Micah was forced to stop his wriggling when Jason once again lifted his gun and pointed it at his head. The man scrutinized him with shrewd eyes, and Micah thought for a moment that he’d successfully popped a hole in his plan. But after a moment, Jason only shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, unscrewing the vial of heroin with his free hand and expertly filling the syringe with the liquid drug. “But then he’ll assume your death was the work of his enemies – of which he has many. The guilt will eat away at him – he'll drown in it, and maybe even get so depressed that he’ll save me the hassle of having to off him and do it himself.”

If possible, Micah’s alarm magnified. “You’re going to kill Damon?” His voice came out more panicked then he intended.

Jason shrugged, cool and collected as he answered. “Eventually, yeah. After all, what’s the point of being next in line to the throne if the throne’s occupied?” He took a step into Micah’s space, looming over him with the syringe. “Now be a good boy, and stay still for me, won’t you?”

Maybe it was the fact Jason had implored him to be a “good boy” – something only Damon had ever done.

Maybe it was because his mind was screaming that Damon might die if he didn’t somehow get out of this situation to warn him.

Or maybe it was simply that the syringe was inching too close to his arm for comfort.

Whatever it was that ultimately prompted Micah, he acted.

Micah’s ankles may have been tied together, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t move this legs. As soon as Jason got close enough, he leaned backward and thrust his legs up, nailing the man in the crotch with his knees.

Jason howled, his gun-free hand instinctively going to cup the family jewels.

Taking advantage of the man’s momentary occupation with his balls, Micah lifted his hands up above his head and then brought them down as forcefully as he could, elbows out. The momentum, along with the weight of his arms, was enough to snap the zip tie – just like it had been in police training.

That didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. Micah’s wrists were inflamed, and stinging fiercely from the maneuver, but he didn’t have time to focus on that. Instead, he leapt forward as much as his bound ankles allowed and tackled Jason to the ground.

He fought for control of the gun, knowing possession of the weapon was all he needed to turn the tables.

Speaking of tables… the coffee table had toppled with the force of Micah’s tackle, the glass surface shattering upon impact, and Jason cussed up a storm as Micah wrestled him in the splintered remains.

“-going to kill you, you stupid cunt-”

“-goddamn wily whore-”