His tortured eyes meet mine. “I can’t.”
“What the fuck, Mahmoud? Go help her!”
“Ican’t,” he insists.
“Why the hell not?” I lurch off the chair he found for me and hop to the window, ignoring the waves of agony in my leg.
“No, Sophia. Stop! You don’t need to see this?—”
My heart rips clean from my body when my gaze lands on the horror outside.
Six of them.
One has Daniela bent over a car’s hood, his hand tangled in her hair, wrenching her head back while he?—
“Oh my god.” My breakfast rises into my throat. It takes everything in me not to vomit all over the window.
Two other men hold her down, while the rest laugh from the sidelines. A knife handle juts from her side.
Rape as a weapon of war. The Hunters use it the same way one would use a gun or a grenade. Efficient and brutal.
My good leg gives out, and I hit the floor. The pain is a distant thing, like waves on some faraway beach.
Another of Daniela’s screams fills my ears.
I returned to myself gradually, and only when I realized I was sitting on the floor in his closet, my knees drawn to my chest, did I dare look at him.
He stood like a soldier, hands behind his back, regarding me with an inquisitive stare, not a trace of pity in his eyes. “Do you have panic attacks often?”
I cleared my throat, thankful he was so callous that he hadn’t tried to help—or worse,comfort. “Often enough.”
“Who’s Daniela?”
Annoyed that I’d let her name slip in my panic, I forced myself to stand even though my legs weren’t quite ready. “No one.”
He took a step closer, his gaze penetrating me in a way that made me think he could see far more than what I showed him. “It seems you have firsthand experience with what happens to women who don’t hide from Hunters.”
I gave him a faint nod, unable to meet his eyes.
“Thentake my adviceinstead of fighting with me about it.”
I scowled, but he ignored me in favor of ushering me to the front door.
“I have something else for you,” he said, taking my hand. A set of metal knuckles slid over my fingers. Not the typical metal hoops. Each circle came to a sharp point. The four shark-tooth daggers would puncture skin with very little pressure. I’d seen the weapon wielded by other Hunters. I’d treated injuries dealt by it.
These were Hunter knuckles, and if anyone saw me with them, there would be questions.
“Are you right-handed?” he asked.
I nodded.
“If you ever need to use this, you go for the throat.” He held the blades parallel to his trachea, then dragged them toward his chest. God, that maneuver would kill a man in seconds. “If the throat isn’t accessible, then the stomach. And for godsake don’t let them get you on your back.” He paused. “And don’t cut yourself with it. You seem…clumsy.”
For once, I couldn’t take offense. It was true.
He opened the door and pushed me into the gathering darkness. “Protect yourself. I need you alive.”
The door slammed in my face.
