Page 7 of The Last Necromancer
"Oh yeah? Who's that, then, eh?"
Just as he said it, I tripped over something thrust in my path. I landed on the pavement on my hands and knees, scraping off several layers of skin. There was no time to wallow in the pain or assess the damage. I scrambled up, only to find two strong hands clamping down on my arms, pinning them to my sides. I struggled, but it was useless. The man behind me was far stronger. I stopped struggling to lull him, but his grip didn't relax. Damn, damn and hell. I heard Ugly and Pretty approaching and knew I had to act immediately or it would be three against one.
I kicked backward, smashing my foot as hard as I could into my captor's shin, then jerked my head back hard. Unfortunately, his height worked against me and I only managed to hit ribs instead of a throat, chin or nose. The kick earned a sharp intake of breath from my abductor, but otherwise he didn't make a sound. Nor did he loosen his grip.
I was out of ideas. I was good at avoiding capture—usually—but not so good at freeing myself afterward. The panic seizing my breath and overriding my brain wasn't helping either. Should I scream? Would anyone come to my rescue if I did?
Instinct took over and I struggled again, trying to wrench myself free. But that only made his fingers dig further into my flesh with bruising strength.
"Stay still," he snarled, in a voice that welled up from the depths of his chest.
"Or what?" I was pleased that I sounded defiant. If I couldn't have my liberty, I could at least hold onto some dignity.
"Or I'll be forced to hurt you."
As if he wasn't already.
"Want me to shoot him, sir?" That was Ugly's voice.
"Idiot," said Pretty. "What'll that achieve?"
"His copperation."
"Doubt he'll feel very co-operative with a bullet wound."
The grip of the man holding me changed, but before I could use the opportunity to my advantage, I was rendered immobile once more. He wrenched my arms behind my back and pinned them there.
I winced as pain shot down to my wrists and numbed my fingers. "You're hurting me!"
The man they called Sir didn't answer.
"To be fair, he did warn you," said Pretty.
Ugly snorted a laugh.
Sir shoved me forward, but I refused to walk. I wasn't going to make this easy for him.
"Move," he said, his voice surprisingly calm in my ear.
I pulled my knees up so that my feet were clear of the pavement. He didn't so much as grunt with the effort of suddenly taking all my weight. I, however, gasped as my arms screamed in agony and my left shoulder popped out of its socket. I bit my lip to stop myself crying out and tried kicking again, but it only served to put more pressure on my already burning arms and shoulders.
"Fool," Pretty muttered. He appeared in front of me and, walking backward to keep pace, went to push my hair off my face.
I jerked my head from side to side then when that didn't work, spat at him. Ugly laughed.
"Little blighter." Pretty raised a hand to strike me, but Sir's steely, "Don't," stopped him.
"Go on ahead," Sir said. "Let me know if someone comes."
Pretty glared at me then he and Ugly strode off around the corner.
"Stop resisting," Sir said to me. "Nobody wants to harm you."
"Your name Mr. Nobody, eh?" I laughed at my joke although I didn't find it funny. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what you want with me."
"We can't talk here."
"Then we won't be talking at all, Mr. Nobody."
