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For as long as Dom could remember, getting away had just kind of been his thing. Whether he was making off with the wallets of the bully who had humiliated him in school, escaping out the window of his grandmother’s house almost every night to get in trouble, or running away from cops, he was an expert at escaping. It helped that he was more slender than most of his peers, could fit into small spaces, and had absolutely no fear of anything. And that he was charming, of course. That helped.
But that was not helping right now.
The first punch hurt, but the second one felt like it broke his nose. Blood flew and the fist that had just been in his face pulled back for another hit.
“Hold up, not yet,” one of the other thugs called, just out of sight in the shadows of the dingy abandoned warehouse Dom had been dragged into. The whole place was dark and clammy and before Dom’s nose had been broken, he’d noted it stank of rats and despair. Now he could only smell blood. It was almost an improvement.
“You know, my nose is a very important part of my face,” Dom said, tasting blood dripping into his mouth. “I need this face for my future as a model and playboy millionaire on vacation in Mykonos.”
The thug sighed. “Never mind. Hit him again.”
“He’s already done damage to his hand!” Dom protested. “Do you really want him to break something on my cheekbones? I have very good bone structure.”
The thug that had been hitting him looked a bit lost as to what to do. The amount of blood pouring from Dom’s nose was alarming, and maybe this guy just wasn’t used to that much blood. Maybe these blokes were usually able to shake people down without physical violence. Maybe they were actually pacifists at heart, and all of this had just gone too far.
“You’ve already tied me to a chair and hit me several times,” Dom went on. “I’d say we’re just about even.”
“You stole ten thousand quid from us.”
“It was actually eleven. But you broke my nose, so you owe me another five thousand quid so I can get it fixed properly.”
His captor actually sounded tired now. “You’re going to pay us back or we’re going to kill you.”
“Counterpoint. You let me go, and I don’t take the other five.”
At this, they all just started laughing. Dom turned his head to look around as best he could from where he was tied very securely to the chair. Moving his head set off a wave of dizziness and pain, so he brought his gaze back to the shadowy one who seemed to be in charge.
“You’re a funny guy.” The thug finished up his laughing fit and waved a hand to the one with the bloody fist. “Hit him again.”
This punch left Dom dazed and he felt his stomach turn with the pain. He was afraid he might throw up, and that would just be embarrassing. It was already bad enough that he’d gotten caught, but throwing up? That was too much.
“Have you had enough now? You can just give us our money back, and we don’t have to kill you.”
Dom took a few breaths, tasting a lot more blood this time. He tried to come up with something snarky to say, but his stomach turned again. He really didn’t want to throw up.
“Well?”
The man standing behind Dom’s chair had been pretty quiet for most of this, but he took this moment of quiet as an opportunity to make his presence known again. He clapped his huge hands on either side of Dom’s head, sending a shockwave of pain and dizziness through him. Dom slumped in the chair, panting and spitting blood.
“Did he just– did he– did you just box my ears?” Dom demanded, incredulous, and spit more blood on his brand new white trainers. Poor trainers. He’d have to steal some new ones tomorrow.
“When we untie you-”
“Oh, now you’re going to untie me? Such a tease, I thought we had something kinky going on here. That guy over there knows what I’m talking about.” He motioned his head to the left at the bloke who had tied him up. The geyser actually blushed. Dom started cackling when he saw the blush, and couldn’t stop. He must have sounded seriously psychotic, because everyone was just staring at him the way his grandmother used to stare at him when he made up some new story about his dead mother and mysterious father.
Poor old Nana. She was a horrible person, but even she probably didn’t deserve Dom as a grandson.
This just made him laugh even harder, and the bloke who had punched him took a step backwards, in case it was contagious.
“We’re going to untie you, and we will be escorting you back to your place. You’re going to give us back our money, and then you will never see us again. Understand?”
Dom struggled to stop laughing. “What if I want to see you again? I’ve grown rather close to a few of you. This one broke my nose, that one back there boxed my ears. The kinky one tied me up, and I can’t forget about that very thorough patdown I got from that other bloke.” Dom looked around, seeing stars when he moved his head too fast. “Where’d he go? I think he might have discovered something new about himself after all that. His hands certainly lingered in a few places.”
“Please stop talking.”
“It’s not my fault you decided to throw me in the back of your van and drive out here.” Dom spit more blood. “Where are we, anyway?”
He might have gone on taking the piss, but when Dom raised his head again, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. It wasn’t often you saw a gun in England, even if you did run with some troubled circles. Dom found his bluster abandoning him quite quickly. A punch he could handle. He’d been roughed up plenty of times as a scrawny kid with a speech impediment and runaway imagination that often left him daydreaming. But a gun was so… final.
“That’s very… American of you,” he said, but his tone held less mirth than before, and they all knew it.
“You’re going to give us back our money, or you’re going to die.” This time the threat sounded real, and Dom gave a meek nod. He wasn’t really in any shape to run away right now; he’d be like a wounded animal, leaving a trail of blood as he ran into the woods to die. He would have to give it up, at least for now. “That’s better.”
He barely even felt them untying him, because the rushing in his ears was too distracting, and his pulse was thumping throughout his whole body. Somehow, they managed to get him to his feet, but Dom slumped over immediately. No one bothered catching him, and Dom found himself on the cold floor a few seconds later, warm stickiness against his cheek from where he’d landed in his own blood. He really didn’t want to throw up.
Two of them pulled him upright, dragged him away, and Dom couldn’t do anything to stop them. They lifted him like a child and dropped him into the back of the van with an unceremonious thud, slamming the doors without hesitation.
The van lurched forward, and Dom realized vaguely that his captors were yelling something. Come back, stop, stop!
He was too confused and dazed to parse what was happening, so he just dropped his head and fell into a light, painful doze.
When he woke, Dom heard an unfamiliar voice asking if he was alright. He opened his eyes, trying to sit up but having trouble. He had no idea how long he’d been in the van, or where he was, or who was talking to him.
“Listen, kid, you can’t do something dumb like that again,” the voice said. It was a warm voice, friendly, American. Dom squinted and tried again to sit up. This time he was able to see the man speaking to him, haloed against street lights, looking like an angel in an old Christmas movie.
“Who are you?” Dom asked, and the stranger chuckled. It was a kind laugh, completely incongruous after this awful evening.
“I’m your new best friend, kid. And your new employer.”