Page 22 of A Highland Gargoyle's Lucky Star
I clutch a hand to my chest and wheeze.
“Fucking hell. Don’t scare a guy like that,” I scold, but the faint slur in my voice undermines me a smidge.
Then I squint. “You? Ugh.”
Malcolm glowers at me. In the dark, he looks a lot more dangerous and warning bells go off in my head. Gone is thesuave mask he’d worn earlier. Now his expression matches the dead glare of his blue eyes.
“I tried to play nice with you, Conduit, but you had to go and make things difficult.”
What the fuck is this dude on about?
As I stare at him dumbfounded, he pulls out a needle, the syringe gleaming in the shaft of moonlight coming through the window.
Malcolm takes a menacing step closer. “Now, be a good little fool and go to sleep. When you wake up, my employer will explain more to you.”
I’m not even listening to what he’s saying because none of it really makes any sense. All I can do is stare at the motherfucking needle in his hand.
Ihateneedles.
Naturally, I scream like a Hammer horror film heroine.
“Shut up, you little shit!” he hisses.
Malcolm makes a grab for me with his free hand, but just then the train brakes to go around a corner and we both lose our balance. He stumbles backward and I lurch toward him, deciding for some insane reason to turn my forward momentum into an opportunity to tackle him.
Mind you, I’ve never tackled anyone in my life.
Although I’ve dreamt of doing it to Sam Heughan.
And Henry Cavill.
Oh, and David Tenant—but who hasn’t?
I don’t know if it’s because I’m drunk, but I somehow manage to slam into him with quite a bit of force and he drops the needle.
I am officially atotalbadass!
“Take that, asshole. This is not going to be my murder on the Scottish Express!”
The train lurches again and we tumble to the ground in a heap.
I struggle to crawl away, but he grabs my hair and yanks on it—hard.
“Owwww!”
He wants to fight dirty? This fool has no idea. Bitch, I’m from Chicago!
I ram my forehead right into his perfect face, and even though it hurts like a sonofabitch, I’m pleased to hear a satisfying crunch. He lets me go for a moment, his hands automatically going to his bleeding nose.
With what energy I can muster, I start to crawl away, my scalp still stinging. That fucker better not have left me with a bald patch!
I hear a roar of anger and glance back to see him leap at me again, and I don’t have time to get away.
In a flash, we’re rolling around on the floor of the gangway. He’s much bigger than me, but I’m using every underhanded trick I learned as a kid to fight back. I knee him in the crotch and bite his hand.
He lands a punch to the side of my head and, momentarily dazed, I see black spots.
Grunting with triumph, he holds up the needle he dropped.
