Page 64 of The Devil's Thorn
I dig my elbow into his ribs, hard enough to hear a grunt, then drive my palm upward into his throat. Not a clean hit—but enough to make him stumble.
I dive toward the couch. My fingers stretch for the gun. He grabs my ankle, yanking me backward.
I kick—hard. Twist. Plant my foot and spin on it, bringing my knee up straight into his nose.
Blood sprays. He curses, muffled by the mask. I don’t wait.
I grab the lamp beside the couch, ripping it from the table and slamming the base into his forearm when he tries to reach for me again.
Something cracks.Thatmakes him scream.
He drops to the floor, gripping his wrist—his hand limp, fingers twisted unnaturally.
I scramble forward, finally reaching the gun. Cold metal fills my hand. Heavy. Familiar.
I rise in one smooth motion, feet bare, breathing hard, blood dripping from my arm, the skirt of my uniform torn at the hip.
The man stumbles backas I raise the gun. He lifts both hands—palms up. No fight now.
Coward.
“Don’t,” I say, voice low, ragged. “Move.”
He freezes. Just stands there. The blood from his nose stains the edge of his mask, dark red leaking beneath the fabric.
I tighten my grip on the gun. My hands shake, just slightly. Adrenaline and fury. Pure instinct. Because for the first time in a long time…I didn’t freeze.
I fought.
I survived.
And he sees it.
Not just the man in front of me. But Rafael.He saw all of it.
No more pretending. No more waiting tables. No more hiding in shadows.
I feel his eyes behind me—feel them like a brand burning down my spine.
I stare at the man in front of me, breathing hard.
“Take one more step,” I say through clenched teeth, “and I’ll put you down like the animal you are.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. HeknowsI’ll do it.
I breathe in. Slow. Controlled. My finger brushing the trigger—Click.
My breath halts. The cold kiss of metal presses to the back of my skull. A familiar weight. A warning. A shift.
Someone’s behind me.
No.
Not someone.
Rafael.
And he just cocked the gun.
