Page 29 of Dock

Our prospect’s discomfort is what pushes me to inch closer to the broker.

Invade his space.

Brace myself behind him with my gun in line with the back of his throat knowing he can’t scream if I put a gaping hole there.

Kegger stomps over the remaining few steps and struggles not to let his entire frame melt at the sight inside. “Hey…little man…”

Shit.

A kid?!

“It’s okay…” says my fellow club member in tandem with lowering his body to a squat. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

No.

But we’re gonna hurt this fucking broker.

Guaranteed.

“You can get out of this box.” There’s a long pause of silence that precedes him quietly confessing, “I was trapped too when I was little like you.” My best friend does his best to taper back his building rage. “Except…I wasn’t trapped in a box but behind all these big, round silver things called kegs.” His head angles just a fraction to the left. “And then one day, someone wearing one of these,” he tugs at his cut, “with this picture,” Kegger taps the Misfit tattoo that’s on his bicep, “found me kinda like I’ve found you.”

There are very few things we don’t find acceptable to deal in.

One is the human trafficking trade.

Especially when it comes to children.

“And just like he helped me get somewhere safe, I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, okay?”

It takes a beat or two but eventually a tiny voice says, “Okay.”

“Brave little man,” praises Kegger upon the olive-skinned little boy extending his arms upward to be removed from the container. “I’m gonna take you somewhere safe, I promise.”

The dark-haired child nods and collapses into his savior’s arms the instant he’s there.

One gentle pat on his back occurs prior to Kegger meeting my glare. “Handle him.”

It’s my turn to nod; however, I wait until the two of them are a safe distance to take further action.

Post a glimpse over my shoulder to verify the kid is out of harm’s way, I violently slam my heel into the back of Harry’s thigh, forcing him to crumple forward onto his knees.

Howls are thrown to the sky, beckoning the movers to come to his aid, an action immediately stopped by long distance bullets landing directly in their paths. I yank his head backwards with my free hand and roughly jam the barrel into his open mouth. “You. Know. The. Rules. Harry.”

“IswebarIbdidntknob!”

“You knew.” Shoving it further back results in his teeth scraping against the metal. “You fucking knew and that’s why you’ve been a squirrely piece of shit tonight.”

“Ibibddddnttt!” he screeches, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, head trying to shake. “Ibibnt!”

“The Mayfields know better than to show such disrespect which tells me,” my face cranes forward in tandem with insuring Harry begins to choke on my Baretta, “this delivery isn’t for them, is it?!”

“No.”

“Is this one personal, Harry?”

“Gobno!”

“I wanna know who it was for, and if you use your breath to tell me anything else, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes and get the information elsewhere. Understood?”