The guy kept his gaze locked on Liam as he knocked another vase down. It shattered, shards spinning out around the whole shop.
“I mean it!” Liam shouted, his hands curling into fists. He took a step, glass crunching under his shoe.
“Mr. Larsen…it is Mr. Larsen, isn’t it?” Bill said as he stepped in front of Liam. “I suggest you listen to me. Gerald needs a lesson in paying what he owes.”
“Well, he isn’t here!”
“Then he’ll just have to learn from what we do to you.”
Before he could react, Scar Face grabbed him from behind, holding his arms pinned. Liam yanked away from him, turned, and shoved him. “Hands off.”
A fist smashed into his face, and stars exploded in front of his eyes. Hurried footsteps across the concrete floor alerted him that Beady Eyes was approaching. The man grabbed him as Liam’s vision cleared. He struggled as a second punch connected with his nose, sending pain screaming through his face. Jerking his right arm free, he threw a wild punch of his own, catching Scar Face with enough force to throw him into a table. Flowers and more vases hit the floor.
A punch upside of his head sent him reeling, and he couldn’t stop himself from hitting another table, his head knocking a corner hard. His heart sank at the sound of items hitting the floor, but he couldn’t see because he suddenly had blood in his eyes.
The pain that streaked through his head flattened him. Someone kicked his ribs as he tried to get up. He rolled away, covering his gut as more kicks slammed into him. A foot landed on his chest and he grabbed it and yanked, throwing the man off balance. Crashing noises filled the shop as he swiped the blood from his eyes and scrambled to his feet.
He got one punch in on Beady Eyes before Bill lifted a gun to his face.
“That’s enough, Mr. Larsen. I won’t hesitate to put a slug right between your eyes.”
Liam panted as he stared at the man. Blood dripped into his right eye and he let it, not wanting to take his gaze off any of the men. The one he’d pulled off his feet stood, fire in his gaze as he came toward Liam.
“Buzz, stop.” Bill said. “Mr. Larsen isn’t going to fight anymore, are you?”
“Keep him away from me,” Liam snapped.
“You tell Gerald that we’ll be back.”
“I told you, I don’t know where Gerald is!”
“You better find him if you want to stay out of the hospital…or the morgue.” The man turned toward the door but paused and looked over his shoulder. “One more thing. Call the cops, and it won’t be the hospital.”
Liam watched them leave, then staggered over to lock up the shop. He looked around at the mess, pain wracking his sides where he’d been kicked, but it didn’t feel as bad as his breaking heart. His poor shop.
Staggering to the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. There was a big slash on his temple where he’d hit the corner of the table, and color was already sprouting along his cheeks where he’d been punched. He cautiously wiggled his nose. Not broken, at least. His right eye was already puffing up, making it hard to see out of.
He pulled out the first aid kit and did what he could to his face, wincing at the sting when he cleaned out the cut on his forehead.
He’d gotten off better than he expected.
Liam walked into the main area of his shop and looked around at the chaos.
He wouldn’t be opening up anymore that day or the next—not until he restocked the tables and shelves. One whole wall of vases had been shattered, along with two of the shelves.
He pulled out his phone and called Gerald. The phone rang several times before going once again to voicemail.
“Gerald, this is Liam. I don’t know where the hell you are, but we’ve got a huge problem. Call me immediately.”
He put the phone into his pocket and slumped into the chair next to his arrangement table. Pain pulsed through him, but it had nothing on the worry. Gerald was his friend, and he had no idea what was going on with him or where he was.
But the man was in a hell of a lot of trouble. They both were.Chapter FourLiam’s gut churned at having the shop closed two days in a row. It hadn’t been open long enough to start getting regular customers and a steady stream of business. He couldn’t afford this right now.
But it was the bigger fear of having Bill and his companions stopping in to look for Gerald again that had him standing in the reception area at Ward Security.
He opened and closed his fists at his sides while willing his racing heart to slow. This was just about getting a little advice on what to do next. Going to the cops was his first choice, but that would likely result in a late-night phone call about his shop burning to the ground or worse, waking up to Bill and his friends in his home.