Page 228 of Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout)
“Told ya,” Tina said triumphantly, hooking her thumb in my direction. “Walked right in, didn’t she?”
I stopped short when I recognized the man in the large, leather office chair in front of the flat-screen TV.
It was the red-haired guy from the library and Honky Tonk. Only this time, he wasn’t dressed to blend in. He was wearing a flashy pair of jeans and a bright orange Balenciaga hoodie.
He was rubbing a cloth over an already gleaming handgun.
I gulped.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my old lady’s doppelganger. Remember me?” he said with a villainous smirk.
“Mr. Flint,” I said.
Tina snorted. “His name’s Duncan. Duncan Hugo. As in the Hugo crime syndicate.”
She was bragging, making him sound as if she’d just told me she was dating a sexy humanitarian lawyer or an orthodontist with a beach house.
“What did I tell you, T? You don’t say my fucking name to any fucking one,” Duncan barked.
“Pfft. She’s my sister,” she said, flipping open a pizza box and pulling out a slice. “If I can’t tell her, who can I tell?”
Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose. A move I’d seen my father and Knox make. I wondered if all Witt women had this effect on men.
“This ain’t ladies’ night out, woman,” Duncan reminded her. “This is business.”
“It’s business after you pay up. You lost. I won. Cough up the cash.”
I didn’t think it was the best idea to taunt the man holding the gun, but Tina did what Tina always did—whatever she wanted to do regardless of the consequences.
“Put it on my tab,” the man said, continuing to study me. He brought the barrel of the gun up to scratch his temple.
“I don’t think that’s a safe way to handle a firearm,” I interjected.
He studied me for several seconds then his face broke into a mean grin. “That’s funny. You’re funny.”
Great. Now he was pointing the gun at me like it was a finger.
“Fuck your tab, Dunc. Gimmie the cash,” Tina insisted.
“Where’s Waylay?” I demanded.
“Oh, yeah. Where’s the kid?” Tina asked, glancing around.
Duncan’s grin got wider and meaner. With his boot, he gave the chair next to him a kick. It rolled across the floor, the seat slowly spinning to face us.
“Mmmph mmm!”
Waylay, wearing pajamas and sneakers, was gagged and tied to the chair. She looked mutinous, her expression mirroring her mother’s. Waylon was sitting in her lap. His tail thumped when he spotted me.
I forgot all about being scared and almost felt sorry for the red-headed moron. If Tina or I didn’t kill him for tying up Waylay, Knox would for stealing his dog.
“Why is she tied up?” Tina demanded.
Duncan shrugged and used the barrel of the gun to scratch an itch between his shoulder blades. “Little bitch called me a dickweasel and tried to kick me in the balls. Fuckin’ bit me too,” he said, holding up his forearm to show off the bandage.
“Well, were you bein’ a dickweasel?” my sister asked, crossing her arms.
Waylay, eyes narrowed, nodded vehemently.
