Free The Dragons of Men (The Sons of Liberty Book 2) by Jordan Ervin

hand tightly around the first man’s mouth before jerking his arm back, snapping the man’s neck with a loud pop. Eric raised his pistol and shot the man who had just killed the boy—careful to hit his spine just below the neck so that he couldn’t pull the trigger and kill the horrified girl. The third and final man instinctively reached behind his back for a gun as he turned to face Eric. However, the man’s muscles seized up immediately as his eyes met the barrel of Eric’s gun.
    It was all over before the first man hit the ground.
    “Before you do anything stupid,” Eric began calmly, “know that I am a professional killer who is very good at his trade. I am fast and I rarely miss my mark. Now if you want to put that statement to the test, then by all means, draw. But if you want to avoid joining your friends here and that helpless boy that you just helped murder, then I suggest you slowly drop the gun that you’re reaching for and kick it over.”
    The man’s eyes went wide and the center of his pants grew dark as he slowly lowered the pistol to the ground with shaky hands. As the man kicked the gun over, Eric spared a quick glance back toward the entrance of the store to make sure no one else was coming.
    “Smart move,” Eric said. “Now take off your clothes.”
    “What?” the man replied with horror in his eyes.
    “I don’t want you drawing some weapon that I don’t see under your jacket as you leave. But I tell you what, I’ll even let you keep those soiled under garments of yours on so that you don’t scar this girl more than you already have, you fat son of a bitch.”
    “I didn’t kill him!” the man protested. “Please, I’ll freeze to death outside if you—”
    “Better than being shot to death right now,” Eric said. “I’m sure there’s a department store nearby that might offer you a change of clothes free of charge. So what’s it going to be?”
    The man paused briefly before quickly undoing the buttons on his leather jacket. A few more moments passed before the man had piled up a heap of clothes, two more pistols sitting on top next to an army-green machete with a sheath. The man stood there in the dark, crying softly.
    “So what do I call an asshole like you?” Eric asked.
    “What?”
    “What’s your name?” Eric asked again.
    “Phil,” the man said shakily. “Phil Hebron.”
    “Phil Hebron, I’m Eric Corsa. Remember this moment and remember my name. Not everyone will be so kind. I suggest you pick your friends carefully from now on. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
    The man nodded, glancing at the terrified girl a few feet away before running for the door.
    Eric eyed the doors a few seconds after the man had passed through them. He then turned back to the teenage girl and found her on the ground next to the dead boy. Eric grabbed the man’s two pistols, the lengthy blade, the long leather coat he had thrown on the floor, and the three firearms he found on the two dead men. He wrapped them up and shoved them in his bag before rising and slowly approaching the girl.
    “You’re safe now,” Eric said. “And I’m sorry to do this, but I’ll be needing that box.”
    The girl sat there and continued to sob—her shoulders shaking and her hair slowly swaying back and forth in front of her face. Eric stooped down, his eyes watching the girl as he fought back the guilt that rose within him.
    “I don’t know who that boy was, but I really need you to hand me that box and get out of here. Don’t think what I just did was only to help you. I need that box.”
    “Here,” she said, handing it over. “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Who was he?” Eric asked as he grabbed the box.
    “His name was Micah,” she replied softly without looking up. “He was my twin.”
    Shame, pain, and remorse coursed through Eric. The girl had just watched her twin brother die and already someone was demanding the very thing the boy had died trying to defend. Eric tried to do as he