That man, sent flying from the courtyard by Markham, crashed hard onto the flagstones outside!
A look of utter relief spread across his face before his head lolled to the side, and he passed out cold.
The remaining men abruptly stopped running.
They all turned to stare at Markham.
Their expressions were like a pack of wolves spotting a lone, delectable lamb.
Their gazes sent a shiver down Markham's spine.
"What the hell…? What do you guys want?"
Their actions spoke louder than words.
Eyes squeezed shut, they charged him.
"Don't you come near me!"
Thump, thump, thump…
Markham's legs were a blur of kicks, sending one bruised goon after another flying.
Several of them, as they sailed over the wall, actually managed what they probably thought were sincere smiles at Markham.
They even mumbled, slurring badly, "Fanksh, Marshus!" (Thanks, Markham!)
"Huh…"
Markham was speechless.
