The sort of intent that shot ice through my veins.
The one in the front grinned, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “Got a text on my mobile,” he said, voice gravel mockery. “Drop the lad. Fetch … the girl. Promised me free whiskey for a year.” He chuckled low. “Didnaetake it serious at first. Thought the bartender was pullin’ me leg.”
“Look, we don’t want trouble,” I gritted.
“I read it again. Not just any lad”—his smile sharpened—“a MacKenzie.”
My jaw tightened. I stepped forward, placing space between me, them, and my lassie. My voice remained low, almostconversational, though it carried a dangerous calm. “You don’t want to fight me, mate.”
Man Two squinted, recognition dawning. “Bloody hell … it’s him. Not just any MacKenzie. The Dodger.”
“Och, yeah!” This from the third guy. “I knowsye, Lachlan MacKenzie. Guys, we don’t need todropthis MacKenzie like horriblemidgies.” He shook as if afraid of those creepy flies pretty much every Scotsman, lass, and bairn hated. “We take his fingers—he never swings a bat again.”
They moved like a pack, circling me. I stepped into the first punch, slamming my fist into Guy Three’s throat.Take my fingers?As he doubled over, another was on me—punches wild and sloppy. I caught his wrist and twisted.
Snap. His howl split the foggy air, but another man was already coming after me. I pivoted. My elbow shot back against his jaw, hard enough to rattle teeth. He shook his head, then threw a hook toward my jaw. I ducked and drove my fist into the attacker’s ribs. Air swished from the man’s lungs. Another swung at my side, forcing me to pivot.
Guy Three sucked in just enough air. He charged, trying to take my legs. We fell onto damp gravel. I rolled, smashing my knee into his rib. Bone gave under the impact. More boots scraped on stone—another came up behind me. I surged up and slammed my fist into his gut, driving him back against a tree. I spat out blood and realized. I’d fought three. Where was …?
I blocked a jab. Absorbed a hook to the ribs and drove my fist upward into a jaw. Somewhere in the haze, a voice—her voice—called my name.
Natasha.
Damn. They’d been strategic. Three focused on me, while a fourth captured her. As I spun around in the darkness, fighting off the men, kicking and punching, I searched for her. Guy Three charged me. My body slammed against a tree trunk. His friendgrabbed my wrist and twisted it away. A flash of metal caught my eye from Guy Three. Too late. Pain hit me.
Nae!
White-hot agony ripped through my right hand. My vision narrowed, black at the edges. My own finger hit the ground like something that didn’t belong tome.
“I’m obsessed by how yer fingers curve around the ball. That’s the part that does magic.” Though my eyes bit shut, I recognized that voice. Guy Three. “One more, then we saw yer legs.”
They wanted to take my hand. My legs. My career. My life. My woman.
I wrestled my left hand free. Punched the man and searched for Natasha. Not good enough. Friggen nondominant hand. They grabbed my arm again, and the blade bit before I ripped free with a roar. I shoved the man so hard he hit the ground.
Guy Three—I was beginning to hate this one more than the rest—sucker punched me in the stomach. I doubled. Through my peripheral, just a flicker, I glimpsed Natasha. As Guy Four dragged her away, she kicked, twisted, and slammed her heel into his shin.
The three men held me down.
One sawed at another finger.
Natasha struck her assailant’s jaw. Her teeth sank into his forearm when he grabbed her hair. The man cursed violently. My chest swelled with pride before the bastard backhanded her.
She crumpled, gasping.
Nae. I hated Guy Four more than Three. My restraint snapped.
Rage came first, then cold focus. I drove my forehead into Guy Three’s nose, bone cracking under the impact. Blood blinded him, and I snatched the blade from his grip, shoving it into the fist that flew at my face. The blade sank between two ofhis friend’s knuckles. I yanked it, snarling through the pain and awkward hold, without all my fingers.
“My hand, my bloody hand. What the?—”
As the man screamed, I swung the knife’s hilt into the other man’s temple. His eyes rolled back as he crumpled. While their mate lay clutching his hand, I slid the knife across a blood-blinded Three’s throat.
“Och, you killed mebràthair! Mebràthair.”
Exhausted but moving, I dropped low at the last second. Propelled him over my shoulder. Air burst from his lungs as he hit concrete. I turned around and stabbed the knife between his spinal column.
“Now you’re with yourbràthairs. In hell,” I growled between ragged breaths. Despite the pounding in my skull, I caught movement at the edge of my vision. Man Four dragged Natasha down a grassy slope.
