Page 77 of Echoes of War

He shrugged, taking off to the right. I sighed, grabbing my bag and taking a look around. The placement of it all struck me as oddly intentional. A big rig blocked off the road, the wheels popping on all sides, making it immovable even if we were able to get the engine going by chance. I peered around it. Cars lined the perimeter and filled within a maze pattern. We could try to drag the bike through, but that would take time and the sun was already getting low in the sky. If we could find a more direct way around, it would make things a lot easier.

With this many vehicles blocking our way, it was highly probable that Alexiares was right. Or Sloan’s people had done all that they could, stopping here when it became more work than it was worth. We were close enough to St. Paul that there was room for reasonable assumption that we could navigate the rest without assistance.

A wide path sat to my left, probably used for park rangers or emergency vehicles in The Before. It wasn’t too overgrown and there was enough room for his bike to get through. That said, there was a lot of tree cover that would make visibility when it came to Pansies an issue. My thoughts were damning. Two ofthem emerged the moment the entrance to the path came out of sight.

It was harder killing them now that I knew I had been right all along. There were still people trapped back there, but if the dried blood on their clothes was any indication, it was still very much an us versus them situation. Choosing us, choosing life would forever be my decision, no matter how hard it was to do so. I had a lot of regrets in this life, but protecting the living would never be one.

My knives flew in secession, one finding each of their skulls. They flopped down before they had the chance to gain more than a few feet on me. I pried my blades from their skulls, the sick, wet slush echoing in my mind.

“Find peace,” I mumbled over their bodies, stepping over them to continue down the path.

We would have to decide whether we wanted to take the risk with the noise of motorcycle attracting however many more lingered in these woods. Continuing on without the bike was also an option if Alexiares didn’t find an alternate route wherever he’d gone off to.

An explosion sounded back from the main road. I was flying through the trees before the flames finished spiking above the tree line.

“Alexiares?” I screamed, in full panic mode. “Alexi!”

Right before I hit the clearing, a flash of blonde hair took up space in my peripheral. I hit the ground. Nails pried into my face as I scanned my surroundings trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. Grabbing at the hair, I kept my eyes closed, protecting them against the claws that would aim for them if given the chance. Throwing them off to the side, I rolled over, jumping back to my feet.

“Finley,” I growled.

“In the fle?—”

“Oh shut up, you wicked bitch,” I cut her off, not needing a repeat of her villain tagline.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. I charged, throwing a right jab out, finishing with a kick to her ribs. Finley caught it lifting me up, tossing me onto the ground. I landed flat on my back, the wind knocked from me. A shot of pain shot down my spine.

Gasping for air, my hand reflectively reached out to my back. With my breathing constricted, the edges of my sight narrowed, my attention solely on Finley. A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, senses sharp to a razor-like clarity.

My movements became visceral, primal, a storm of blows and counterattacks fueled by a singular desire; destroying this motherfucker.

I tried for my flames but they flickered in the palm of my hand. Frowning, I made another attempt. They flickered a beautiful blue then orange before going out for good.

A wicked grin crept across Finley’s face. “Aw, poor little General. Forced to fight like a woman, no magic to back her up.” She waved a needle-laced glove in my face, wiggling her fingers.

It dawned on me then, where most of the pain had come from in my back, now crawling down my leg. I inspected a blood stain seeping into my pants.

“I don’t need magic to kick your ass,” I vowed, reaching for my knives. Instead of throwing them, I kept them steady in my hands. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Finley grinned, charging me again. I sliced at her arm with her first reach. She hissed back in pain, then threw out a kick aimed at my jaw. It connected but only because I allowed it to do so. On my way down, I sliced into her leg grabbing onto her hair as she recoiled, cutting through her dry ass strands.

I cackled at my work. “You look like that fucking doll from Rugrats.”

“Bringing knives to a fist fight, oh how the mighty have fallen,” Finley said, pushing herself off the ground, face red. She froze, mouth agape and eyes wide when she noticed her hair sprawled around my lap.

“Fine,” I agreed, tossing the knives to the side. “No knives, no magic. Just my fists against your flesh and my arm around your throat.”

We were both on our feet now, circling each other. Finley tossed out another shameful kick, I reached to grab it. My mistake on that one. She used the momentum of my hold to grab hold of my neck, kneeing me directly in the nose. A loud crunch sounded, blood gushing, and I saw fucking red.

Enough games.

Anger roared an inferno within. My strikes became swift and precise, every hit, kick, knee or slap fueled by the intensity of my red-hot rage. I latched onto her arm, aiming a punch for her chest followed by a kick to the head. Finley ducked when I expected her to, my leg swinging over her head. I grabbed onto her waist, pulling her onto the ground, straddling her the way she had pinned me in that filthy basement months ago. She was on her stomach, face in the dirt, and I put that bitch into a headlock.

Finley gulped for air like a fish out of water. A maniacal laugh sounded from me in an out of body experience. Killing someone was never easy. Often necessary, but never easy. With Finley, I never wanted to kill someone so much in my life. For what she did to my family when she held us captive, but most importantly, for what she did to Alexiares over the years.

She had molded someone who already held onto an unfathomable amount of pain and further twisted him into someone who now deemed himself unworthy of love. Unworthy of happiness.

Her thin fingers found one of my knives before I could stop her. Finley reached back swiftly, weakly jabbing it into my thigh, not having enough oxygen to go deep but enough to make merelease my hold. I yelped out in shock, the pain following shortly after.

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