“I wouldn’t say so, no.”
“My thoughts exactly.” The knife moves away from me as Fredrick rolls his hands in Dorran’s direction. “Try again, kid, but maybe a little softer this time.”
Dorran’s fists tighten on his lap, and his shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath in. “Let Cignette go, Fred,” he repeats, more forcefully this time, then sighs and adds, “please.”
Fredrick all but gasps, and I know it’s only out of mockery. “Wait, what was that?” he feigns confusion. “Can you repeat that? Because I don’t think I heard you well enough.”
Dorran lifts his head, the rage on his face immeasurable as he meets Fredrick’s gaze. “Pleaselet her go, Fred. I’ve done as you asked, and now I want my Cignette back.”
“Touching,” Fred muses as he lets go of me and steps to the side. “But not exactly what I was looking for. Let me spice things up a little bit for you, shall I?” He touches my shoulder and turns me towards him, and before I can react, he rears a hand back– the one in which he’s got the knife – and brings it forward at lightning speed.
And I know this happens pretty quickly, but somehow, everything unfolds in front of me in brutal slow motion. I think it’s mainly because of the sudden force of adrenaline that all but slams into me, creating a static distortion in my head. My mouth opens in a scream, and my instincts take over as I make a split-second decision of bringing my hands before me, just in time to grab the blade before it pushes its way into my stomach.
Fredrick blinks, seemingly shocked as I wrap my fingers around his knife and use all the strength I have left to stop his advance.
“You stubborncunt,” he spits out, pushing his blade further against my palms, slicing them open in the process. “Why don’t you just giveup?”
I grit my teeth as I straighten my forearms to keep my grip steady, then grin at him. “Because I’d rather spend every last one of my breaths fighting a scumbag like you instead of giving you the satisfaction of an easy win.” My hold slips a little due to my blood having painted both the blade, and my hands, but still, I dig my heels into the ground and try to ignore the burning pain in my palms as I tighten my grip.
Fredrick pushes the knife forward still, and I feel it starting to graze my navel. “Save us the fucking hassle and let me end this,” he says. “You know you can’t keep doing this for long, and I sure as hell am not–”
He doesn’t finish, because faster than a breeze, something – or rather,someone– crashes into him, propelling him sideways and away from me.
The knife slips from my grasp, and as I whip my head to the right, I see Fredrick lying on the ground, flailing, with Dorran straddling his waist – a fist risen above his head, ready to smash the asshole’s face in.
29.
“Don’t you dare put your hands on me!” Fredrick screams as he thrashes violently under me.
“Technically, I’ve got mygroinon you,” I say, briefly glancing downward before looking at him again. “And honestly, you’re not giving me the best straddling experience right now, what with being so noncompliant and all.”
“You think you’re so fucking smart, aren’t you?” he sneers, jerking under me again. “Guess what, kid: you are nothing but dirt under my feet. Just like with everyone who crosses me, you’ll be nothing but forgotten history when I’m don–”
“I’m sorry, but why haven’t you punched him in the face yet?” asks a voice – one that immediately sparks electricity in every single one of my goddamn veins.
I chuckle before I face her, and when her gleaming eyes meet mine, I grin and reach out a hand to her.
She places hers in mine and grins back at me, then hisses when her wounded palm touches mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say instantly, then bring her hand close to my lips before placing a kiss on her knuckles.
“It’s alright,” Cigs tells me around a soft smile, then slides her hand from mine as she rounds the corner and kneels next to the left side of Fredrick’s head.
The piercing sound of a gunshot meets my ears, followed by urgent stomping. Fredrick shrieks under me, thrashing harder than before.
“What is happening?What the fuck is happening?!” he yells like the toad that he is.
Cignette sighs and bunches his hair between her fists, then roughly yanks his head up and sideways. His neck makes a sharp tick-like sound, and he screams. “Here you go; front row seat for you,” she mutters.
Fredrick starts crying. I’m talking shoulder-shaking, tear-induced crying. With his face angled in a very uncomfortable-looking way, and Cignette’s ironclad hold on his hair, he makes for a delightful sight. If it wasn’t for my concern towards my friends, I’d have enjoyed the state he’s currently in a bit more.
More gunshots ring out, echoing through the space. Whipping my head towards what looks like a crowded brawl on the other side of the garden, I notice 2 fallen guards, and another as Varsha shoots him in the forehead.
Next to her, Aras and Magner are busy toying with two masked guards, distracting them with false offenses and then hitting them where they’re vulnerable.
My attention is briefly shifted from my friends to Heyman, who is kneeling and cowering in front of one of Frederick’s guards, who has the tip of a handgun pointed at the arc of his sweaty head. I then realize it’s the same guy who was holding Cignette captive earlier, but before I can think much of it, I notice a security personnel – his fist reared back to deliver what could possibly be a harsh blow – beelining for Safiya.
She thankfully sees him coming, then sidesteps him just in time, making him trip. She then deftly opens her clutch, pulls out a beautiful, rose gold trench knife from inside it, and tosses the former over her shoulder. However, as she glides the weapon’s grip/handle on her fingers, I see that it’s made in such a way that instead of the blade itself, it’s the weapon’s knuckle duster handgrip that is its main focus. The spikes are long andlook well-sharpened, even from afar, with the knife attached to the outer portion of the weapon.
