Hell Bound

Forty-Three

I had to drive Graham to work the following day. I stopped to get gas before taking him, and I left him by the pump while I headed inside to pay. I could see him outside, waiting in his little Arbys uniform while I waited in line at the counter. He was singing along to whatever song was playing over the speaker system. Then a black SUV pulled into the lot and parked at the pump behind him.

My stomach started to twist in knots, and I took a deep, steadying breath. It was just a car. SUVs didn't mean anything, and I saw a lot of them in DC. But ever since a whole fleet of them had run me off the road, which resulted in me getting shot in the shoulder, they tended to make me a bit nervous.

I told myself not to be so paranoid. Getting a box of childhood pictures and coded letters written by my mother made me a bit on edge. A guy climbed out of the back of the SUV and headed toward the door. I handed out my card to the attendant and glanced out the window again. The guy had gotten in line just behind me, but no one else had come out. No one was waiting to pump gas. It took about three seconds for the gears to click into place. I recognized him. I didn't know where I knew him from, but I was confident I'd seen his face before. And with my track record, it probably wasn't a good thing.

I got my card back, and Graham began filling up my car, still singing and apparently unaware that anything weird was happening. I moved my hand back around to pull my phone out of my pocket. The man in line suddenly stepped forward, nudging me against the counter. Something blunt pressed against my spine.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned.

I glanced at the kid again, the SUV, and back to the attendant, who was probably wondering why the hell I was still standing there. I kept my eyes on her.

"He has a gun," I said. "You should call the police."

She immediately dropped behind the counter, and he yanked me back by my arm.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said as he guided me toward the door.

"You think I'd let you put her life in danger?" He pushed the door open and yanked me out.

"She wasn't in any danger. Your little friend, though. He's not going to be so lucky."

He marched across the lot toward the SUV, dragging me along beside him. My heart was pounding. I had to get Graham out of there before he got hurt. He heard us coming and turned around to say something, but his eyes went wide instead.

"Get in the car and lock the doors. Now!" I said.

He didn't react for a split second. Like he was trying to come up with an argument, but the guy lifted a gun in his direction, and he bolted toward the door. He'd just narrowly scrambled inside before the weapon went off. The bullet struck the window just as the door shut. It left a thick crack but didn't make it through the glass.

"Still borrowing from Stark, I see," the guy remarked.

"Of course."

Graham peeked out over the edge of the door. The glass would only hold for so long. But now that I knew he was safe, and Jarvis was probably well aware that something was happening, I could fight back. I swung around and cracked the guy in the face with my elbow. He jerked back and let out a yelp. I took that moment of freedom to run for the car, but I only made it a few feet before another shot rang out, and I toppled to the ground hard. My calf exploded with pain. My palms, knees, and chin scraped against the cement as I hit the pavement.

The words, "Son of a bitch!" burst out of me.

Hands gripped my hair and yanked me back up onto my knees. One of my legs wasn't responding very well, but I could still lean on it. So I kicked my other leg out and felt it connect with his knee. He tumbled over, squashing me back onto the ground and knocking all the air out of my lungs. I heard the car door pop open.