They began patting me down, going as far as pulling my shirt up over my head and sticking their hands in the pockets of my jeans.
This is why Hiro refused to let me wear a wire. He knew they would do this.
“What the hell is this?” the man to my left spat.
I couldn’t see because my shirt was still over my head, and it made the anxiety I already felt ten times worse.
Rough hands grabbed my arm and yanked, fingers sliding under the band of my new watch. “You think we wouldn’t notice this?”
“I-it’s just a watch,” I said, reaching up with my free hand to pull my shirt down.
“Yeah, a watch with GPS and call and texting abilities.”
My nose wrinkled. “I haven’t used it. I don’t even know how.”
The guy in the chair laughed. “Oh, I know you haven’t. Our signal jammer disabled that tech the second you walked into the building. But that still doesn’t mean we’re gonna let you keep it.”
A knife appeared, and I jerked back, but I was grabbed and forced in place.
“Better hold still, buttercup, or I might slip up and slit your wrist,” he said as if the idea gave him joy, and I held my breath as he slid the blade between my skin and the watch, slicing through the band with one clean swipe.
I watched it fall onto the floor, and all I could think was,Hiro gave me that.
Crunch.The man who sliced it off slammed his booted foot down on it, shattering the screen and grinding what was left of it into the tile. “Oops.”
“He’s clean now,” the man to my right declared, and the pair yanked me back to my feet.
The plug inside me shifted uncomfortably, but I used the sensation to ground myself.
“Just give me the address,” I said.
“Oh, you think you can come in here and make demands?” the man in the chair said.
“I’m not. I’m asking for the information I was told to come here and get.”
A long, drawn-out silence permeated the room as the three men standing around exchanged glances. The light overhead flickered, the buzzing sound growing louder like a warning.
The metal chair creaked when the man stood, unfolding his excessive height over my small frame.
I started to back up, but the men on each side of me caught my arms, forcing me in place.
He leaned down to speak in my face. “There’s been a change of plans.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” I said, adrenaline flooding my limbs and scattering my thoughts.
“Bag him,” the associate declared, and I went slack in the hands holding me, dropping onto the floor and rolling.
A hand reached for me, but I bit it. The gross coppery tang of blood splattered my tongue.
“Oww, goddammit, he bit me!”
The other guy came forward, and I kicked out, making him scuffle back. Lunging to my feet, I rushed toward the door but stopped almost as fast.
The body filling the doorway was larger than the other three behind me. His T-shirt was so tight it was practically painted on, and as I stared, he began to crack his knuckles.
Someone grabbed my arm and whirled me around. “You think you can bite me?” a voice roared, and then pain exploded across my cheek. I hit the ground with a hard smack and was then lifted, arms pinned behind my back. A fist buried in my stomach, and I doubled over, dropping to my hands and knees.
Rough hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair, yanking my face back. A shadow moved closer, and I braced myself for another blow.
