When Brett woke up half an hour later, he tried to reach over for another swig of scotch but found that he could not move his hands. Brett looked down and saw that they were bound together at his wrists. He found his ankles in the same state. He looked up and found Katie sitting back in a chair in the corner of the room, a satisfied smirk on her face.
"Good morning, Brett. Sleep well?"
Brett frowned and managed to sit up a little. "Katie, what the fuck?!"
She laughed. "Did you honestly think I would get back with you? That's really sad, Brett." He tried to sit up more, but her words stopped him. "It probably would be to your best interest to stop," she said, picking up a gun from the table and trying to aim it.
Brett laughed. "You wouldn't," he said confidently.
Katie sighed. "You're right, I wouldn't," she agreed, tossing the gun over towards the door.
Brett didn't hear it hit the ground.
"But we would," sinister voice said.
Brett looked up and saw two men, one with light brown hair and the other with blond hair, both wearing leather. The one with the brown hair was holding the gun. Brett watched as he steadily reached up with his thumb and cocked it. The other one walked over to the phone and dialed three numbers.
"'Ello, this is Mr. Nickolas Cartier," he said in an Australian accent. "We've got an attempted murder 'ere at 1219 LaMont Street...Brett Southers...thank ye." Nick hung up the phone and smirked. "Just sit tight for one minute, buddy. The boys are on their way."
Brett glared at Katie. "You double-crossing little—"
"Bitch? Why thank you!" Katie finished.
"Say another word and I blow your fucking brains out," the man with the brown hair threatened.
Brett was silent.
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