Page 7 of Iced Out

Tae’s dad had taught him that a dangerous situation grew more precarious when people panicked. If his captor panicked, he might snap Tae’s neck.

“Turn the boy loose,” Cruz said, his demeanor calm and relaxed. “And we can all walk away.”

Walk away? Brad didn’t buy it. Nothing about those spics made him believe they would just take the kid and leave without a confrontation. The gook boy was their only leverage.

Brad tightened his grip around the boy’s throat, feeling the kid struggle for breath. Thanks to these assholes, he’d been robbed of his chance to fuck the brat. He liked to choke the younger ones while railing them; the way they fought back frantically got him jacked. And the way this kid was starting to panic beneath Brad’s grip, it would’ve been a wild fuck.

“Don’t listen to them, Dan!” Brad hollered at him. “We arrested this kid lawfully. We’ve been given permission to do our job by any means necessary. The highest powers protect us—”

“Fuck the higher powers.” The deep voice suddenly filled the back seat as something sharp pressed against the nape of his neck.

Brad hadn’t heard the rear door open. He froze. The blade slid around to his throat, careful not to cut the boy’s head. Brad’s eyes bulged, and he breathed harder and faster as his throat constricted and his chest tightened, until a pressure-like pain spread through his torso.

“Remove your hands from my son,” the voice growled in his ear, its scalding breath surging down his neck. “Or I’ll remove them myself.” His other hand gripped a fistful of Brad’s hair and wrenched his head back. The blade pressed harder against his throat, and Brad felt the sting as it bit into his taut flesh.

Brad released his grip, and the boy scrambled forward, huddling with his back against the door. His pants had slid off his hips again, and he fumbled at the back, trying to pull them up.

The man behind him went frighteningly still, and Brad sensed his eyes fixed on the kid, taking in his bloody face—and open pants.

That’s my dad.

The boy’s words when they saw the SUV behind them.

Aside from the fear, something else hovered behind the kid’s watery eyes. Satisfaction?

My dad is going to kill you.

As terrified as the boy was, there had been a certainty in those words.

Now, Brad understood why: Dad wasn’t the “little gook daddy” Brad had referenced before.

Not even close.

Cochise momentarily froze, his eyes locked on Tae as the boy tried to pull his pants up over his hips.

A fresh surge of rage boiled in his gut, and he almost decapitated the fucker on the spot. Regaining control, he dragged his son’s kidnapper out the back door and slammed him against the car.

The driver’s head snapped around, eyes wide, and he swung his weapon toward Cochise. “Let him go!” His voice cracked on the last word, tickling something inside the Egyptian.

Cochise pressed the blade more firmly against the man’s throat, the razor edge breaking the skin and drawing blood. His captive made a wet, choked sound and screwed his eyes shut, his breathing reduced to panicked gasps. Cochise never wavered, his own gaze locked on the driver in a silent, lethal challenge.

“I said…” the driver gulped. “… let him go.” Like a fool, he had taken his eyes off Cruz and his men… and had yet to clock the cowboy’s presence at all.

Clint’s pistol cleared leather in a blur of motion, and he closed the distance before the driver even registered the movement. The cold steel of the barrel jammed hard into the base of the man’s skull, grinding bone. “Put the fucking gun on the roof. Now.” The words were low, guttural, stripped of all mercy.

A tremor ran through the driver’s arm as he slowly, carefully, laid his weapon on the car’s roof and raised his hands. “Take the kid,” he stammered, voice cracking. “Just… just like he said…” His eyes flickered toward Cruz. “… we can all walk away from this.”

Clint leaned so close his lips brushed the man’s ear. His free hand clamped around the driver’s neck, digging into the tendons. “You stole his son.” The whisper was venomous. “You put your hands on my boy. You hit him. You think after that there’s any walking away?” He pressed the barrel deeper, a promise of what was coming. “You think we’re here to negotiate?”

“Wh-What’re you going to do to us?” the driver choked.

Cochise dragged the other man around to the driver’s side of the car and slammed him against the vehicle, beside his buddy. He sheathed the knife and opened the back door. Tae scrambled out, breaking into sobs as he threw himself against Cochise.

“The keys,” Cochise snapped.

Clint yanked the handcuff keys off the driver and handed them over. Cochise removed the cuffs from Tae, inspected his bloody wrists, and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Shaking, Tae fastened his pants with trembling hands.

“Why were your pants open?” Cochise asked.