“Sorry, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Now you’re here, you’ll have to keep us company until we’re ready to leave.” He circles around to face me, his acne-scarred skin weathered and dry, age showing its effect. “Couldn’t have you run off to tell your old man we’re here, could we?”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s why Sneak knows you. You’re the Sheriff’s daughter. Although,” he says as he drags his leery gaze down my body. “You’ve grown up a lot since I saw you last.”
“Nope, that ain’t it,” the man now known as Sneak says. “I know her from somewhere else.”
The guy at his bike turns back to rejoin the party, zip ties in his hands. “Just a precaution, precious.”
“Oh, get fucked.” I chop the side of my hand in the pockmarked guy’s throat and turn to run as he splutters for air.
“Mine!” Someone hollers, feet thumping the ground behind me.
I make it halfway back to the street, packaging tangled in my feet from where it’s spilled out of the dumpster.
The shop signage at the edge of the pavement is mere feet away when my pursuer crashes into the back of me, and my feet leave the ground. His arms band tight around my waist, my hands rendered useless against my sides. I kick back, curling my heel up to hit air—even my legs are no use against the guy.
Fuck.
“If you behave, we’ll treat you real good,” he murmurs in my ear as he carries me back to the other three. “Start screaming,and I’ll make sure you’ll fuckin’ cry tears of blood every time you see zip ties from now on.”
Awesome. The jerk promises to give me PTSD. Well, joke’s on him. I’ve got it already.
“Tug her hands to the front,” the slimy guy with the ties instructs the pockmarked dude.
He steps forward, analyzing me from the way his gaze flicks over my body. It’s not predatory or sexual. It reminds me of how ranchers assess cattle before buying them at auction.
His hands are cold, which seems strange on a warm fall day. He grabs ahold of my hands and jerks them forward, pinning my palms together as the slimy asshole binds my wrists. I wince when the edge of the plastic bites, yet refrain from making a sound. Fuck them. I won’t give that satisfaction.
“Ankles too,” the pockmarked guy orders.Must be the boss.“Considering she’s shown she likes to run.”
I use the minute it takes the slimy one to bind my ankles to drink in as much about these fuckers as I can. I know Sneak’s name, and the slimy guy who has the ties is Medicine Man, reading the badge on his chest. But I can’t see what the vest says on the guy at my back, or the pockmarked dude, since he faces away to light a cigarette.
“How long are you likely to be?” I ask. “So I can rearrange my calendar.”
“Cute,” Pocky says, puffing out an enormous cloud of smoke. “She has attitude.”
“What do you expect when her daddy is a cop?”
“Really don’t see how that correlates,” I tell Sneak.
“All cops are smartass assholes,” Medicine Man gripes. “Thought you’d know that, growing up with one.”
“Thought you’d know that this isn’t a great idea, too, but hey. Here we are.”
The fourth guy dumps me on an upturned milk crate. The plastic bites into my ass. I glance up into his eyes that are devoid of life as he snarls, “It’d be a good idea to keep your mouth shut.” This doesn’t seem to be a threat, more a piece of friendly advice.
I glance over his shoulder at the way Medicine Man eyes me up, the pocky guy now messaging someone, his badge still out of view. My captor wanders away, his back turned toward me.Blond hair, tattoos of insects on his hands…I catalog the details in case I never see his badge either.
Pocky takes a few firm strides toward the mouth of the alley. “We’ve got vultures circling.”
What the fuck does that mean?I eye the back entrance to Beryl’s craft shop and wonder how hard I’d have to elbow it for her to hear and come help. Although at sixty-five, I don’t want to risk her safety by drawing her out into this.Probably best to deal with it yourself.Not that I have any bright ideas yet on how to do that.
They want me to stay under control while they do whatever it is they’re here for. But then what? Do I honestly think they’ll just let me go?
“Dozer will bring the van around when he’s done,” the dead-eyed blond tells the crew.
I squint a little at his name badge, yet the fucking thing is stitched in black thread on a black background, which makes it near impossible to read.Clever.
