Page 60 of Thug

“Don’t know for sure where she is,” he replied. “But I know who’s got her.”

My temper was rising and rising fast. “Who?”

“You sure you wanna know?”

“God damn it, Rooster. I’ll—”

“Brisco,” he said. “Brisco’s got her. Sounds like they’re gonna kill—”

“What kind of a fucking game you playing?” I snarled. “Do you think I can’t find out in about ten seconds if you’re lying? Giving me information like this is going to get your dumb ass killed.”

“I ain’t lyin’, Price,” he stammered. “Word is Brisco had Shady and Chivo swipe her from the bar. They got her out at Brisco’s place. Shady said Brisco told ‘em to kill her. He’s all fucked up about it. Been texting and called a couple of times, thinking it ain’t right—”

He continued talking. Angry to the point I was numb, I lowered the phone and glanced toward my office. A wide-eyed Panzer was standing in the doorway. I stomped past him and glared at Brisco.

He looked up. His face was as white as a sheet.

“You want to tell me something?” I asked.

He swallowed heavily. “Nope.”

“Panzer, Carp, take a walk,” I growled. I gestured toward the door. “Now!”

“Listen, Boss.” Brisco stood. “She’s—”

“Fix what you’ve fucked up,” I insisted. “Right fucking now. Make the call. Do whatever you—”

“That gal’s no good, Price,” he said. “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but this is what’s best for—”

“The club?” I snapped back. “You’re telling me this is what’s best for the fucking club?” I took a step in his direction. “My fucking club? You running my club now? You calling the fucking shots?”

“Boss—”

“One hair, Brisco.” I stepped so close I could taste the whisky on his breath. “One hair on her head’s out of place, and I’ll put wounds on you that time won’t heal, Brother. Undo whatever it is you’ve done. Right fucking now.”

A look of extreme concern washed over him. He swallowed heavily. “I can’t,” he said. “It’s too late.”

17

Gray

I tossed a shovel full of sand over the edge of the hole. Most of it blew back in my face. The mouthful of dirt absorbed what little moisture remained on the surface of my swollen tongue. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. I tried to wipe my face with my forearm, but it only made matters worse.

The charade had gone too far. I’d been driven to a remote location in the desert and was forced at gunpoint to dig my own grave. I was at my breaking point and wondered how much longer it would be before I was reduced to a blubbering mess. It was coming, I simply didn’t know when I’d snap.

Verbally, I hadn’t lost my composure. Maintaining the “I knew nothing” mantra wasn’t a difficult task. It was the truth. I’d reached the point several times that I wished I knew something. Had I, I certainly would have told them. I’d gone so long without food, water, or a bathroom break that I was delirious.

The hundred degree-plus desert heat wasn’t helping matters. Soaked in sweat and my own urine, I stood shin-deep in a shallow grave, wishing the game would end. I feared, however, that it wasn’t a game. Somehow, I ended up asking the wrong person the wrong question at the wrong time. My punishment?

Death.

I hadn’t been given any water since I tried to loosen my blindfold in the garage at sunrise. Based on the sun’s position in the sky, I knew it was late afternoon. I glanced at No Name. Of the two men, he was the compassionate one.

“Can I get a…drink…of water?” I asked.

Hearing my trembling voice reminded me of the men who were often found wandering the desert in the old western movies. Dry and cracking when I spoke, it made me sound like I was moments from death.

Tattoo waved the barrel of his gun in my direction. “Dig, bitch, dig.”