"You fuckin' asshole," I say, laughing mechanically, slumping against the wall and just... wanting it to be over. I'm so fuckin' tired. I shouldn't be here. Every fuckin' inch of me's screaming to get back home and for one horrible, frantic moment I wonder whether getting myself killed here is the way to do it. "It's over with. People are dyin' up there, what the fuck are you doin' down here?"
He laughs, standing so close I can feel the warm dampness of his breath on the back of my neck, and I shudder, pressing myself more tightly against the wall like maybe I can get away. "You think just 'cause we're losin' a couple of hired guns, I'm gonna let somethin' like you go?" he says, his big, meaty fingers sliding up along my throat, curving over my chin and probing at my lips. What I do next, I do without thinking. It's a reflex, my lips parting and my teeth clamping down on his fingertips hard enough that I taste blood.
He roars in pain, rears back and shoves me forward by the back of the head, my face slamming into the bricks, light spangling behind my eyes, and I swear I feel something crack. I let out a sob of a sound, a kind of hysterical laughter clawing at the edges of it, spitting in the dirt in the few blissful moments I've got before he's on me again.
"You little shit," he sneers, his forearm clamped across my shoulders, holding me pinned against the wall.
"Hey, man. Let's just go," I hear from the doorway, that scared kid with the gun, but he's ignored, dismissed with an angry, "Fuck off, Martin! I'm teaching the kid a lesson."
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He laughs, standing so close I can feel the warm dampness of his breath on the back of my neck, and I shudder, pressing myself more tightly against the wall like maybe I can get away. "You think just 'cause we're losin' a couple of hired guns, I'm gonna let somethin' like you go?" he says, his big, meaty fingers sliding up along my throat, curving over my chin and probing at my lips. What I do next, I do without thinking. It's a reflex, my lips parting and my teeth clamping down on his fingertips hard enough that I taste blood.
He roars in pain, rears back and shoves me forward by the back of the head, my face slamming into the bricks, light spangling behind my eyes, and I swear I feel something crack. I let out a sob of a sound, a kind of hysterical laughter clawing at the edges of it, spitting in the dirt in the few blissful moments I've got before he's on me again.
"You little shit," he sneers, his forearm clamped across my shoulders, holding me pinned against the wall.
"Hey, man. Let's just go," I hear from the doorway, that scared kid with the gun, but he's ignored, dismissed with an angry, "Fuck off, Martin! I'm teaching the kid a lesson."