“Seriously?” he complained, but she just lifted her Taser a little higher. He must’ve been able to read how delighted she would be to send a painful amount of electricity through him, because he turned and flattened his hands on the wall. Once he was in position, she tucked the Taser into the waistband of her sleep shorts and patted him down.

Once everything from his pockets was piled on the counter—including her new bank card, to her great annoyance—she shifted back slightly. “Put your right arm behind your back.”

Grumbling, he obeyed, and she grabbed his thumb, using it to crank his arm up toward his shoulder blades. “Ready?” she asked John, who’d been searching Cord.

He nodded and gestured with the hand not holding on to his captive. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you, Carmondy.” She left the kitchen, shoving Sanders in front of her. “He’s so polite. There just aren’t that many people with manners left, are there?” When Sanders didn’t respond, she cranked his arm even higher, making him yelp and go up on his tiptoes to relieve the pressure. “Are there?”

“I don’t know,” he said sulkily, and she gave his thumb an extra twist, making him swear. “Stop it! No, no one has manners anymore! Happy?”

“Not really.” She did ease off on his arm, however. “I’d be happy to be sleeping right now, not escorting your sorry ass out of my house…the house that you just broke into.”

He grumbled under his breath as she yanked open the door and shoved him onto the porch. The screen door swung shut behind them, and John timed it just right so that it smacked Cord in the face. Molly gave John an approving nod, making him grin back at her.

As she escorted Sanders across the lawn, she saw an SUV parked in front of Mr. P’s house, and she felt a hint of evil glee rise inside her. “Is that yours?” she asked. At Sanders’s affirmative grunt, she turned her head slightly to aim her next question at John. “Any chance you have a pointy tool of some sort in one of your pockets?”

“I do.” He surged ahead of her, pushing Cord to move more quickly toward the SUV. When they reached it, John pulled what appeared to be a multi-tool out of his pocket. Before either Cord or Sanders could protest, John punctured the front left tire before striding toward the rear.

“What?” Sanders caught on too late as air hissed noisily out of the second punctured tire. “Stop! I’m going to kick your—” He lunged forward, but Molly kept hold of his thumb, giving it an extra upward yank to remind him that he was still restrained. “Ow! Bitch, let me go!”

“No, bitch.” Her tone was mild, considering her lack of sleep and the events of the night, but she’d found John’s slashing all four of the getaway vehicle’s tires very cathartic. Raising her voice slightly, she said to John, “That was very nice. Thank you.”