Page 35 of Fallen Hero

He did a top-to-toe scan of me and stood.

Without speaking, he pulled zip ties out of his pocket and handed me two.

It took me seconds to roll my undersized attacker to his stomach and zip his wrists together. I moved to his ankles and did the same, making sure I tightened them as much as possible to cause maximum pain. Just because I didn’t want to kill him didn’t mean I wouldn’t be happy inflicting as much damage as I could.

I was reaching for the guy’s back pocket to check for an ID, phone, something, when Mason grabbed my arm.

“Not without gloves.”

Damn, that was a rookie mistake. There could be drugs, including fentanyl in his pockets.

“Where are we taking them?”

“Bottom floor.”

I didn’t get the chance to ask Mason to elaborate before he turned on his boots and stalked away. I didn’t want to be impressed when Mason bent and hauled the mangled-face guy off the ground and hoisted him over his shoulder—but I was.

I didn’t have that option available to me, so I rolled my guy to his back, prayed I wasn’t going to get a flesh-eating disease when I grabbed him under his sweaty armpits, and, mostly bent over and walking backward, dragged him in the direction Mason was going.

I was looking over my shoulder to watch where I was going. Again, I didn’t want to be impressed, but with one vicious kick to the door, it flew open.

Damn, that gave new meaning to the term ‘door kicker.’

Pulling dead weight was harder than it looked, even when the weight wasn’t much more than your own. I tried to keep the huffing and puffing to a minimum when I towed my cargo through the rickety door that was hanging haphazardly off its hinges.

“Keep sharp,” he told me as I passed.

“Where to?” I asked, ignoring his insult. I might not have been able to hoist a man over my shoulder or kick in a door, but I wasn’t an idiot.

Mason moved deeper into the dim space and unceremoniously dropped his haul. With a thud and bounce, the guy hit the ground, producing a plume of dust mixed with some bacteria I was sure I didn’t want to think about.

“Seriously,” I complained, and choked back a cough.

“Stay here.”

Mason disappeared, leaving me in the darkened, germ-infested, empty storefront. With only the streetlight coming in through the window, I could make out overturned furniture, boxes, miscellaneous trash, and broken shelves. The place creeped me the hell out. I reached back in my pocket and fisted my knife.

The silence was starting to get to me when I heard footsteps. Not the kind when someone was trying to sneak up on you. The loud, angry kind of a beastly jerk.

He put his first attacker down next to the other two.

As annoying as it was, I waited for assface’s orders.

Like he had superhuman eyesight, he moved around the room riffling through boxes. Moments later, he came back with a shiny black shirt with gold paisleys on it. The thing was hideous in the dimly lit room; it would be downright offensive in the light.

Understanding dawned.

I pulled out my knife and held it out to Mason. “Here. Use this.”

Mason didn’t accept my knife. He used his hands to tear the fabric.

Well, okay, then—show-off.

Two more rips and he handed me a strip.

I got down on my knees, happy I wasn’t attached to these pants, because I would be throwing them away after tonight. No amount of detergent would be enough to disinfect them. I tied the makeshift gag around my guy’s head, wishing I could grow new hands so I could throw these ones away. The boy-man was sweatier than I was, and that was saying something. I was the one with a headscarf, and I was pretty sure I was having a hot flash, seeing as the lake of sweat between my boobs had turned into a hot tub.

Was I old enough for a hot flash?