Page 86 of Protected from Torment

I gasp audibly before clapping my hand over my mouth. What is he doing? Why is he giving himself up like this?

There’s another clamber of footsteps, followed by a triumphant, “There he is!” As if finding a man when he’s given himself up is some sort of great accomplishment.

“I’m unarmed,” Tyler says loudly. “And… shit. My leg. I’m no threat to you.”

His leg? Did he hurt it? Did something happen to the prosthetic?

Wait.

He said he’s unarmed. But he’s not. I might have his gun, but I know he’s got a knife stashed in his prosthetic. He showed it to me a while back, when he demonstrated all the modifications Yara added to it. “It’s my backup,” he told me. “I always carry a Ka-Bar in my pocket, but that’s one of the first places an enemy will look. My prosthetic, on the other hand… No one would think to check there.”

So if Tyler’s lying about that, maybe he’s lying about being hurt, too. And maybe this is all part of his plan. Make the men think he’s wounded, not much of a threat, and then…

Are his hand-to-hand skills enough to take on two armed men? I’ve watched Tyler spar with his friends, so I know he’s good. I just hope⁠—

A doubtful voice in my head whispers, But what if one of the men shoots Tyler before he gets close enough? What if Tyler dies while you’re sitting here, hiding?

But Tyler told me to stay, I silently argue. He said he can’t do this if I’m with him. I’ll distract him. He’ll be too worried about protecting me to protect himself.

So I stay. Holding my breath and praying for the first time in years.

“Listen,” Tyler says. He’s not far away. In a placating tone, he continues, “I’m no threat to you. Not with my leg all messed up. Just tell me what you want. We can work this out.”

One of the men barks out a laugh. “There’s no working it out. There’s only one ending. And it’s you, dead.”

“Tell me why, then,” Tyler replies. “You’ve got the upper hand here. Does it really hurt to tell me why?”

Listening to their exchange without being able to see is torture. I don’t know where they are aside from a general direction. I don’t know if Tyler’s actually hurt, or just lying. I don’t know if they have a gun pointed at him…

I can’t stand it.

So I hold my breath and poke my head out from behind the tree trunk, hoping against hope I don’t screw everything up.

At first, I can’t see anything other than a seemingly endless forest. Then I crane my head a bit to the right, and…

There.

Tyler.

He’s standing awkwardly, like he can’t put full weight on one leg. His hands are in the air, held up in a universal gesture of surrender. Less than ten feet from him are two men, both glowering and red-faced from exertion. They both have their guns trained on Tyler.

“Tell me,” Tyler says, his voice low and authoritative, “Why did you follow me here? What did I do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” one of the men replies. “All that matters is us getting paid. We don’t need to tell you shit. All we need to do is give our employer proof that you’re dead.”

“Do you even know?” Tyler takes a step towards them, and I almost throw up with fear. “Did you ask?” He takes another step. “If I took a job to kill someone, I’d damn well make sure I knew why I was doing it. Make sure I wasn’t getting in over my head.”

As terrified as I am for him, I see what Tyler’s doing. He’s engaging the men. Trying to keep them distracted by conversation while he gets close enough to attack them.

“What are you doing?” the taller of the two men barks. “Stop moving!”

“What do you think a cripple is going to do?” Tyler asks with an edge to his tone. “I’m sure you know I’m missing a leg. And with all this running, my prosthetic is fucked up. I can barely walk. What do you seriously think I’m going to do to you?”

The shorter man looks at his accomplice. “He was Special Forces. I saw a movie about them. They’ve got all these crazy skills…”

“That was a movie, dumbass,” the other man retorts. “And this one’s missing a leg.” He stares at Tyler for a second. “What did you mean, get in over my head?”

“What if you find out later you killed a federal agent?” Tyler asks. “That could mean the death penalty. Or what if it turns out I’m in with the mafia? Do you think they’d just let that go, if you killed me?” He shakes his head. “No. You’d be a dead man, yourself.”