Page 73 of Crucified By the Dark
Slowly easing his way over to the worktable where some tools were laid out, he grabbed a crowbar. With each step, he knew that someone was up to no good. There was no reason to be in here this late, especially with a flashlight, which was what the glow was.
It was either that or it was a fucking alien, and if it were some little green Martians, he would scream like a little kid as he hightailed it out of there. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and got it open just as whoever it was stepped away from the corner that housed the electrical box.
The person stopped as soon as they saw him, and in the flashlight’s beam, he recognized Stephen’s face. Jeremy knew something wasn’t right with this guy. He felt it the first day he’d arrived and was bold enough to wander away from his assigned duties.
“Stephen? What are you doing in here, man? You gave me a fucking heart attack.” Jeremy smiled and sighed like he was relieved to see it was only Stephen.
“I think you can drop the act,” Stephen said, and Jeremy let his smile fall.
“The question still stands. What the fuck are you doing in here?” Jeremy saw something on the floor, and it took a moment for his brain to register that it was a booted foot.
“Don’t worry, he’s already dead,” Stephen said and kicked the leg of the downed man.
Jeremy’s fist clenched around his phone, and as it did, he swiped to get to the emergency alarm. Stephen suddenly yelled like he was possessed by a demon and turned the flashlight, so it was shining in Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy stumbled back, slamming into the large stack of wooden crates.
He saw the boot coming and got his knee up and arms down just in time to block most of the blow, but the boot still slipped through and caught him in the stomach. All the air was forced from his lungs. His fists went up as the guy landed a hard blow to his jaw, and something hard hit his hand, sending the phone flying and skidding across the concrete floor.
“Son of a bitch,” Jeremy swore, jumping to the side. The next blow hit the crate harmlessly.
“Fuck,” Stephen swore.
Jeremy swung the crowbar hidden behind his leg, and Stephen ducked, but his flashlight crashed to the floor, flickered, and went out. They were plunged into darkness except for the glow of his cell phone, lying on the floor like a little beacon.
He swung again and once more narrowly missed Stephen’s face. He’d been training here with the guys and Morry since he arrived, but this guy moved extremely fast. There was no way in hell he’d only had six months of training. The way Stephen moved was professional. He moved like Morry.
Stephen charged low at his waist, and Jeremy couldn’t get out of the way in time. He managed to get his knee up into his gut before arms wrapped around his waist and drove him backward.
“Fuck,” Jeremy yelled as he lost his footing and fell.
They slammed into the ground hard, and he tried to protect his head as much as possible from cracking on the hard floor, but he still hit hard enough to feel dazed. The crowbar shot out of his hand and slid under the skids. Of course, it would.
He couldn’t worry about that, though, ‘cause it was clear that this was a fight to the death.
He’d already recognized Big Joe on the floor with a dark puddle around him that could only be blood.
Pushing up hard, Jeremy shoved Stephen off him as if he were nothing more than his daily weights and managed to get him with his knee. He didn’t know where he hit Stephen, but it was hard enough for the guy to groan in pain. He punched at the side of Stephen’s face—despite the shit angle—and managed to lay a hard hit to his side.
An elbow cracked Jeremy across the jaw, and as his hands loosened, Stephen rolled out of his grip.
“You should’ve just turned around and left. I didn’t want to kill you. You seem like a decent guy,” Stephen said.
Jeremy noticed Stephen leaning into an open crate. Spinning on his back, he caught Stephen in the side of the knee. The fucker yelled when it made a popping sound and staggered. But Jeremy could see the shadow of a gun already in his hand.
Scrambling to his feet, he ran for his phone, picked it up, and hit the emergency button. The red lights in the building began to spin, and the siren could be heard blaring outside.
“Don’t fucking move,” Stephen snarled as the cool metal of a gun pressed into the back of his head.
“Good luck getting out of here alive,” Jeremy said.
Jeremy had known fear many times. He was kicked out of his home and lived on the streets. He’d been beaten and raped until he wished he was dead. He’d feared disease, hunger, and how to score his next fix. Worst of all was fearing to succeed while equally terrified to fail. Coming here had been the scariest and most wonderful thing that ever happened to him, and in the blink of an eye, a single man threatened to take away this slice of happiness he’d finally carved for himself.
“Well, I guess you’re not as stupid as I thought you were. Move it. You’re coming with me.” Stephen shoved the gun into the back of his head. Jeremy raised his hands and walked toward the door like a man walking the plank.
He had no idea if he would live or not, and all he could think about was Morry and Kyle. If Jeremy died, so did her chance to save her son. His heart hammered hard as they neared the main door. He could barely hear the blaring siren over the pounding of his pulse.
Jeremy wasn’t sure if God existed—his path had made him question faith and what that meant so many times—but if there was a God, he prayed to him now.
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