“Apology accepted. Just don’t do it again unless you want to find out what it’s really like to get punished by Daddy.”
A wide smile crosses my lips but he can’t see. “Ok,” I say, the sting of my ass cheeks feeling oh so good. I can’t wait to check them out in the mirror and see if I can make out his big handprint.
“Ok, what?”
“Ok, Daddy.”
8
Daniel
The next morning
I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth and watch as my woman sashays across the floor, serving up breakfast with a bigger smile than usual. Knowing I have something to do with that puts a huge smile on my face, although I suppress it in public. No need to attract attention, like…
“Nobody move!” a man with a sky mask calls out, pointing a gun at one of Diana’s coworkers. The sound of a coffee pot falling and breaking ricochets throughout the diner and the man turns rapidly toward the sound of it, pointing the gun right at Diana’s chest.
“Don’t move, bitch!”
The table starts to rattle, as my arms shake with anger as I slyly reach for the steak knife, tucking it in my hand so that it’s concealed by the front of my hand and arm. It’s awkward, but it gets the job done.
The man wisely moves the gun away from Diana, pointing it to the cash register. It’s the smartest thing he’s done all day, but I’m still going to make him pay. The thought of anything happening to my woman absolutely shatters me, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do to him.
Breathing in deep, I focus. Those with training for situations like these know that you don’t rise to the situation, you fall back to your level of training. And my record speaks for itself, which is a blessing and a curse.
“Everybody on the floor!” a second man yells, while the first slams his hand into the register repeatedly until it springs open.
As he pulls out the cash and stuffs it into a bag in his jacket it’s then I get a good look at his gun.
Fake.
My eyes dart to the other guy.
Also fake.
These fools are knocking off a diner with two replica Smith & Wessons. I can spot a real and a fake a mile away, but what I can’t quite make out is how I recognize these guys. It’s not from the other night, but they’re definitely familiar.
And although they might not have real guns, they could have real knives or other weapons, and judging from the jitteriness of both of them they could easily be on some sort of speed or amphetamine too.
Don’t play hero. Wait for the opportunity, but only if it comes.
“On the floor, asshole,” the man not emptying out the cash register says and it’s then I realize I’m the one taking the most time out of all the people who were enjoying their breakfasts fifteen seconds ago.
As I go to kneel down I cock my head and survey the parking lot. No getaway car waiting.
Yep, this is an amateur job if I’ve ever seen one. But where have I seen this knucklehead before?
“I got the money. Let’s go!” the other man says, and I don’t go down all the way.
“I’m coming,” the other man says, his fake gun still on me. “I should shoot your ass for not following orders.”
He turns to go, taking his eye off me for a split second and it’s all I need.
I lunge, grabbing him by ankle closest to me and flip him toward the ceiling.
He flips hard and the crack of his skull on the hard tiles has the other hostages ‘oohing’ in near unison.
“Let’s g—“