There’s nothing like getting slapped REALLY hard in the face to make sure a girl is good and awake.
I came to, tied to a chair, surrounded by four mouth breathers. On the plus side, at least the pain in my jaw was distracting me from the pain in my head. Bastard sapped me good; didn’t even see him coming. Being out of the Girl Detective game for a few years made me sloppy, I guess.
“Now you’re good and woke,” Mama Mouth Breather rasped in her stogie and whiskey-ruined Kentucky drawl, “you can tell me what the hell a nosy lil’ rich-bitch like you is doing sneakin’ round my property in the middle of the night.”
I flexed my bound wrists, feeling the knot slacken. Amateurs. I’ve been getting knocked-out and tied to chairs since I was 16. I can be out of this Cub Scout crap in two minutes, tops.
“I must have gotten separated from my tour group,” I said.
“Oh, we got a funny lil’ rich-bitch, huh?” Mama turned to one of her boys, a weasel faced douche who looked like he liked smacking girls. “Hit her ’gin, Bo.”