Page 541 of Rage

The plastic digs into my wrists the tighter I twist the wire, but cut wrists are nothing compared to dead, so I grit my teeth and keep going.

And with my nerves screaming and my fingers slippery with blood and sweat, finally, the plastic snaps.

One down, three to go.

Chapter Seven

Xander

Damn, that stings. Blood trickles into my eyes, and I wipe them as best as I can with my bare shoulder, wishing I hadn’t given my shirt to Liam.

No, scratch that. I wish that I’d worn more than one shirt to Eddie’s bachelor party. One for me and one for Liam.

Not that I knew we’d both be shot by the end of the night, but stranger things have happened. I’ve got a couple of scars to prove it.

Although, stumbling between gravestones and mausoleums while a fucking elementary-school-aged kid with a semiautomatic tries to take my head off as his father screams at him to do better? Well, it’ll be one for the books.

If the kid didn’t have such good aim, I’d be safer, but I’ve got a graze on my skull and a solid shot into my left arm. I’m a lefty, so that’s not a lucky break in the slightest.

Apparently, the Bratva gets their babies killing young.

I recognized Mikhail Morozov, Bratva legend, the second I hobbled into the spotlight, but the rest of the welcome committee was a surprise. While they were debating whether having Liam and I watch as they killed Cece would be more impactful than the slow winnowing down of our numbers withshots in the distance, the scrawny blond kid took it upon himself to just take his shot.

And fuck. It was not what I was expecting.

At least I didn’t fall into my grave when he first hit me—I’d be dead for sure. I mean, my goddamn hands are tied to one of my knees. Me still being alive at all is a miracle.

I’ve got to assume I’m only still alive because I’m destined to take Cecelia Rodriguez on a date. As she so clearly showed, the package that goes with the irreverent spitfire is one that I’d like to spend hours, no fucking days, exploring. But first, I have to survive long enough to make that happen.

Another shot cracks into the side of the fucking crypt I’m crouched behind, and if I don’t free my hands from the zip ties, I’m dead. I duck around the other side and nearly lose an eye on a scrubby bush. Thinking quickly, I tuck myself into an alcove between two columns, mostly hidden by the bush, and wait.

The crunch of footsteps has my heart slowing to match the cadence of my enemy’s movements over the gravel. I drop into the headspace I’ve trained in since I was a kid. Nobody grows up in this world without learning how to protect themselves. And an heir apparent must be sharper than most. I might be the life of the party, but that doesn’t mean I’m not deadly as fuck.

When the Pink loving grunt swings around the side of the building, I’m already flying headfirst at his junk, slamming us both onto the ground. I’ve only got a second to win this—I’m down two hands and one leg. So channeling Liam’s favorite move, I slam my forehead into his while kneeing him in the junk. Then, while he’s wheezing and crying, I lock my knee around his neck, choking him out with my only free limb.

It’s awkward as fuck, and I’m not winning any points for technique or grace, but once again, somebody out there is looking out for me, and Pinky stays locked down long enough for me to win the fight mostly uncontested. Thank fuck.

It takes longer than I’d like to find where he keeps his knife, but eventually, my wrists are blessedly free. Checking for a pulse, I slit his throat when I find it, not wanting any extra muscle on the playing field with Cece here and Liam shot. I clean it on his slacks, then slide it into my belt.

Next, I take off his shirt, cut it in half, and tie part of it around my head to keep the blood out of my eyes and the other around my arm to keep me from losing more blood. I’m already a little lightheaded. Liam can’t be doing much better. Hopefully Cece’s got some secret skills, otherwise this mess doesn’t look too promising.

I grab his sidearm, but a shot nearby has me sprinting away before I can check for more mags, my head spinning as I duck and dodge around the outskirts of the cemetery. I’ve got to save my friend and my future date.

My future date with a grave beside my own.

Why not take Eddie? Eduardo Rodriguez is the other heir apparent, and with his pending marriage to Natalia Morozova, he’s all but underground royalty. So why take out his baby sister instead of him? We would have all been at the same place tonight, and likely drunk off our asses to boot. Easy picking.

Something about this doesn’t add up. And from what I saw of the peanut gallery, Eddie’s in for a bloody breakup.

Chapter Eight

Cece

Liam insists on trailing me through the shadowy graveyard, even though he can hardly put weight on his damaged leg. The scent of wet blood screams that this is a bad idea. But there’s no way he’s leaving until he knows Xander is okay, so here we are, crouched behind a weeping angel, peering toward the light.

Shouts from across the space tell me that, at least for now, Xander is free. “I’m going to get close to the light. Stay here. Xander’s probably looking for us, and they’re looking for him, so now’s our best shot to see what they had planned.”

Liam squeezes my bare ankle, and my breath hitches. “Just run while you can. You can get out of here. I’ll worry about Xander.”

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