Page 18 of Hers to Control

Ever since he showed up, my brain has been in a haze. None of my thoughts are clear, except for one thing. I need to get away from him.

From them.

Using the unintentional support offered by Big and Burly Number Two, I kick my legs up, leveraging the fact that Smashed Nose is advancing on us to kick him in the crotch as hard as I can manage. It’s the first rule of Krav Maga. Aim for your opponent’s weak points.

The guy bends over like a folded card, which gives me the opportunity to kick up again, this time delivering a kick to his face. The crunch tells me his already disfigured nose didn’t escape my assault.

Not that it helps my situation much. Big and Burly Number Two is still holding me, now backing up several steps while dragging me along to get me far enough away from his partner to save Smashed Nose from the embarrassment of further damage inflicted by a severely restricted woman.

My heart races as I struggle in the vice grip of the second thug. The street around us fades into the periphery, and all that exists is the tight hold on my arms. Panic surges, but finally my long-honed fight instincts kick in.

With a swift, calculated move, I push off of Big and Burly Number Two, swing my hips forward, and bring my heel up hardinto his groin. I don’t have much leverage, but luckily those male dangling bits take little impact to hurt like hell.

Next to my ear, the air escapes my attacker’s lungs in a guttural gasp. He loosens his grip just enough that I can twist my body, wiggling out of his grasp, and send a vicious elbow to his solar plexus, doubling him over.

I don’t wait for him to recover. Instead, I spin around, scanning for Smashed Nose who is still on his knees, clutching his crotch, groaning in pain. This is my chance to even the odds.

In the periphery, I notice an abandoned soda bottle on the ground. Swiftly, I grab it and fling it toward him. It strikes him square in the temple. In a movie, this would be the time when he would be knocked unconscious, but my day had already been terrible enough that there was little chance of that happening. Instead, the bottle against his face has him looking up at me with violence in his eyes. It’s exactly what I needed. My kick under his jaw finally does the trick. He crumples to the pavement, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, I turn my attention back to the still-standing hulk of a man, Big and Burly Number Two. I know I need to end this quickly, giving him as little chance as possible to get any hits in. There is no doubt in my mind that these Russian assholes wouldn’t hesitate for a second to punch me in the gut, and that’s where my little Peanut now lives.

With newfound determination, I launch myself at him, taking him by surprise. Even though he moves to intercept me, I land a solid kick to his knee, causing it to buckle. He stumbles, and I follow up with a quick jab to his throat, using the full force of my body’s remaining strength, which is quickly dwindling. He chokes and collapses, wheezing and struggling for breath. A perfect hit. The sound does nothing but make me sigh out in a relieved breath.

Finally, I glance around, ensuring there are no more unexpected threats lurking in the shadows. Or the back seat of the car they turned up in. The adrenaline coursing through my veins feels electric, and my vision clears as I catch my breath.

The street is empty, save for the two incapacitated men. With shaky hands, I pick up my pack that landed on the street when the second guy grabbed me. As I pick it up, a wave of dizziness sweeps over me.

It hasn’t been easy to keep food down, and the stress of the day is making itself known.

They found me.

All of them found me.

My hand lands on my stomach. They foundus.

I can’t stay here. Not with the two Russians, who could get up at any moment. I need to move, but suddenly my body feels like someone else has taken it over. Someone weaker.

And in a way, I suppose that’s not too far from the truth.

Refusing to give in, I push myself up. Time to get out of here.

Behind me, I hear a noise.

Fucking hell.

I swing around, almost losing my balance as another wave of dizziness makes me stumble.

“Mia, it’s me.” Eric’s voice is matter of fact. Not an ounce of emotion in it.

“We should go,” he adds when I don’t respond.

Slowly, I nod. Right now, I can’t get away on my own, and between Eric and the Russians, he’s the better option.

He doesn’t bother trying to wrap his arm around me. Instead, he holds it out so I can lean on him if I need to.

The fact that I do, doesn’t sit well with me, and all I can think is ‘sorry, Peanut.I’m going to make this right.’

I’ll use his help now, but that doesn’t mean I’ll continue to follow his lead later.

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