Page 24 of Wilde and Deadly

Fan-fucking-tastic. Exactly how she wanted to spend her evening after getting shot at.

Her fingers twitched, aching for a weapon. Anything. But she’d have to make do with the one advantage she still had—momentum.

The first man lunged. Fast. A blade flashed in the dim streetlight, aiming straight for her ribs.

Rowan pivoted, twisting away from the strike. A fraction too slow—she felt the whisper of steel against her jacket, a near miss. She grabbed his wrist, twisting hard. The sharp, wet pop of bone snapping under pressure sent a sick thrill down her spine. The knife clattered to the pavement.

“Bitch!” he snarled and swung at her with his other hand—angry, sloppy, desperate.

She ducked it easily. Drove her elbow into his solar plexus, her entire body weight behind it. He folded with a choked wheeze.

The knife.

She dropped low, snatching it up in one fluid motion. Because what was a good street fight without a little upgrade?

The second attacker was already on her. Bigger. Faster. No hesitation. His fist connected with her jaw before she could block. Pain detonated behind her eyes, white-hot and blinding. Her skull snapped sideways, and her vision went dark for half a second—long enough to know she was in trouble.

No.

Focus.

She staggered but refused to go down. Instinct kept her moving. She tightened her grip on the knife, the hilt slick in her sweaty palm.

Blood pooled in her mouth. She spat it out, the sharp tang of copper coating her tongue, and tracked the bastard in front of her.

Her gaze locked onto the bastard in front of her. Big, broad, and overconfident. He easily outweighed her by a hundred pounds, but size wasn’t everything.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he taunted, circling her like a predator. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Sweetheart? Cute.

She rolled her shoulders, resetting her stance. Every inch of her body ached, but pain meant she was still alive.

She didn’t waste breath on a reply. Instead, she feinted left. His weight shifted. Got you.

She ducked right, pivoting on the balls of her feet, and slashed upward. The blade sliced clean across his forearm. Not deep enough to cripple him, but enough to piss him off.

He let out a sharp hiss, jerking back. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled, his voice dropping into something meaner. His good hand went for his waistband.

Shit.

Rowan’s stomach dropped as the gun came into view.

She was good, but she wasn’t that good.

Behind her, the first guy groaned, struggling to his feet, his broken wrist cradled against his chest. “Just shoot the bitch!” he snarled.

Time slowed.

The gunman’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Move.

Rowan dropped, rolling hard, feeling the rush of air as the bullet passed just inches from her skull. The crack of the gunshot ricocheted off the nearby buildings, so loud it made her ears ring. Someone had to have heard that.

She came up behind the sedan, shoving her back against the cool metal, sucking in a breath. Another shot pinged off the car, sending sparks flying.

“You can’t hide forever!”

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