Yesterday's Gone: Season One

and swing your bat in its fat fuck of a face. That’s how shit’s done on Team Boricio. Fuckers who don’t like it, get squashed.”
    Charlie agreed. He’d been scared of bullies his entire life. Now was his chance, to take control of his life, courtesy of Boricio. He felt like he could do it, felt brave all the way to the house, through the front door, and even up the stairs. But now, seeing Bob again, some part of him fell into the familiar role — where Bob was the man of the house, and Charlie, the bitch. A familiar, and Charlie realized with some sickness, comfortable role. After all, if someone else were responsible for keeping you down, you couldn’t blame yourself when life was shit.
    “Take your little friends and get the fuck outta here,” Bob said in an annoyed voice, pointing at Charlie, and completely ignoring Boricio.
    “I’m not leaving without Callie,” Charlie said.
    Bob laughed.  
    “Ha! You think she likes you? The minute you were out the door, she was on my cock like a dirty whore.”
    “That’s not true!” Callie cried, “He drugged me.”
    “Drugged you?” Boricio said, mock indignation on his face, “Bob, Bob, Bob, I’m shocked. A big stud like you needs to drug a lady?”
    Bob said nothing, probably hoping he could will Boricio from existence.
    “Come on, Callie, we’re getting out of here,” Charlie said, holding out his hand.
    “She’s staying,” Bob stepped between them.
    Callie stepped around him, then rushed toward Charlie. Bob reached out, grabbed her by her hair and yanked her back. She screamed out as she fell to the ground, still in Bob’s grip like a dog on a leash.
    “Let go of her,” Charlie said, stepping forward meeting Bob’s enraged eyes. He wished Boricio had let him bring a weapon, but he said he had his reasons, and it wasn’t like Charlie could argue.
    “Or what? You’re gonna have your goons beat me up? I’ve got a better idea; why don’t you and your little butt buddies go back to whatever queer little fuck fest you got going on.”
    Boricio laughed, “Goons? Hey, pardner, I resent being called a goon. I’m fucking captain of this team. Besides, I’m pretty sure Charlie can take care of you just fine. Us boys are just here to watch. You know, though if you’re interested in some butt buddy shit, I’m sure we can accommodate you, handsome.”  
    Boricio winked playfully at Bob.
    “Don’t make me tell you again,” Charlie said, trying on a bravery that felt five sizes too big. “Let go of her.”
    Bob stared, then glanced at Boricio and Adam, who hadn’t budged. “Fuck you, kid. She’s not going anywhere.”
    Callie pulled away, this time successfully, stood up, and ran to Charlie. “Fuck you!” she screamed.
    Bob came at Charlie.  
    Charlie, recognizing Bob’s intent too late, dodged, but not quickly enough.  
    Bob’s fist slammed into Charlie’s forehead, sending a bolt of thunder between his temples, though Charlie was sure it would have hurt far worse if knuckles had landed on his nose.
    Bob fell forward with the momentum of his swing. He regained his balance then scurried out the door and toward his bedroom. Charlie raced after him, seeing Bob’s target a moment later: a pistol on the dresser.  
    No!
    Panic ignited the fuel in Charlie’s veins. If Bob got the pistol, Charlie was done for. He could hear Boricio and Adam following behind him, but he was the only person who could stop Bob in time.
    He reached out, grabbed the collar of Bob’s shirt and yanked back, causing them both to roll to the floor.  
    Bob cried out as he hit his head on the dresser. His eyes met Charlie’s, full of a fiery hate Charlie had only glimpsed before now. If any doubt had been in his mind that Bob wanted to murder him, it evaporated that second.
    Bob kicked out, hitting Charlie in the chest, clearing his lungs of air and sending him reeling back into the bed.  
    Bob stood quickly, grabbed the gun and took aim at Charlie, who closed his eyes and waited for death. But instead of a gunshot, he heard a thunk followed by a scream.
    Charlie opened his eyes.  
    Bob had dropped the gun.  
    Boricio’s bat was on the floor beneath him.  
    Boricio had thrown the bat at the gun. “Okay,” Boricio said, looking down at Bob, “I lied. I helped him just this once. Now you’re on your own, Charlie. Take that fucker out.”
    Bob’s eyes narrowed on Charlie as he bent over to grab the gun.
    Charlie dove to the floor, grabbed the bat,