"What were you saying?" she questioned, her eyes bloodshot now.
It was obvious the hooligan had realized he had underestimated her.
He wanted to yell in pain, but the gun was already pointed at his head.
"Untie me," she ordered.
Eva had undergone military training when she was fifteen. Back then, Mr. Montclair was still serving the country, and she had been curious to learn how to fight. She had gone through intensive training, so shooting with her hands tied behind her back was a piece of cake.
The hooligan hesitated.
The others were only about fifty feet away. All he needed to do was yell, and they would come running to catch her. But if he did, he would likely lose his life.
He had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home with two daughters.
He glanced down at her hands. She was gripping the gun so tightly, still pointing it directly at his head.
Any mistake, and he was dead.
