She called his bluff and he really should have expected that. Mason ground his teeth. Mouthy teens were probably the worst age group to deal with. He wasn’t in a habit of hurting kids. For them, he was all talk - which was probably why he did his best to avoid anyone who looked like they were under the age of twenty.
At the same time, it took hefty balls to stand up to someone twice your size.
“Just don’t fucking come back here again,” was all he said.
Mason tried to see past the girl’s words, but he wasn’t good at reading people and sure as hell didn’t acknowledge any empathy. He understood violence, pain, revenge, the latter of which Indy confessed was her intent. He cocked his head in thought. The cop shop gang had no qualms against killing (or worse) anyone of any age. They were the worst of the worst and he had a sneaking suspicion they’d had a hand in keeping him confined to the city for so long.
Finally he gave a shake of his head. “You’ll never make it. You think you’re the first one who’s tried, kid?” He put emphasis on the word to remind her just how young she was, even if he didn’t know the exact number. “You’ll be dead before you even get there.”
The last words rang in his head. Indy spoke one of the languages he understood. Revenge. It was only worth it if you got to live and gloat afterwards. Mason went through a map of the city in his head, seeking out a particular building he was willing to share information about. “Old smoothie shop on the hill. Half collapsed. Got a basement full of old nails and other shit you can use as shrapnel. Build yourself some nail bombs. They’ll do a fuckton of damage if you use them right.”