I'm too much fucking trouble. He knows it. Hell, I know it. For a moment, I'm completely convinced he's going to shoot me. Just get it over with. There's no way out of this for either of us. He'll kill me, and then get himself shot. He's not getting me out of here. He's not letting me go and getting away.

His arm loosens and I think maybe he's grown a fucking soul, but instead of letting me slip away, he backhands me across the face and I go down in a crumpled heap at his feet, gasping for air and coughing blood onto his boots.

"Get the fuck back," he yells to the two of them, but I know he doesn't really believe it'll happen. He's got me by my hair, gun pressed to my head, and I look up at the shape of him in the dark, teeth bared and just fucking daring him to do it.

They'll be finding pieces of him all over this place for fucking weeks.