Chapter Thirty-Three
“Hands where I can see them,” Tim says.
I comply, holding them up at head level.
Seemingly satisfied, he pulls the gun closer to his body but still keeps it trained on me. “Most kids your age aren’t too bright, so I’ll warn you now—if you’re thinking of screaming, running, or pulling some macho bullshit, it won’t turn out well for you.”
“Never crossed my mind,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even.
Tim gestures at the nearest wall. “Assume the position, Mr. Baxter. I already know you’ve had some experience with that.”
Grumbling, I face the wall, placing my feet at shoulder width. “I’m not carrying. They don’t exactly hand out guns to eighteen-year-olds with juvie records.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
I grimace as he roughly frisks me,
