Page 18 of Dirty Beasts: Chance

He shakes Brie by the hair, causing her to shriek, then gestures at her throat with the knife. The threat is clear enough.

I look at him, make a calm-down gesture. “You don’t wanna do that, man. You hurt her, you’re not walking out of here.”

His eyes dart from me to Toro, then behind me. I don’t have to look to know it’s Rev. The guy understands the stakes; the question is if he’s willing to back down or if he’s too far gone for that.

I edge closer again. He releases her hair, but grabs her by the chin, lifting, touching the knife to her throat.

“Hey, hey, okay, okay.” I back up a step, hand out still. “Just relax. Why don’t you put down the knife, huh? Talk to me.”

“No talk.”

“Then what do you want?”

“She touch!” He switches to whatever language he speaks and gestures at his crotch, angrily.

“You wanted a blowjob, man. She can’t do that and not touch you. Sorta the point, my guy.” I look at Brie. “How much he pay you?”

“Seven-fifty.”

I turn and look at Toro. “Get me seven-fifty from Danni.”

He nods, jogs off. Comes back in a minute with a stack of cash, hands it to me.

I extend it to him. “Money back, man. Let her go.”

He eyes me, suspicious. “You give.”

“Toss the knife and let her go, it’s yours. Promise.”

He looks at me, still suspicious. Then, with a violent shove, he sends Brie flying. She hits the floor, rolls, her robe coming open completely, and goes still, shoulders shaking as she sobs, curled into a ball.

The moment she’s clear, I’m in motion.

His eyes are on the money, first, and then Brie, second—she’s on her side, facing us, robe open. Thus, he misses my charge. Or, the start of it. By the time he realizes I’m in motion, it’s too late. My fist with the quarters cracks across his jaw, and I feel it give. Teeth go loose. The lower mandible is dislocated.

He screams.

I dance back, slap his knife hand away and slug him hard as fuck in the diaphragm. To his credit, he’s still standing. And his eyes are now full of fury.

Unbelievably, he comes at me.

Fucking drugs, man. Not even once.

He slashes at me with the knife, and I dance back, dance back again at another wild slash, watching his hand, his eyes, the angle of his hips. He darts at me, and I’m just barely too slow in dodging—a hot line of pain carves across my bicep and chest, above my nipple. That’s his mistake, though—letting me close in. I clench my arm over his, bend it the wrong direction, step out and pivot, slam my palm into the back of his elbow, turning it inside out with a sickeningcrunch. The knife clatters to the floor, and I step in front of him, grab a fistful of his hair.

“Fucking motherfucker,” I growl. “Hit one of my girls, cut her, scare her, and then you cutme?”

He begs in his language. Don’t need to know the words to know begging. Or, well, he’s begging as best he can with a broken jaw and missing molars.

“Toro. You and Fonz take this fucker and dump him on the Strip. You know the drill.”

“Sí, señor.” Toro grabs the man by the hair and drags him away, the naked, broken piece of shit scrambling to find his feet, arm dangling uselessly, drooling blood all over the floor.

Once he’s out of sight, I turn to Brie, who’s still on the floor. I crouch beside her, lift her up to a sitting position. “Up you go, darlin’.” I close the edges of her robe. “Hurt?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m okay. Just shaken up.”

“It was him, you know, not you. He was tweakin’ or something.”