He’s so damn cocky.
“At some point, they may develop the technology of ladders,” Zen points out. “And we will not be able to stop them all—the guards probably know secret ways in and out as well.”
“You scared?” Cowboy drawls, in a way that strongly implies he is not.
“Alright,” Tore interjects. “We came here to get the girl, not to depose the sheriff. Let’s just leave.”
“Inadvisable, sir.” It’s Elias who speaks. Everyone, including me, seems to be surprised he is here.
“Why’s that?”
“Mattias and I were down with the crowd earlier. It isn’t believed that Trissa killed the sheriff. They believe you did. They are unhappy, because their democratic leader has been ousted without them having a chance to vote.”
Pharaoh snorts. “They used to vote?”
“Yes, sir,” Elias murmurs. “There was only the one candidate, so the sheriff got one hundred percent of the votes, but it made the people feel good to imagine they had some say in the outcome.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Cowboy snorts.
Nobody disagrees with him.
“So we have a choice,” Keanau says. “We can take Trissa and run. Or, we can stay here, and see if we can’t convince the crowd to accept us.”
“Diplomacy isn’t exactly our strong suit,” Alexios smirks.
These men came to take me for their own, but I have thrust them into more danger than they have ever faced. A mob is far more brutal and terrifying than any wild animal, single man, or even an army. An army is more disciplined and better armed, but it is under command. There is rationality to it. A mob is all the worst and most vicious traits of humanity turned into a seething, screaming bestial mass that doesn’t care about reason or logic. It just wants blood.
“We’re going to have to talk to them,” Tore says. “Try to calm them down.”
Tore has a brutal elegance about him. He is the tallest of all the men and there’s something about that pale gaze and the cold lines of his handsome face that does have potential for charisma.
“Mattias, Elias, do you two know how to set up the system so we can address the crowd?”
“Who is going to do it?” Zen asks.
“Who can talk the dick off a donkey?” Cowboy smirks.
They all look at Tore. Apparently he has a reputation for the gift of speech.
Mattias glides forward and presses a microphone into Tore’s hand, as if he was ready all along, and just waiting for the rest of the men to come to the same conclusion he already had.
“Get her out of the shot,” Pharaoh says, jerking his thumb toward me. “Don’t want them seeing her. They’ll go into a frenzy.”
Mattias and Elias pull me back a few steps, then turn the machines on that will broadcast the mercenaries all over the city.
“Why are the people rioting?” I whisper the question to Mattias.
“The sheriff was evil, but he held the factions in check. They were too afraid to fight one another. Now they are not. Now order will have to be restored again. More bloodshed. More lives lost.”
And it’s all your fault...
He doesn’t say that out loud, but I can hear it anyway.
“They liked him?”
“Crowds like men, even evil men, who keep them safe,” he explains as gently as he can. He told me that the sheriff’s death would not solve my problems, and it seems he was right. I killed one man, and now thousands cry out for justice. If they get into this place, we will be overrun. Even the most skilled mercenaries can’t slaughter a thousand people—or can they? And what if they do? How much blood will be spilled in the wake of my actions?
I suddenly feel nervous and guilty. This is my fault. This crowd is here because of me. I don’t regret what I did. The sheriff deserved to die. But I wish these weren’t the consequences of my actions.