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Dallas kicks Luke in the knee. He puts all of his strength into the strike, and I don’t know what’s louder: thecrunchor the howl of agony that tears out of Luke’s throat when Dallas’s boot breaks something. I could give a shit. Luke goes down, Dallas putting all of his weight against him, keeping him in place. He uses one hand to pin down Luke’s shoulder, the other to drag him back to the table and slam his cheek down on it.

Once he’s immobilized, I grab Luke’s hand. As though he knows exactly what’s going to happen, he struggles, but another slam of his head against the wood dazes him enough that I have his arm outstretched, right hand flat in front of me.

Eenie-meenie-miney-

That one.

The knife slices through his finger a lot easier than I expected. The bone gives a little resistance, but I’m determined enough to hack that fucker right off.

He howls. Dallas slaps his hand over his mouth, muffling the scream.

I bend down so that Luke’s wide eyes can’t miss me. Then, showing him his severed pointer finger, I ask, “What’s the code?”

He mumbles.

“Dallas? If you would?”

Dallas removes his hand.

Luke lifts his head up enough to glare at me with pain-filled, unfocused eyes. “Fuck you.”

Thud.

“Motherfucker!”

“My mom’s in a grave,” Dallas retorts darkly, prepared to slam Luke’s head down again if the prick gives him a reason to, “and I ain’t into banging dead chicks. Keep giving us shit, though, and we’ll see if there’s some sick fuck who won’t mind shoving their cock up your ass after we leave you rotting somewhere.”

I smile. “One more time, Luke. What is the code?”

He thrashes against Dallas.

Come on. “Okay. Look. I only need one finger. However, what if I drop it? What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s the wrong one? Maybe I needanother?—”

“No!No. Shit. Three-six-oh-four. It’s three-six-oh-four. Leave my fucking fingers alone!”

“See? Wasn’t that easy?” I poke him in the ear with his own fingertip. “Keep ‘em here, Dal. Let’s see if he’s telling the truth.”

Dallas nods, increasing the force of his push against Luke’s head.

I race over to the door, too panicked to care if it shows. I see the keypad. Above it, there’s a sensor that’s gotta be for thefingerprint. I maneuver the bloody finger into place, muttering ‘yes’ when the light turns green. Usingmyfinger now, I enter 3-6-0-4 into the keypad.

Somethingclicks.I grab the door handle and yank on it. It opens.

Yes!

I throw Luke’s finger at him. “If you hurry, you might be able to save that. Dallas? Get your gun out.”

With another kick, Dallas sends Luke falling to the floor. Just as I said, he pulls out his gun—and then, without any remorse at all, he shoots Luke between the eyes.

I watch the dead body crumple on the floor. “Oh. I guess there’s no point in saving the finger after all.”

“He shouldn’t have made that crack about my mom,” Dallas says as I fold my pocket knife, shoving it in my pocket before grabbing my gun from its place at my waist.

I don’t point out that I use the term ‘motherfucker’ all the time. Luke was a piece of shit. If Dallas took the curse a little too personally, that’s fine. A trash enforcer on the take is dead, Dallas feels a little better, and there’s no one to warn Jack that we’re heading downstairs.

Huh. That’s even better than if I planned it myself.

After that, it’s almost too easy. We race down the stairs, guns leading the way. Another enforcer—Jeremy—is down there, with one of the old guard, Trevor, serving as an auctioneer for the crowd of about fifteen men hanging back in the shadows of the musty basement. Dallas handles them easily with his gun since, like us, they’ll be armed.