felt his stomach lurch. “Plans?”
The woman nodded. “Yeah, a big parade down the street with you as the main trophy. A lot of people in this camp don’t like you, Grant.”
The corner of her mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Go figure, huh?”
“Yeah,” he echoed. “Go figure.”
Contemplatively, she continued, “But a lot of people in this camp don’t like taking orders from a scalie in the first place, and they sure as shit won’t like it if they find out they’re really taking orders from a little runt of a doomie on crutches.”
Gusting out a sigh, the Merry Widow ran a hand over the purple-dyed tips of her hair. “Mebbe there’s something we can do about that. Lemme think on it.”
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