Page 25 of Wilde and Deadly

No, but she could make him regret thinking she would.

Her grip on the knife tightened. She took a steadying breath and threw it, aiming for the center mass. She didn’t wait to see if it hit.

Instead, she vaulted over the hood of the car, launching herself at him.

The suddenness of her attack caught him off guard. Her shoulder slammed into his ribs, knocking the gun from his grip. It hit the ground with a metallic clatter. They went down hard, his weight crushing her for half a second before she twisted, fighting for leverage.

They grappled, rolling over pavement, trading blows. His fist rammed into her ribs, and something inside her cracked. The pain was instant, sharp enough to steal her breath.

Ignore it.

She drove her knee up, fast and vicious. It landed squarely between his legs.

He let out a strangled sound, body seizing up. She didn’t give him time to recover. Snatching a fistful of his shirt, she yanked him forward and slammed his face against her knee. The cartilage in his face crumpled under the blow, and he went limp.

Panting, she scrambled back from his body, only to spot the first guy fumbling for the fallen gun.

Yeah, that was not happening.

She lunged, and her fingers closed around the grip just before his. She rolled to her feet, gun aimed at his chest. “Don’t.”

Her voice was low, dangerous. No breathless panic. Just promise.

He froze, fury and fear warring in his eyes.

“Who sent you?” she demanded.

He spat at her feet. “Fuck you.”

Wrong answer.

She stepped closer, pressing the barrel of the gun to his forehead. Her finger tightened on the trigger, just enough to make him sweat. “I won’t ask again.”

For a moment, she thought he might crack. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Then his eyes hardened. “You’re dead anyway,” he sneered. “They’ll keep coming. They won’t stop until?—”

Yeah. Enough of this.

She pulled the trigger.

His body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Rowan exhaled. One down.

A roar of rage tore through the night.

The second man was back on his feet, blood streaming down his face, the knife in his hand.

She pivoted, but not fast enough. He charged, wild with fury, and drove the blade deep into her side.

Pain.

Blinding, searing pain.

She gasped, the breath ripped from her lungs as fire bloomed in her ribs. Her legs wanted to buckle, but if she went down, she was as good as dead. She forced herself to stay upright, one hand clamped over the wound.

At least the bastard wasn’t functioning at one hundred percent, either. He stumbled, dazed from his head injury, and braced himself against the SUV.

She had seconds before he came at her again. Seconds before the pain dragged her under.

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