Hustling down the steps, we made it to the second floor before I slipped the knuckles from my pocket. Breaking glass and the thuds of fists against flesh greeted us as we rounded the last flight.
I braced myself for the coming fight. My senses zeroed in on a primal, innate survival instinct, one I barely remembered I possessed.
In a flurry, a Hunter dashed through the door to the stairwell, weapons raised. As Maldonado raised his gun and fired, the Hunter hit the floor, and we spilled into the lobby. My stomach dropped.
Outnumbered.
I was transported back to the battle at Safe House Red, the chaos of gunfire and smoke and blood. With a surge of adrenaline, I gripped my weapons so hard my knuckles blanched. Lucas’s voice murmured in my ear, guiding me.If you can, you run.
I mapped out the quickest route to the broken door we’d come through. Several floor-to-ceiling windows had been smashed, but no matter which I chose, a throng of fighting soldiers stood in my way. I gritted my teeth and picked a window.
With my knife and bladed knuckles in the defensive position Lucas taught me,I darted through a couple of fights without anyone taking notice. One of our men stumbled into me after being shot in the chest. He dropped at my feet. My eyes darted up to find who shot him. The Hunter stood with his back to the broken window I’d been heading toward.
His gaze swept down my body, eyes widening. A cocky grin spread across his face. I backed away and ran toward another window. I was caught around the waist and spun to face a different man.
If you ever need to use this, you go for the throat.
I didn’t hesitate, slamming my reinforced fist into vital, life-giving structures. He choked, and something sharp scraped my lower belly.
He fell to the floor, and I turned again, heading for the window, ignoring the pain and blood saturating my clothes.
Two Hunters blocked me.
Never attack first.
I waited.
“Where’d you get those knuckles?” one asked.
The other man lunged for me, and I dodged him the way Lucas had taught me. I managed to sink my knife into him as he retreated. Not a fatal blow.
He swung his arm and sliced me twice more in the stomach below my vest—glancing, shallow blows that burned like fire. I cried out, clutching my stomach.
The one who’d asked about the knuckles shoved me to the ground. He leapt on me, and his broad hand wrapped around my throat. His smile turned psychotic as he crushed my windpipe. Black sparks burst into my vision.
Don’t panic when you can’t breathe.
Right hand up. Right foot outside his ankle. Roll.
Our positions reversed just as Lucas showed me. I buried my knife in the man’s liver. The other soldier yanked on my left arm, and my knife clattered to the floor.
I jumped to my feet and ran.
The soldier chased me, but the path to an open window was now clear.
I leapt through it.
He followed, calling for help. “The bitch just got Rogers!”
For the first time, I was grateful for Lucas’s forced cardio workouts. I ran, but the pain from my wounds turned the asphalt to sand, making each step harder than the last.
Behind, pounding footsteps stalked me.
I flew down the sidewalk into a dark, abandoned neighborhood. They gained on me quickly. I couldn’t tell whether there were two or three, and I was too afraid to check.
Taking streets at random, I zigzagged through the neighborhood and hoped my endurance would outlast theirs.
I hoped in vain.
