Pinned Beneath You (Gay Erotica) by Tommy Twist

Author:Tommy Twist [Twist, Tommy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Midnight Climax
Published: 2016-09-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifty-Three

MAGUIRE

I curl another tight circle around Logan. Never mind listening to his excuses, I'm barely listening to the words coming out of my own mouth. Ryan wants me over here, I'll do it, because I want the fuck out of this mess.

The weapon fires, with a bang like someone dropped a big church bible flat on the floor. Carabello slumps to the floor, his phone still connected. I set my weight against Logan and hold him back as best I can. My barricade lasts a couple of seconds, but it's enough time for Ryan to pick up the phone and disconnect it.

"What the fuck did you do?!"

Logan's wild. I can see from the way that he shifts his eyes from the body on the floor to Ryan. I don't know how I wasn't aware of the suppressor on that pistol; I thought I'd seen it before, but apparently he's got several holdouts throughout the house.

I don't know how we're going to get out of this, but now Ryan's committed. And, though I don't know why, I feel like I'm committed to it, too.

I swallow hard.

"Ryan."

His head turns towards me just enough to let me know he's listening.

"What do we do? They'll have heard that."

"Good. I'm counting on it."

He reaches down and pulls a set of keys out left-handed and tosses them to me.

"There's a rifle cabinet on the second story. Go on, take your pick of the litter, and I need you posted upstairs. How good a shot are you?"

"With a rifle?"

"Naw, with a catapult, babe."

"I can hit what I'm shooting at, up to say fifty yards."

"It'll do."

His eyes don't go off his brother. I don't know if I want to be there when they say whatever they've got to say, and then I decide that I sure as hell don't.

The cabinet's pretty easy to find, and one of the keys—the one that obviously isn't for a door, or for his old Indian—fits. There's a surprising selection, even considering that he's a gun runner himself.

Everything about the house seems to be hard to coincide with what I've known about him. It's small, it's unassuming. It gets broken into all the damn time, if he's to be believed, and I'm starting to see evidence of that already.

Sure, there's apparently a dozen-odd hold-out pistols hidden in various parts of the house, but… other than that, and you don't even know that to look at it.

The closest he comes to the guy I thought I knew before I met him is this gun rack. It would fit in better in Texas than Arizona, but even this isn't outside the realm of the ordinary for some folks.

I take a convincing-looking weapon with a composite body. I test the weight in my hands. Heavy enough to have some heft, light enough that it doesn't look like it'll tire me out. I take a magazine, test the fit.

I haven't counted, but I'm fairly certain that this magazine wouldn't be legal in the state of California. We're not in the state of California, though, so I don't have anything to say about it.

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