jail—
Crap.
Dead Man Riding.
Chapter Nineteen
Bullseye
Blood drips down from my ear, but before it makes it to my cheek, the force of the wind against my face blows it back, and it pools into one big sticky mess on the back of my neck and in my hair. Thankfully, my hair’s dark, so it shouldn’t be noticeable.
“Come on, Sen,” I murmur, “hold on. Be safe.” Bending into my right side to try to relieve the pain, I’m rewarded with a stabbing sensation. “Damn. If those little shits broke my rib…”
Revving the bike, I swerve in and out of traffic on the Long Island Expressway, praying there are no cops around that I’ll have to outrun. Luckily, just ahead, I spy the Midtown Tunnel. Once I’m through the tunnel, all I need to do is hang a left onto Second Avenue and it should be smooth sailing all the way down to Alphabet City.
Traffic slows at the entrance, and I glimpse the police and guards monitoring the tunnel. This is not the time or the place to speed through—no matter what horrible, graphic images my mind is conjuring about what may be happening to Seneca, and what she’s dealing with.
“Come on, come on…” I mumble. I’m in the cash lane, and some asshole three cars ahead is arguing over change. It’s all I can do not to rev my bike, swerve around them, ditch the payment, and rush through the tunnel. As time seems to stand still, I seriously contemplate getting off my bike and paying this dude’s fare. Before clocking him on the side of the head.
