Page 40 of Descent

Good throw.

The machete takes him in the face, lodging into his cheekbone.

Ouch.

Almost looks as painful as his graceless flip over the beam behind him and the clang of a metal dumpster several stories below. Two down.

Swinging from bar to bar gets me all the way down to the street where I set off at a casual walking pace. No sense drawing more attention.

A chill flashes over my neck.

I duck back immediately, slamming down onto my knees, flat onto my back with my feet trapped under me as the roundhouse kick that should have taken out my head rebounds against the concrete of the building.

“Ai ya!” he screams, his shin snapping like a twig.

Using my momentum and the tension in my knees, I spring back up. The rebound drives my fist at lightning speed right into his balls.

“Sweet marble mashers!” Ciro cringes, watching from the corner.

“No rules when someone’s trying to kill you,” I explain, my hand snapping straight to his mouth to clamp down over another scream.

Choke hold. Drop him in the alley.

I’m back on track.

Doubling back a few times, I check for a tail. Half an hour later, I’m standing on a busy, neon-flickering curb. A ball cap,glasses, and a high collar on my changed coat should be enough to keep anyone from recognizing me.

The rev of an engine announces the car right before it turns the corner, slowing to a halt.

“Get in,” Circe’s voice says from the mouth of a stranger. The woman’s face is shadowed in a scarf, straight black hair framing her pale face.

Bending down, I peer into the car. “Are you my Uber driver?”

“When did you get a sense of humor? I don’t like it. At all.”

“And I don’t like waiting in a skeezy part of town for twenty minutes.”

“Had to shake a tail and change. You look like you got a little action too.” She nods, glancing at my cheek.

I shrug, checking for blood again. Stings like hell.

“Yeah. This whole mission was sloppy as hell.”

“A full-on shit show, you mean. Someone saw me covered in brains and called the cops.”

“That might explain how someone knew where I was perched,” I grimace, sighing.

“Oh, no. That was me. Our target’s bodyguards caught up to him, or found his body anyway. I shouted that there was a shooter on the roof of that building from the street before I ran.”

“You’re the worst teammate ever.” If only my glare could set her on fire.

“Why do you keep staring at my face like that?” Circe snaps after several seconds and a few streets away.

“Because you’re still wearing a mustache, dipshit.”

I’ve never seen her blush likethatbefore. With a flare of her nostrils, she tears the mustache off and throws it out the window.

The rest of the drive back to our base of operations is quiet. It’s not until we’re safely inside the garage that she starts in on me, slamming the door viciously.

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