More action movie characters.

I retreat a few steps until my back hits one of the dumpsters. “Who the fuck are you?”

The giant at the front steps forward and leers at me. His ugly face, a scarred ruin, twists into a vicious grin. “We’re the transport, sweetheart. Here to take you to your new owner.”

New owner?

Without taking his eyes off me, he addresses Alyona. “How the hell did pretty boy here break away from your Haze? You losing your edge?”

She scowls. Her face looks human again. “He was lucky. Rope and bag him, Jackson. I have better things to do with my time than stand around in shithole alleyways.”

Rope and bag him?

The one called Jackson flicks his hand, and the others move forward. He stands there like a leather-clad planet, thumbs hooked in his belt while two of them approach me with a folded length of rope.

Every muscle in my body springs tight, stomach twisting. Who are these people? I want to run for it, but the dumpster traps me from behind.

The men wear business-as-usual faces, as though this is something they do all the time. The one on the right goes to grab me, but I lash out with a kick. It doesn’t stop him from coming. I try another, but it’s batted aside. I throw a hard right—the man swats it from the air as if it’s nothing. What the…? I go all out with a volley of rapid punches and knee strikes. He blocks every one with relentless ease and keeps coming.

Eventually the man on the left steps in, and they each grasp a wrist, and it’s with such unusual strength that even though I give it everything I have—kick repeatedly, jab hard with elbows and knees, dodge and twist—nothing is enough. It’s a shock. I’m used to being the strongest in a fight and the fastest. This is like battling animated statues.

The man on the right says, “Knock the fucker out, will you, Stenner? I can’t tie him if he’s struggling.”

The other man rolls his eyes.

And the full force of his fist meets the side of my face. Hard.

My head snaps sideways, and pain shoots through my jaw, blurring my vision. My body meets the ground with a dull thunk, the back of my skull smacking the concrete. When I try to rise, the man thumps his foot on my chest.

I shove and jab at his calf, but it’s immovable and metal-hard.

“Keep still, boy, or my next smack’ll break that pretty face.”

A cold awareness runs through my blood. I’m in deep shit. They’re gonna tie me and bag me, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

I struggle to breathe, squirming to free myself, and I’m suddenly left grappling thin air when the weight jerks off my chest. The man flies backward, crashing into a dumpster. There’s cursing from the other men, a cry of pain, then a crazy amount of jostling in the alley.