“Move to the back wall, sit down, and put your legs straight out.”
J.T. spat his anguish. “Where’s my sister?”
Anthony smirked. “She’s the least of your worries, Fed. Now do what I said unless you want a few broken ribs.” He looked to the right and chuckled. “Guess your pal isn’t hungry.”
“He’s unconscious, moron. He’s lost a lot of blood and needs a doctor.”
Anthony laughed. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“So, you and that other thug are the hired guns for that coward who hides in the shadows, right? Who is he?”
Anthony remained silent.
“How am I supposed to eat when my hands are cuffed behind my back?”
“Figure it out, genius. Dogs can eat without using their paws.”
“That was almost funny. You really got me back on that one. Did my genius comment hurt your feelings this morning, big guy?”
“I told you to sit down by the wall.” Anthony placed the tray on the floor, cracked his knuckles in his balled-up fist, and waited.
J.T. took a seat at the wall.
“Put your legs straight out like I said before.”
“Why? Are you afraid of me?”
“I have a hundred pounds on you and both of your guns. I think I’ll be fine.” Anthony unlocked the gate and slid the tray inside. Then he closed the gate and snapped the padlock over the latch. He clicked it and gave it a tug.
“I need to piss.”
“Sucks for you.” Anthony turned around and left the room.
J.T. yelled, “I want to see my sister!”
It took a few minutes to get his legs back under him in order to stand. J.T. got up, crossed the enclosure to the tray of food, and knelt next to it. He had to eat to keep up his strength. If there was any chance of escape, he’d need all the energy he could muster. He leaned over the tray and ate.