32
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Maddox
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AFTER HEARING THE commotion from the living room, I raced into the kitchen where Tank was grilling one of the Devil’s Rangers I’d seen at the grocery store.
“I’m really not in the mood for games,” Tank said, holding up what I presumed was the thug’s phone. “What’s the passcode?”
He shrugged.
Tank grabbed him by the throat and slammed the butt of his g*n against Buster’s forehead a couple of times and released him. The guy crumpled to the floor, blood dripping from where he’d been hit, groaning in pain.
Noticing me, Tank asked if Buster was the same guy from the grocery store.
“Yeah. That’s one of them,” I replied.
“And there were two?” he said.
I nodded.
Tail returned with the pliers. He handed them to Tank.
“You have two choices: Tell me your passc
