Page 71 of Girl, Bound

Ripley came upspitting dirt and blood, the coppery tang thick on her tongue. She staggered toher feet, fists clenched, eyes wild. Draven stood before her with a grin stillplastered across his face like a bad paint job.

‘You hit like a girl,’she snarled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. It came away slick andred.

He lunged, quick as acobra strike. But Ripley was ready for him. She sidestepped, letting hismomentum carry him past. Her elbow cracked across the back of his skull. Hefumbled but remained on two feet. Slowly, they began to circle each other likeferal dogs in a pit fight.

Ripley wanted this.

No pistols. Noweapons.

Like how she used todo it.

This was her element,the dance of violence that had forged her in the crucible of the streets.

Draven came at heragain, fists flying in a dervish of flailing limbs. Ripley bobbed and weaved,slipping his punches like she was back in the boxing ring. Her own hands lashedout, a one-two combo that snapped his head back.

But the guy was tough,she'd give him that. He shook it off like a dog shedding water. Ripley lungedat him, locking him in an embrace. Fists and elbows and knees crashed togetherwith meaty thunks. Ripley tasted blood, felt her ribs creak with each hammeringimpact. But she gave as good as she got, pounding Draven's midsection like abutcher tenderizing meat.

He grunted, doubledover. Ripley seized her chance. She pounced on his back, arms snaking aroundhis neck in a chokehold. Draven bucked and heaved, trying to throw her off. ButRipley clung on, muscles straining, teeth bared in a snarl.

But Draven’s hand shotback, fingers clawing, finding the bloody ruin of Ripley's shattered nose. Hedug in, twisting, wrenching a scream from her throat that echoed through thetrees like a banshee's wail.

Ripley's griploosened, just for a second. But it was enough. Draven surged to his feet,whirling, a back-fisted blow catching her square on the jaw. She hit the groundhard, stars exploding behind her eyes, the coppery taste of blood flooding hermouth.

Draven was on her in aheartbeat, straddling her chest, knees pinning her arms. One hand snaked out,finding her throat, squeezing until her vision swam and her lungs burned.

And in the other,glinting in the murky moonlight, was the needle. That goddamn needle.

He brought it to herneck, the point kissing her skin. Ripley thrashed, bucked, but it was no use.She was trapped, helpless. A bug on a pin, waiting to be added to this psycho’scollection.

‘You'll understandsoon,’ Draven shouted.

The sting, sharp andsudden. The plunger depressed.

But then, somethingshifted in Draven's eyes. The manic glee melting into confusion, then fury.

Ripley expected hernervous system to shut down. She waited for paralysis.

But it didn’t come.

Then she realized.

There was no sedativeleft.

Draven had used it allon Holbrook.

Without his precioussedative, the coward was defenseless.

Ripley saw her chance.

She brought her kneeup, driving it into Draven's groin with all the force she could muster. Theneedle fell from his nerveless fingers, rolling away into the undergrowth, thenRipley surged forward and threw him off. She staggered to her feet, rage boilingup inside her like a geyser about to blow.

‘You're all out ofjuice, asshole,’ she spat, advancing on him with murder in her eyes. ‘Now it’syou, me and a world of pain.’

Draven scrambledbackwards, hands held up in supplication. But there was no mercy in Ripley'sheart, no quarter to be given. Not for this waste of skin, this freak who gothis kicks sealing people up in bags to die.

She fell on him likean avenging angel, fists flying, each blow fueled by the memory of everyvictim, every shattered life left in this monster's wake. She pounded his faceinto pulp, the wet crunch of cartilage and bone a sweet symphony in her ears.

And through it all,one thought pulsed in her mind.

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