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I thought quickly. “Just wondered if they had any I.D. on them.”
“Why would they have I.D.?”
I shrugged. “They might, and then it would give you an idea who sent them.”
“And who sent you?” she asked.
I locked eyes with her, and she stared right back, unflinching.
“I think you probably know that already. And if I don’t call this in and tell him the job has been done, he’s only going to send someone else after you.”
I could see I’d gotten her thinking by the way her gaze slipped away from mine. But she stormed up to me, and before I could tell what was happening, she’d grabbed my useless arm and dragged it together with the other, then wrapped my wrists in thick black duct tape.
“At least it goes with my outfit,” I quipped.
“Shut up,” she snapped back, and slapped a piece of the tape across my mouth.
She moved to my feet. I considered lifting my uninjured leg and attempting to kick her hard enough in the head to knock her unconscious, but she still held the gun, albeit not as firmly as before, wedged under her arm as she worked the tape, pulling a length of it free long enough to wrap around my legs. I clenched my teeth against the pain every time she moved me, agony shooting down both my leg and arm. I’d meant what I’d said to her about bleeding out, but she didn’t seem to care too much about that at the moment. I couldn’t say I blamed her.
With me secure, she went to a door in the wall—the cellar, I guessed.
She opened it and reached in to flick on the light. This was where I was going to end up. I took some solace in the fact she’d bound my arms and legs. It meant she didn’t intend to kill me right away, so this bought me some time.
I wasn’t a massive guy, but I had fifty pounds on her, easily. But she grabbed hold of my feet and put her back into it, dragging me toward the open doorway. A set of wooden steps leading downward lay beyond. She’d never be able to carry me down there.
Turned out, she didn’t plan to. When she’d hauled me through the doorway and to the top of the stairs, she used her foot and gave me a good shove.
I teetered, my whole body tensed for impact, though that was probably the worst thing I could do. I remembered reading about small children who survived big falls simply because they were so floppy, and so, despite the blinding pain caused by the knife wounds, I forced my body to go loose.
The young woman reached out with her foot and gave me one final shove.
I moved in a roll, my wrists and ankles taped together. I smacked the back of my head and then the front, hit my cut thigh and then my arm. Everything hurt, so I couldn’t distinguish one injury from the other. I flipped over and over, thump, thump, thump, down each step.
Finally, I came to a rest at the bottom. I was lucky I hadn’t broken my neck. Fuck, this girl might just be crazier than I was.
Then I became aware of movement behind me. I didn’t have time to process what had happened before something heavy but soft thudded down the stairs after me. The thing landed on top of me, a weighted mass pressing down. Then a second thing followed, also landing on top of me. The weight was so great, it threatened to crush the air from my lungs. Only my hands trapped beneath me allowed any breathing space between myself and the floor.
She’d thrown the bodies of the two men down on top of me, so I now lay beneath the two hit men I had killed.
A trickle of unease spread through me.
Just what had I gotten myself into?
