“Knew you would sound so good. Scream some more.” He punches me even harder in the ribs.
My father's voice thunders in my ear, coaching me to breathe and wait for my moment, even through all the pain.
Only time his words have been helpful.
As soon as the man reaches just a little too far, I bring my leg up over his dropped shoulder and slide a hand under his right arm, cinching him into an arm bar and heaving to dislocate his shoulder in one go.
He unleashes a vicious cry, then bites into my inner thigh. I fight through the pain and tighten down, using his arm to twist us to the left before driving my hips up and yanking on his dislocated arm again. His elbow snaps, and he writhes like a harpooned whale.
Quickly I unwind from the tangle of limbs, then yank my knife out of my belt.
My blade pierces his neck and torso over and over, tears streaming down my face as I put all my power into every move, strangled cries erupting with every blow.
The blade turns slippery, my hand sliding down the hilt and slicing my palm open, finally causing me to stop. My limbs are heavy and I gasp as if I’d just sprinted ten miles.
But the drum inside my head pounds away, becoming fiercer by the second.
I crawl away from the bodies, my vision darkening around the edges, agony shooting through my palm. My stomach lurches until I vomit, while blinding pain shoots through my skull and bolts of lightning explode behind my eyes.
I slump onto the unforgiving ground as everything goes black.
Chapter 9
Aviolentshiverwrenchesme awake. “Fuck.”
How long have I been out? I brace for the pain as I slowly lift my pounding head. A guttural groan escapes when the movement sends shockwaves through my skull.
Gotta get up.
My battered body screams in protest as I stagger unsteadily upward, squeezing my eyes shut for a second and scrunching my face against the ruthless throbbing.
Biting back a rising wail, I squint through the agony and spot the packs. Might be something useful in them. But I don’t have enough strength to carry them both.
Staggering over, I stop at the second body and grab my knife before kneeling by the Carrionites’ packs, then start rifling through one, shoving what I can into the other.
When I grab the strap, fire erupts across my palm, and I suck in air sharply through clenched teeth. "Fuck!"
That’s right. I sliced open my palm.
Rex is gonna kill me for losing control.
I shudder at the thought of him being disappointed in me. But then it’s replaced by the overwhelming need to have him hold me, to be wrapped tightly in his strong arms knowing I’m safe.
Willing my body to cooperate, I shoulder the pack, then grab my own and start making my way back to the house.
It's taking forever.
Outside of being fucked up, I also gotta make sure there ain't no surprises waiting. Rex and my father hammered all that counter-surveillance stuff into me.
The doors are still locked when I return, and the mess around the windows says no one's been peeking in.
I chuck the extra backpacks up on the porch roof before climbing up the railing, nearly losing my grip a few times. Just as I make it onto the roof, everything goes blurry again, and I'm flat on my back on the shingles, dry heaving.
When the wave of nausea passes, I crawl to the window on the second floor, shove it up, then toss the packs inside before I flop in after them.
I lock it up tight, then lean against the wall.
My sweatshirt’s drenched in blood. Shit’s jelly-like now. I need to change.
