It had hit no bone, as far as he could tell, but it was causing a significant amount of pain. Not enough to impair his ability to use his arm, but enough to piss him off. He was steering with his left hand as he kept the gun in his right hand aimed at Charlie Phelan. ‘I don’t understand, Sirus,’ Charlie said, his voice quavering. ‘What happened?’ Sirus said nothing. He swung the barrel of his gun into Charlie’s face. The metal collided with his already mangled nose, and Charlie cried out in pain as fresh blood erupted. ‘Aw, fuck!’ he screamed. ‘I didn’t do nothing!’ Sirus swung the gun twice more, hitting Charlie in the side of the head. ‘Shut up, Charlie,’ he fumed. It made him feel better, even as his right hand sent shivers of pain up through his arm. The shot that struck his gun had not hit his hand, but the force of the impact had jarred the hand badly. He wondered whether it had cracked a bone, but knew he had no time to worry about it.
