Page 68 of Forget That Guy
Holly looked over at me with wide eyes.
I brought my gun up and aimed it at them, waving it around to each of them as I said, “Every last one of you. Down. Don’t make me shoot you, because I will.”
Baron Kenswood started to sneak backward, but Thumper came out of the bushes and clocked him right up the side of the head with a meaty fist.
Kenswood hit the ground in a solid heap.
The gun in Thumper’s hand materialized out of nowhere, and he had his gun aimed at the others just like I did.
“Baby, go get that rope behind you, and we’ll start tying everyone’s hands.”
It took us fifteen minutes, but we got everyone tied up, hands tied to feet and on their bellies in the dirt and blood around the fighting ring.
Only when everything was finished did I send Holly inside Baron’s home to call the cops.
She came back a couple of minutes later looking grim. “I couldn’t call. He has no house phone.”
“He has to have a way to make phone calls up here,” Thumper pointed out.
Holly flinched at the sound of Thumper’s voice.
I chalked it up to her being scared, which she obviously had been and should still be, and dismissed it for now.
“Try his pockets for a cell phone,” I suggested.
Thumper did, coming up with a cell phone that was password-protected.
“Can’t get into it,” Thumper grumbled. “It’s a face ID, but he has to have his eyes open, and the blood on his face isn’t helping.”
“You can still make emergency phone calls on it,” Holly said. “Just hold down the side button and slide to call 911.”
Thumper grunted, then grinned. “It worked.”
He placed the phone to his ear and placed the call.
I looked over at Holly. “What happened?”
She moved so close to me that I could tell that she was holding on by a thread.
I had three girls.
I knew when a woman wanted a hug.
So in between her explaining her arriving and waking up in a cage, I pulled her into my arms and held her tight with the hand that wasn’t holding my gun.
Anger surged in my belly as I listened to her speak.
That anger took on nuclear levels when she whispered, “One of your men were here. One of them knew where I was, because they talked about me and what they were going to do with me. He was the one that moved my truck.”
That explained the flinch from earlier when she saw Thumper.
My thoughts immediately went to him.
But as Thumper turned and gave us his back, Holly wilted.
“What?”
“It’s not him,” she said softly. “That man doesn’t have all the patches on his back like the rest of you do.”
