TWENTY-EIGHT
Both she and Styx winced.
“He doesn’t like to be touched,” Tulsi heard herself saying.
And he’d like it even less in this situation with Merchant effectively commanding him to put on a show.
“Fucker,” Coombs said, leaping Wreck’s way.
Styx jumped to attention too. If there was a fight, he wasn’t going to miss a chance to have some fun.
“I’m not your swan,” Tulsi said, quick to snap. The distraction worked. The men stood down, probably wondering what the hell she was talking about. “I don’t give any of you permission to do anything.”
“That means squat, sweetheart,” Coombs said on a condescending snicker. “You do what you’re told round here.”
“No,” she said, tilting her head to return a patronizing smile. “You do what you’re told because you’re a sheep. You can’t look af
