As Cyrus tied knots around Aidan MacLeod’s wrists, he mused how the Wicked Cat had seen many things: drunks, habitual drunks, violent drunks, wedding parties, bike nights, hipster gatherings, and even birthday parties. Now Becca could add interrogations to the list. Yay her.
The necromancer was still unconscious, and he was drooling all over his chin. A puddle had formed on his training jacket. His head lay tilted, and Cyrus wondered if he’d get whiplash when he woke up and realized he wasn’t in his car anymore. He didn’t exactly feel sorry for the guy, though.
He wiped sweat from his brow; the fans overhead were spinning hard, but it was crazy hot. They were just blowing around hot air. This would have been a great time to open up the bar’s loading doors and let air in from the patio, b
