Page 6 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

I grasp the hands gripping my throat, and using them as leverage, jump and wrap my ankles around the man’s neck so I’m suspended between my two attackers.

I rotate my body to the left, and the man’s eyes widen in surprise.

Two of the woman’s manicured fingernails snap as she hits the floor, while I land with graceful precision on my feet.

I wince. “Sorry. Those looked expensive.”

Removing my swords, I rotate them in my hands and simultaneously slice their throats.

Crimson seeps across the dirt floor, collecting in a central pool; the corpses’ lifeless eyes stare at each other, as if they died in a lover’s pact.

Knuckle Duster moves swiftly. Sensing a more powerful enemy, I abandon my swords and twist the whip disguised as a belt around my arm. He grins. What is it with men and whips?

“Help,” I whisper to Duncan.

My first lash catches Knuckle Duster on the ear.

He yelps, as his blood drips like a macabre ruby earring.

Eyes narrowing, he stalks toward me. I try catching his other ear, but he grasps the whip and, wrapping it around his wrist, drags me to him.

His fist slams into my gut.

I grunt and lean forward to keep my balance as the force sends me skidding backward. The whip follows me like a snake, throwing dirt into the air.

Plucking a dagger from my boot, I stab it in the floor to slow my momentum.

Knuckle Duster is in front of me before I can fully stand.

“Duck!” Duncan shouts. Doing as I’m told—a rare occurrence, so take note—I duck and roll across the unyielding dirt, missing a shot of blue magic by a hair’s breadth.

“Be glad my reactions are as fast as Lightning McQueen’s,” I breathe, hissing at the pain in my back from the road rash.

Landing next to the woman’s body, I yank my sword out of her throat.

Minuscule air movements tickle across my palms, giving away Knuckle Duster’s next attack. Leaning back in a move worthy ofThe Matrix,I dodge a jab of his elbow to my throat, swing my leg out across the floor, and trip him backward while wrapping the whip around his neck.

His substantial six-foot-plus form hits the ground, and I hear the tell-tale sound of bones cracking.

Duncan scoffs. “Okay, I do love your references… but you got me on this one. Who’s Lightning McQueen? Sounds like some UFC fighter. Am I right?”

I hold back a giggle and try to adopt an air of confidence. “He’s a racecar driver. Drives for Disney, actually.” Duncan tilts his head to the side, and I roll my eyes. “It’s Pixar!Cars?” he gives me a blank stare, and I sigh. “Whatever.”

Lying on the floor, the creep tries to negotiate. “Can’t we make a deal? My name is Eric. I can persuade anyone to do anything you want. My employer is powerful—trust me, he could get youanythingyou want.”

“Eric? I think I preferred Knuckle Duster,” I mutter, causing him to frown. Channeling my inner feminist tendencies—if you ask Duncan, they’re more accurately called my “psychotic” tendencies—I kick him where every man dreads.

He rolls to his side, groaning. A putrid, clear liquid oozes over his entire body. Shedding his human form, his skin turns a vibrant shade of purple.

Duncan and I tilt our heads to the right.

“Death or defense?” I wonder.

“You bitch!” Eric snarls, springing to his feet.

Ah. That would be defense, then.

He blocks my first strike by sacrificing part of his arm.

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