True, I have other guns, but Abuela’s knife just feels like the right tool for the job.
A super skinny guy comes at me, and the abdominal aorta, which is usually very difficult to get on most people, is his downfall. Two guys grab my arms, but I manage to hold on to the knife, angling it to slice through the one guy’s radial artery.
When he lets me go—because he’s pretty much dead on his feet—I jab the knife into the other guy’s thigh and drag it around till I hit pay dirt. Femoral artery: check.
Well shit. There’s only one major artery left to complete my killer’s hat trick—the thoracic aorta. Thankfully, the opportunity presents itself in the form of a very large man running straight at me.
Spling.
Right in the ticker.
Now, to be fair, this breaks the stabbing versus slicing rule. However, this guy doesn’t look too bright, and he’s about to kill himself in three, two, one…
Ah yes. The man looks down at the knife embedded in his chest and pulls it out, thus completing my tour of the seven major arteries that will leave your motherfucking ass dead in under ten seconds.
He falls to his knees, looking at me as though I’m the one who fucked up.
No, buddy.Your driver fucked up.I’m just taking advantage.
My problem is that when I get into these situations, I get a little cocky. An issue which reveals itself when I go to grab my grandmother’s knife from the dead guy’s hand and get a knife in my back for my troubles.
Fuck, I never could count to save my life.
I spin around and find a guy about my height and build taking aim with another sharp throwing knife.
“Oh, you wanna party?” I ask, imagining a nineties action movie playing in the background. I blame Javier for that visual, by the way.
The little guy rolls his eyes and throws the knife. I’m grateful Javier spent as much time teaching me to evade knives as he did teaching me how to throw them.
Obviously, I got nailed on the first one, having lost count of the bad guys—totally deserved, lesson learned—but I easily sidestep this one.
Still a little too cocky for my own good, I practically step into the third knife, which hits a nerve that makes me drop my gun. Sneaky bastard.
“Missed the artery, jackass!” I yell, yanking it from my arm.
He reaches for another knife, but I’m done being his pin cushion. I return the knife to sender, impaling his eye. He doesn’t even wince, which is sorta badass and an indication that I didn’t throw the knife hard enough. The knife in my back didn’t hit anything interesting, so I reach back, pull it out, and throw that motherfucker as hard as possible.
Knife Boy grunts now that he’s half-blind and losing blood from his groin. I grab one of the guns I picked off the first two guys and shoot my nearly worthy opponent, taking out his other eye, plus a fair amount of brain matter. Having learned my lesson, I double-check the space like Erik taught me and verify that, like my very own set of Pokémon, I got ’em all.
I glance up at my grandfather’s window just as the curtain drops back into place.Keep sheltering in place, asshole.
As I’m considering my next steps, Javier and Erik barrel through the front gate in Gael’s mini-SUV, which is a helluva lot sturdier than I’ve given it credit for. Erik and Javier tumble out of the vehicle, racing toward me.
I stare up at Erik, happy and in love. “Someone finally read his emails.”
24
ERIK
Ant is somehow even bloodier than he was after New Orleans. There is literally not a blood-free spot on his body.
“Is any of this blood yours?” I ask, reaching for him, unable to decide where to put my hands.
“I mean, a little,” he says, shrugging. Then grimacing. “I got winged by a bullet and then had a couple of holes punched in me,” he says, gesturing to the guy with the knife sticking out of his eye, “but otherwise, I’m good.”
“Please tell me you’re on PrEP,” I beg, wishing I could pull him into a hug.
“Of course. Anders insisted.”
