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
A violent shiver wrenches me awake. “Fuck.”
How long have I been out? I slowly lift my pounding head and a guttural groan rips from my throat when the movement sends shock waves of pain through my skull.
Gotta get up. Gotta get back to Rex.
My battered body screams in protest as I stand then sway, squeezing my eyes shut for a second and scrunching my face against the ruthless throbbing.
I squint through the agony and spot the Carrionites’ packs. Might be something useful in them. But I don’t have enough strength to carry both.
Staggering over, I stop at the second body and grab my knife before kneeling by the 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 that make me feel 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 other surprises waiting. Besides fighting, Rex and my father also hammered all that counter-surveillance stuff into me.
The doors are still locked when I return, and the undisturbed mess around the windows says no one’s been peeking in.
I chuck the extra backpack up on the porch roof before climbing up the railing, nearly losing my grip a few times. Just as I make it onto the plane, everything goes blurry again, and I’m on my knees, dry heaving.
When the 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 jellylike now. I need to change.
Lifting my arms, I pull the sweatshirt and T-shirt underneath off. Inside my pack is my old sweatshirt, but before I grab that, I take out the bandages from the outside pocket and wrap my palm.
Hurts like a bitch.
