Cactus Wren

Chapter Nineteen - Gunpoint

- A/N- 

It looks like the "Nay's" have it. I shall not be withholding any updates until August.

Sooo... On that note, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it! 

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"Welcome home, Rebbie." A deep voice calls out in the dark front room of what was supposed to be my empty house. I freeze, my heart jumping up into my throat. My eyes flicker around, searching the darkness for the source of the voice that sounds too familiar.

Light footsteps tap against the tile floor, walking closer to me. A tall, dark silhouette appears from a shadow and the moonlight from the front window shines off of the barrel of the gun in his hand.

"Looking good, sweetheart." Duke Harris muses, his cold dark stare raking up and down my bare legs, I fight the urge to sneer at him. He's the one holding me at gunpoint, I don't want to provoke him and give him a reason to shoot me for the hell of it. I need to know why he's here and what he wants.

"Why don't you come into the living room and get comfortable?" He directs me. I slowly shuffle into the room, at the same time taking inventory of objects in the room I can use as a weapon. He has me sit on the couch as he stands in front of me with his back to the t.v., facing out toward the rest of the room.

"What are you doing here, Duke?" I ask quietly, my voice sounding much calmer than I actually felt. My fingers twitching, wanting to grab the table lamp next to me. Visions fly through my mind of smashing it over his head while I run back out the front door. 

"Tying up loose ends," Harris tells me. "I don't like loose ends, they're bad for business."

"I heard the business was shut down." I respond.

Stupid, Rebbie. Why are you talking? Shut up, don't piss him off more.

"I figured you'd heard about that." He says. His face wears a grin but his voice is anything but amused. "I heard," he says like we're gossiping, "that a few of my club employees were spotted leaving the ranch of an associate of mine with some of my merchandise." I keep my face blank. "Imagine my surprise when I found out my new hot blonde waitress drove off with some of my most valuable goods." I remember during our escape, my hat blew off and my blonde hair blew everywhere for all to see. Shit.

"So, being the good business man that I am," he continues. "I came to get what I'm owed."

"I don't have your goods." I tell him calmly.

"I didn't think you did, sweetheart." Harris responds. "Even if you did, I don't want them back, now. I'd rather get my payout from you. I think that's fair."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my throat is tightening with fear. Harris walks up to me slowly, his eyes taking in my face, tilting his head to the side as he studies me. He places the barrel of the gun against me cheek, stroking it in a cold, hard, steel caress.

"Exactly what I said, Rebbie." He murmurs to me like a coo of a lover. "You made me loose profit, so you'll pay it back." The cold steel disappears only to return with a hard strike across my face as he pistol whips me, knocking me off the couch. I fall onto the coffee table, my ribs striking against the corner before the table leg splinters and breaks off and I fall onto the ground in an awkward mound of limbs. My side hurts with every stuttered breath and I can taste the metallic flavor of my blood in my mouth. The room is spinning again, but this time its not from the alcohol.

When I try to get up, my coffee table is kicked to the side and I feel some of the splintered wood fall against my hand. I grasp it tightly, hoping the end of it is sharp enough as I swing the shard around, aiming for his thigh. Harris's hand shoots out grabbing my wrist, squeezing it tightly until it feels like it's about to snap under his grip, and I reluctantly drop the shard to the floor. He twists my arm behind my back and then his hard knee pushes between my shoulders, pushing me down flat to the floor and the barrel of the gun presses hard against the side of my head.