The fight was over before anyone had even drawn blood, the Sheriff dropping to the floor cowering at the first sight of the angel's sword. Artemis couldn't say she was surprised.
Men like the Sheriff liked to believe they were something remarkable, but they were all cut from the same mundane cloth. They snuck around in the shadows, waiting to leap on a woman, and they thought themselves clever and powerful for it, like it took a fucking Rhodes scholar to overpower somebody smaller than you when she was alone and unsuspecting. People feared them because they came in the dark and nobody saw where they went, but the moment you flicked on the light switch, they went scurrying for the couch like the pathetic cockroaches they were.
Artemis's lip curled into a contemptuous sneer as she sheathed her throwing knife and reached for the sturdy paracord she'd brought for exactly this purpose. She wrenched his arms behind his back, binding the wrists tighter than necessary, before doing the same for the ankles. When she was done, she stood and kicked his shin, hard. "Get up."
She'd left little slack in the ankle bindings, so he'd have a hard time of it.