Page 33 of Puck'N Enemy
My footsteps feel too loud in my ears as I stay alert. Suddenly, I hear the unmistakable crunch of gravel from behind me.
I freeze immediately. Slowly turning around, I see six men stepping out from the shadows. They’re dressed in cheap blacksuits and have ultra-luxury watches on their wrists. The smell of cheap cologne wafts into my nostrils.
Just one look at them is enough for me to guess who they are.
Pete Volkov’s men.
“Come with us,” the man in the front says with a sneer. “He wants to see you.”
“No, thanks,” I say flatly, walking past him.
A second guy blocks my path.
“You know it doesn’t work like that,” the first man says from behind me. “You don’t get to say no, kid.”
I glance over my shoulder, counting their numbers and scanning the area to see if there are more of them.
At least a dozen men are surrounding me. While I can fight two or three at a time, six is too many for a straight-up brawl. This area is deserted but maybe if I could make some noise and draw attention, I could find a way to escape.
Pulling my backpack over my shoulder, I make a sudden move, stomping the foot of the guy closest to me.
He lets out a grunt, momentarily disoriented, and I take the opportunity to kick him in the face.
His companion comes at me from the back. With my instincts kicking in, I slam my elbow into his gut before he can throw a punch at me.
“Get him!” someone shouts but I’m already sprinting down the street.
Someone grabs my backpack, pulling me backward.
It’d be so much easier if I could just drop it and run. But it contains Coach’s meds and I can’t lose them.
So, I duck and roll, punching the guy who’d grabbed me.
A fist grazes my jaw, making me aware of another presence. Before I can react to him, I catch a punch to my ribs.
Damn it! They’re coming at me from every direction.
I fight off another guy while two others kick me from behind, making me stumble forward and hit the hard ground. Someone grabs me by the back of my hoodie and fists me in the gut.
A grunt escapes me as pain spreads through my body.
Shit, they’ve got me, I realize with a surge of desperation.
“Get the hell away from him!” An all-too familiar voice shouts from somewhere behind me.
I turn around while several hands grab onto me.
Logan.
I blink several times, making sure I’m not hallucinating.
The glow from a street lamp lights up his wild, thunderous face. His jacket hangs open, giving me a glimpse of the black T-shirt that clings to his muscled abs.
For a moment, I can’t believe he’s here.
Before I have a chance to say anything, Logan launches himself at the nearest thug. The attack makes the men holding onto me panic as their leader gets the shit beaten out of him.
A few of them leave my side to help him but Logan’s like a hurricane. He hits them with clean, brutal punches, knocking them down within seconds.
