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Authors: Anya Breton
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note the release of their other prisoners and then free the remaining person could not be running a secret crime ring. His foolishness was good for me. I'd let them remove me from the cage before killing any of them because I suspected someone here had information I needed. I just hoped one of them was sniveling enough to give it to me.
The Rhino faction had one saving grace: they preferred hand-to-hand combat to guns. With hands as big as melons it kind of figured. I mean what gun could they wield anyway? I just had to make sure I disabled them all before they could get those meaty fists on me.
A goon with cornrow black hair started forward with a set of keys he'd produced from his pocket. He got the lock undone in record time, unlatched the handle and swung the metal bars aside without blinking. Obviously Chet kept his smarter muscle with him. I'd have to take that into account when figuring how to handle this now that I had no plan.
The goon grabbed hold of my ankle, the ankle that was still smarting from the last Rhino, and tore me from my box. Again I spilled onto the ground, nearly losing the gun wedged into my waistband onto the floor. I attempted to shove it back down without them noticing.
Chet gave the goon a gesture that apparently meant: grab her by the collar and choke her to her feet -- because that's exactly what he did. I'd managed to fix the gun so it was snug and frickin' freezing against my backside by the time the goon had followed the order. Seconds later I hung dangling and choking from the melon fist.
"Who killed them?" Chet demanded in his mouse-like voice.
"My head is a little fuzzy," I replied truthfully. If Chet were a pure shapeshifter he'd be able to sense a lie so I couldn't tell one. I thought it was obvious who had killed his men but apparently the idea of a woman coming in and causing this kind of mayhem was unthinkable to him.
Oh, right, shapeshifter.
I should have remembered most of them were misogynist bastards. Hell, the majority of the Underground was. Aside from the Covens, females were a painful minority. And the witches were evenly spread across both sexes since they'd stopped breeding for absolute purity. The decided majority of males meant they still behaved like it was the dark ages and women were property.
Another gesture had the goon shaking me with a teeth rattling gesture. My concussion did not approve. I saw spots, huge polka dotted spots, and pain spiked through my skull to the tune of their dancing.
"Ung," I grit out and instantly felt less-than because of it.
"Who killed them?" Chetey Mouse repeated.
"Shaking me isn't helping to clear my head, brainchild," I replied derisively.
"You need your head cleared?" Chet's hand did something more complicated. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like this.
The Rhino bashed my head into the metal bars on the cage beside me. It hurt, but all things considered it wasn't actually too bad. I pretended to howl in pain and hoped the shapeshifter couldn't sense untruthful agonized outbursts.
"Who. Killed. Them?"
"I have a concussion. I'm not slow or special," I shot back and for it earned another bash into the metal bars. One slammed directly against the spot Michael had no doubt whacked earlier. This time my agonized outburst was genuine.
"Who are you protecting, fatty?"
The cracks about my weight were really starting to get to me. While I wasn't waif-like, I was a respectable size twelve. Well, maybe not respectable, but c'mon, in today's obese world a size twelve wasn't too shabby. I couldn't help that I had a serious weakness for cheesecake and double cheese pizza. Besides, they wouldn't be worrying about my weight when they were fighting to suck in their last breath.
Another slam against the metal was applied when I didn't immediately answer. It was just as well. I'd have said something snarky anyway.
They were going to move on to something worse soon. They had to. I mean it would be insane to keep doing the same
The Rhino faction had one saving grace: they preferred hand-to-hand combat to guns. With hands as big as melons it kind of figured. I mean what gun could they wield anyway? I just had to make sure I disabled them all before they could get those meaty fists on me.
A goon with cornrow black hair started forward with a set of keys he'd produced from his pocket. He got the lock undone in record time, unlatched the handle and swung the metal bars aside without blinking. Obviously Chet kept his smarter muscle with him. I'd have to take that into account when figuring how to handle this now that I had no plan.
The goon grabbed hold of my ankle, the ankle that was still smarting from the last Rhino, and tore me from my box. Again I spilled onto the ground, nearly losing the gun wedged into my waistband onto the floor. I attempted to shove it back down without them noticing.
Chet gave the goon a gesture that apparently meant: grab her by the collar and choke her to her feet -- because that's exactly what he did. I'd managed to fix the gun so it was snug and frickin' freezing against my backside by the time the goon had followed the order. Seconds later I hung dangling and choking from the melon fist.
"Who killed them?" Chet demanded in his mouse-like voice.
"My head is a little fuzzy," I replied truthfully. If Chet were a pure shapeshifter he'd be able to sense a lie so I couldn't tell one. I thought it was obvious who had killed his men but apparently the idea of a woman coming in and causing this kind of mayhem was unthinkable to him.
Oh, right, shapeshifter.
I should have remembered most of them were misogynist bastards. Hell, the majority of the Underground was. Aside from the Covens, females were a painful minority. And the witches were evenly spread across both sexes since they'd stopped breeding for absolute purity. The decided majority of males meant they still behaved like it was the dark ages and women were property.
Another gesture had the goon shaking me with a teeth rattling gesture. My concussion did not approve. I saw spots, huge polka dotted spots, and pain spiked through my skull to the tune of their dancing.
"Ung," I grit out and instantly felt less-than because of it.
"Who killed them?" Chetey Mouse repeated.
"Shaking me isn't helping to clear my head, brainchild," I replied derisively.
"You need your head cleared?" Chet's hand did something more complicated. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like this.
The Rhino bashed my head into the metal bars on the cage beside me. It hurt, but all things considered it wasn't actually too bad. I pretended to howl in pain and hoped the shapeshifter couldn't sense untruthful agonized outbursts.
"Who. Killed. Them?"
"I have a concussion. I'm not slow or special," I shot back and for it earned another bash into the metal bars. One slammed directly against the spot Michael had no doubt whacked earlier. This time my agonized outburst was genuine.
"Who are you protecting, fatty?"
The cracks about my weight were really starting to get to me. While I wasn't waif-like, I was a respectable size twelve. Well, maybe not respectable, but c'mon, in today's obese world a size twelve wasn't too shabby. I couldn't help that I had a serious weakness for cheesecake and double cheese pizza. Besides, they wouldn't be worrying about my weight when they were fighting to suck in their last breath.
Another slam against the metal was applied when I didn't immediately answer. It was just as well. I'd have said something snarky anyway.
They were going to move on to something worse soon. They had to. I mean it would be insane to keep doing the same
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