flying up on the craps table, where he landed next to his already unconscious buddy. “Hey Reed? How’s that drink coming?”
Reed had poured himself something dark and straight up. “It’s not. You never told me what you wanted.”
“Pineapple juice and coconut rum. Make it a tall glass, one third rum, two thirds juice. I need something sweet, but still a little boozy.”
My brother shook his head in clear disapproval, but he kept it to himself, turning to scour the bar in order to fulfill my request.
“Now …” I said, strolling over to the craps table, “… where were we?”
Thuggy had his back to me, rolled over facing the door we’d come in through. “I wasn’t telling you nothing,” he said, back to bad English and sounding strained. With that, he rolled over, a Glock in his hand, and pointed it right at my face. His finger was on the trigger.
17.
I sighed as I ripped the Glock out of Thuggy’s hand, taking his index finger up to the first knuckle with it. He was dazed, woozy, like someone had kicked him around pretty good, and thus using metahuman speed to dodge around him and twist the gun out of his grasp with a standard disarming move was like taking candy from a baby. A drunken baby.
“Why do I have a feeling you’re the sort of guy who’s barred by law from possessing a firearm?” I asked, instantly releasing the magazine and pulling the slide back to eject the round in the chamber. “I’m guessing you’ve got priors. Lots and lots of priors.”
“Screw you,” he said, and it was the politest thing he’d said to me in the last few minutes, so I decided to work with it. By snapping him lightly in the mouth. His head hit the table, and when he opened his lips, his front four teeth were missing.
I took it easy on him, I swear.
“Sienna,” Reed said, hiding his face behind a hand, “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this, but human beings don’t heal the way we do.”
“You may not realize this,” I tossed back at him, “but when people pull a gun on me, I give oh-so-much-less than a damn how hurt they get. Now, if you’ll excuse me … I’m going to do some leg work here.” I straightened up, slipping out of my jacket and tossing it onto a nearby roulette wheel. “By which I mean I’m going to break his legs.” I leaned down to look Thuggy in the eyes. “I bet you’re familiar with that kind of work, aren’t you?”
He just grunted, and before I could make good on my threat, or do much more than raise a hand, Reed caught my wrist. He didn’t catch it hard enough to stop me, just enough to get my attention. “Cool off,” he said, a yellow drink in his hand.
“Is that for me?” I asked, and he pushed it toward me, sloshing a little over the rim of the tallboy glass. “Okay. Why don’t I tag out and you can play good cop for a few minutes.” I looked back at Thuggy. “I’m going to drink this, and let me tell you, I’m a mean drunk—”
“You’re a mean sober,” he spat back at me, complete with blood from those missing teeth.
“Yeah, so imagine how much worse I’ll be when I finish this and it kicks in,” I replied, remorseless. “No, really. You think about that. It didn’t have to go this way. You could have just told us about this dead professor, maybe hinted at anyone who would have wanted to do him harm, and we would have left when we were done, no broken limbs, no bloodshed. But you had to prove what a big man you are.” I smiled sweetly. “I have this thing about big men who decide they want to prove how badass they are by going knuckle to knuckle with me. Maybe it’s a blind spot, maybe it’s just pride, maybe it’s my competitive streak—”
“Or your mean streak,” he said, drooling red.
“Could be,” I agreed. “Because that’s a big damned streak. But whatever it is … it guarantees that I’m not leaving until one of us breaks. Care to guess which one of us will break first?” I relaxed my hand before I broke the
Reed had poured himself something dark and straight up. “It’s not. You never told me what you wanted.”
“Pineapple juice and coconut rum. Make it a tall glass, one third rum, two thirds juice. I need something sweet, but still a little boozy.”
My brother shook his head in clear disapproval, but he kept it to himself, turning to scour the bar in order to fulfill my request.
“Now …” I said, strolling over to the craps table, “… where were we?”
Thuggy had his back to me, rolled over facing the door we’d come in through. “I wasn’t telling you nothing,” he said, back to bad English and sounding strained. With that, he rolled over, a Glock in his hand, and pointed it right at my face. His finger was on the trigger.
17.
I sighed as I ripped the Glock out of Thuggy’s hand, taking his index finger up to the first knuckle with it. He was dazed, woozy, like someone had kicked him around pretty good, and thus using metahuman speed to dodge around him and twist the gun out of his grasp with a standard disarming move was like taking candy from a baby. A drunken baby.
“Why do I have a feeling you’re the sort of guy who’s barred by law from possessing a firearm?” I asked, instantly releasing the magazine and pulling the slide back to eject the round in the chamber. “I’m guessing you’ve got priors. Lots and lots of priors.”
“Screw you,” he said, and it was the politest thing he’d said to me in the last few minutes, so I decided to work with it. By snapping him lightly in the mouth. His head hit the table, and when he opened his lips, his front four teeth were missing.
I took it easy on him, I swear.
“Sienna,” Reed said, hiding his face behind a hand, “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this, but human beings don’t heal the way we do.”
“You may not realize this,” I tossed back at him, “but when people pull a gun on me, I give oh-so-much-less than a damn how hurt they get. Now, if you’ll excuse me … I’m going to do some leg work here.” I straightened up, slipping out of my jacket and tossing it onto a nearby roulette wheel. “By which I mean I’m going to break his legs.” I leaned down to look Thuggy in the eyes. “I bet you’re familiar with that kind of work, aren’t you?”
He just grunted, and before I could make good on my threat, or do much more than raise a hand, Reed caught my wrist. He didn’t catch it hard enough to stop me, just enough to get my attention. “Cool off,” he said, a yellow drink in his hand.
“Is that for me?” I asked, and he pushed it toward me, sloshing a little over the rim of the tallboy glass. “Okay. Why don’t I tag out and you can play good cop for a few minutes.” I looked back at Thuggy. “I’m going to drink this, and let me tell you, I’m a mean drunk—”
“You’re a mean sober,” he spat back at me, complete with blood from those missing teeth.
“Yeah, so imagine how much worse I’ll be when I finish this and it kicks in,” I replied, remorseless. “No, really. You think about that. It didn’t have to go this way. You could have just told us about this dead professor, maybe hinted at anyone who would have wanted to do him harm, and we would have left when we were done, no broken limbs, no bloodshed. But you had to prove what a big man you are.” I smiled sweetly. “I have this thing about big men who decide they want to prove how badass they are by going knuckle to knuckle with me. Maybe it’s a blind spot, maybe it’s just pride, maybe it’s my competitive streak—”
“Or your mean streak,” he said, drooling red.
“Could be,” I agreed. “Because that’s a big damned streak. But whatever it is … it guarantees that I’m not leaving until one of us breaks. Care to guess which one of us will break first?” I relaxed my hand before I broke the
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