Page 29 of Bitten Shifter

“I’ll show you a photo, and you will tell me where she is,” he snarls. “If you don’t, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

I can picture him holding a knife to her throat.

She is just a kid.

I can’t bloody sit here, safe and hidden, while she is down there being interrogated and tortured.Be the person you needed when you were younger, Lark.

My breath catches as I lean forward, every movement deliberate, every muscle screaming at me to stop. Carefully, I grasp the edge of the ceiling tile, its spongy surface irritating my fingertips. Slowly, I slide it out of its metal track, the faint scrape sounding impossibly loud to my ears. The tile shifts, and I ease it across until I can see into the room.

Ah, shit.

This is going to hurt.

Chapter Eleven

I tip sideways,let gravity take over, and drop arse-first into the room. Luck—or maybe fate—is on my side as I land squarely on him, cushioning my rapid descent as we both crash to the floor.

Sophie is huddled in the corner, tears streaming down her face.

For a split second, he is stunned—too disoriented to react. That’s all the time I need. Muscle memory kicks in, the product of countless drills over the years. I throw my weight onto his back and snake my arm around his neck, trapping him between my biceps and forearm. My other hand braces the hold as he begins to thrash.

“Go to sleep, you scumbag,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Go to sleep.”

A properly applied blood choke does not require much strength—just precision. If I compress the carotid arteries and jugular veins correctly, he will be out cold in ten to twenty seconds. But he’s not making it easy.

With a guttural growl, he surges to his knees, the sudden movement jarring my hold. I lock my legs around his waist, clinging like a limpet as he staggers towards the table, tryingto scrape me off. The impact sends a shock wave through my shoulder, but I grit my teeth and hold firm.

When that does not work, the slippery scumbag rolls like a crocodile.

My head slams into a cupboard with a sickening crack. Stars dance across my vision. Luckily, the cupboard door breaks instead of my skull. Pain shoots down my spine, and my arm twitches around his neck.

Focus, Lark. Hold on!

It feels like an eternity, but it’s probably only another ten seconds before he shudders and slumps. He is out like a light. I hold the choke for three more seconds, just to be sure, then let him sag lifelessly in my arms.

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Everything hurts. My head is ringing, and my shoulder screams in protest. I shove him off me with a grunt, disgust curling in my chest. A quick pat-down of his pockets yields nothing useful.

His phone screen is cracked, so even if I wanted to see who this ‘mystery mate’ is, I can’t. Besides, someone’s bound to notice he is missing soon, and I have no intention of hanging around when they do.

Annoyed, I yank off his belt and use it to secure his arms behind his back. Then I pull off one of his boots—gagging at the smell—and shove a filthy sock into his mouth.

“I wish I had something better to tie him up,” I mutter, then glance at Sophie. “Are you all right?”

She nods, though the tears keep streaming. “Where did you come from?”

“I hid in the ceiling,” I reply, gesturing upwards.

She looks up. “Oh, wow. That was smart.”

“Thanks. Not how I planned to make my entrance, but I’m glad he chose this room.”

I scan the counter and spot a small collection of weapons: a knife, a pistol, and a dart gun. My stomach churns at the sight of the pistol. I’ve never fired a gun—never wanted to—but suddenly I regret not knowing how.

“Come on, up you get.” I motion for Sophie to stand. “Here’s the plan.” I point to the chair. “Stand on the chair, then step onto the counter. Use the coffee machine to boost yourself up, then pop your head through the ceiling.”

Sophie hesitates, glancing at me and then at the ceiling.

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