Page 93 of Agony

Reaching the access door of the building, he grabbed the door handle just before a force slammed into him.

The hit took him off his feet. Painfully, Crow hit the asphalt roof and small pieces of gravel dug into his arm.

Rolling, Crow launched sideways, trying to get his feet beneath him, but the weight of the man took him down again.

The fucker was big.

Crow sent his elbow into the man’s face and went for his eyes through the hooded mask.

Rolling away, the big guy was up and circling him. The fucker moved fast. Faster than Crow had ever seen for someone his size. Dressed in all dark clothing and a black trench coat, the guy had to be an assassin, Crow would bet money on it.

Slowly, the guy slid the long coat from his shoulders and dropped it to the ground. Two short swords crossed at the assassin’s back.

Crow honestly didn’t have time to dick around with this shit. He reached for his own short swords and pulled them free.

The man did the same.

Rather than circling, Crow swept in, slicing and slashing. He cut the fucker’s black shirt open, leaving a wide gap in the material.

He had hit skin. The man’s exposed chest showed blood welling from the cut.

With a hiss, the assassin attacked overhead with one blade—thrusting straight at him with the other, it was an experienced move and it was all Crow could do to defend for a moment.

Knocking the blades away, Crow gained the advantage and sent his boot into the man’s stomach, putting the guy on his ass.

With one cross slice, he could take off the guy’s head and leave him up here for bird food.

He moved in.

Snick.

Instinct had Crow diving for cover. The burn of a bullet nicked his calf.

“Rogue!” A darkly dressed figure shouted and leaped onto the roof, running and shooting at him.

Snick.

Snick.

Snick.

It was time to retreat.

Racing to where Rogue had fallen on his ass and then sprawled to his back, Wrath yanked the big man up into a sitting position.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You shouldn’t have interfered,” Rogue croaked.

“The fuck you say,” Wrath growled. Crouching down, he yanked off Rogue’s hood. He cupped the man’s face in his hands and ran his eyes over Rogue’s face, then his hands down the man’s neck, shoulders, and arms until he spotted the sliced-open shirt.

“He fucking cut you.”

“That guy was good,” Rogue mumbled, sounding confused.

“Hey.” Wrath patted the man’s cheek hard and Rogue jerked away.

“What do you want?” Rogue snarled at him, shoving him away.

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