A nefarious smile curls on Brian's lips as he aims the revolver at me. Not just any revolver, my revolver – the one I keep in my upstairs office in case of home invasions. After he left the motel, he must have come back to the house and taken it.
"Heya, boss." He grins as he advances on me. He looks like he's been drinking. "How the hell are ya?"
"Put the gun down, Brian," I reply.
"Or what?" he counters. "Gonna use your telepathic, billionaire, telekinetic whatever powers to snatch it out of my hand?"
He roars like he just cracked the world's funniest joke and glances around at my car collection.
"You know what it's like driving these and not owning them? Knowing you'll never be able to own them?"
"Brian—"
"I hate pricks like you!" he shouts, raising the gun at my head. "Strutting
