Page 89 of Stone Coast

“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” Ray growled.

The two goons marched into the room, grabbed me by either arm, and dragged me away. They were both overgrown meatheads. One had a blond buzz cut and a scar across his cheek. The other had a diamond grill and looked like he’d been dropped down a flight of stairs as a child—on purpose.

“People know I’m here,” I said, trying to keep my voice from quivering.

“I don’t give a shit.”

The thugs pulled me across the hall. I tried to scream for help. But Diamond slapped his grubby hand across my mouth. It smelled like a hooker’s underpants. I bit down on his greasy hot dog of a finger, risking an STD.

A sledgehammer to my kidney let me know he didn’t like that. My jaw released as I exhaled, and he pulled his bloody hand away.

I was shoved into the storage room and hit the grimy floor, falling past boxes of liquor and cleaning supplies. The place smelled like bleach and wet cardboard.

I sprang to my feet and squared off against the thugs. “Guys, you don’t really want to hurt a woman, do you?”

That’s when a big, meaty fist flew toward my face.

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Despite what the movies and popular television might have you believe, a 5’4”, 115-pound woman is no match for two 6’5”, 240-pound bruisers. I wasn’t going to girl-boss my way out of this. But I was willing to give it a shot. What alternative did I have?

The fist clocked me hard, like a wrecking ball. It twisted my head aside, filling my mouth with blood. My hair twisted, and a jolt shot through my jaw and down my spine as I tumbled back to the gritty concrete.

If I didn’t have amnesia before, I certainly did now.

By that time, Diamond was on top of me. The shitbag cocked his fist back, then dropped the hammer, pounding me harder than a virgin on prom night. My skull bounced between his fist and the concrete, rattling my brain.

After a few blows, I was a little discombobulated, to say the least.

That’s when the cretin went for my pants.

His greasy fingers unbuttoned my waistband.

I swiped at him, clawing across his face, drawing blood.

Buzz Cut watched, amused.

Diamond was pissed. He clutched at the grooves I had carved in his cheek. Then he responded with a freight train to my face.

I damn near blacked out.

I thought I was dead.

A bright light filled the room as the door flew open.

Silhouetted figures stormed it.

BOOM!

BOOM!

Muzzle flash flickered and smoke wafted from venomous barrels.

Buzz Cut and Diamond hit the ground, moaning in agony, gasping for breath.

A figure drew near and hovered over me. “Are you okay?”

Dressed in all black, wearing a black balaclava, I recognized the voice and the eyes. It was Cooper.