Chapter 43
With a black bag over my head again, I stumbled through the desert, hands cuffed behind my back. The sun blazed, and sweat misted my skin. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and my heart thumped.
They marched us a good way from the compound, weaving through shrubs, stepping over rocks. When we reached our destination, the thug kicked me in the back of my knee, and I fell to the dirt. My knee hit a rock, and it didn't feel good.
"You broke my fucking nose," Horseshoe said.
It was payback time.
Horseshoe cracked me in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. The jolt rocketed all the way down my spine and sent me tumbling to the dirt. His boot found my belly multiple times.
The other guy beat the snot out of Jack. They were going to have fun before they killed us.
"Tough guy," I mocked when he took a breather. "Why don't you make it a fair fight?”
That earned me another kick to the rib cage.
"What's the matter, you afraid?"
Horseshoe pulled the black bag off my face and tossed it aside. He hovered over me, leaning in close, backlit by the blistering sun. "I ain't afraid of shit. Certainly ain't afraid of you.”
"Put your money where your mouth is."
Horseshoe hesitated a moment, then shouldered his rifle and took aim. "I'm going to end you right now."
I laughed. "I figured you didn't have the guts."
His finger wrapped tight around the trigger. Sweat dripped off his busted nose, and rage filled his eyes. They already had purple circles under them from my elbow.
After another moment of hesitation," he said, "Okay dickweed. Let's see what you got.”
He slung his rifle behind his back, moved behind me, and unlocked my cuffs. He backed away as I climbed to my feet.
We squared off against each other, and he tossed his rifle to the dirt. He still had a sidearm and a knife. He didn't get rid of those.
His friend stood nearby, aiming his rifle at me. The minute this started to go south for Horseshoe, his friend would shoot me. I had no doubt about it. But at least I’d get a few punches in before I went out.
His buddy yanked the black bag off Jack's face. "You want to watch your friend get his ass kicked?" he said with a grin.
We were out in the middle of nowhere. Hazy mountains in the distance. Nothing but Joshua trees, creosote bush, brittlebush, and Mojave yucca.
We squared off against each other, circling around like two prize fighters, sizing each other up.
Horseshoe was a big guy—6’2”, 225. Jacked. He had to be on at least 100mg of testosterone a week and probably a few peptides. Maybe a cycle of roids. You could see it in the jaw.
He came at me, fainted left, then swung a hard right. I leaned back, his fist rushing in front of my face.
With my right hand, I deflected his forearm, then spun left, and put a hard fist into his rib cage as I rolled away.
It felt like hitting a brick wall.
He groaned, and his jaw clenched tight as he squared off against me once again.
He didn't like the fact that I tagged him. More of an ego thing than anything else.
He walked me down, jabbed left, then swung right.
I bobbed and weaved and rolled away.
Once again, we squared off.
With his forearm, he wiped the sweat from his brow.
It was like fighting in an oven.
I was already pretty worn out, sore, and bruised when we started. He had the upper hand for sure. But I kept moving, trying to wear him out.
We danced around, then he charged again. Horseshoe jabbed twice, then threw a hard right.
I blocked and hammered a straight right to his nose.
His head popped back, and his face twisted with pain. With a broken nose, I knew that had to hurt. Like an ice pick to the brain.
He took a few steps back and shook it off, then drew the knife from its sheath. He was done with this little experiment. Rage reddened his face, and his eyes teared up from the blow. Blood in his scleras, he looked like a demon. "I'm going to gut you.”
"So you're saying this is a fair fight."
"Fuck you," he said, charging, the desert sun glimmering the blade.