49
Pain in my jaw and the taste of blood caught my attention as I came to. I squinted in the glare of a brightly lit room at the misshapen face of Barclay Dietz staring down at me with a cruel grin. Next to him stood Rudy Pratt, Eric Freytag, and a short guy with a mullet.
I was sitting on the floor in the front room with my back to the wall. My shoulder ached, and the steel of my own handcuffs bit into my wrists. My Rossi revolver lay next to a large green glass ashtray on a nearby rough-hewn wood table. No sign of my Glock. I was seriously up s**t creek.
“Sleep well, ya little freak?” asked Dietz.
There were a lot of things I wanted to say to this asshole. Things I’d waited more than a decade to say. But I figured my chances of survival would be improved if I refrained from sharing t
