And then I’m at the door.
My hand hovers over the knob, the metal cool against my fingertips. Behind it could be another monster. More blood. More Sovereigns.
Or maybe it’s just the same thing I’ve always faced.
Pain. Loss. Survival.
I close my hand around the handle, draw in a breath that tastes like antiseptic and blood, and push the door open.
The hallway stretches in front of me, dim and silent, overhead lights buzzing faintly.
“Going somewhere?”
The unmistakable voice scrapes down my spine.
Before I can move, rough hands clamp down. I’m yanked back hard, my spine slamming into the wall. Fog clings to my brain, the drugs they pumped into me slowing my reflexes. His hard body cages me in, crushing my wounds until white-hot pain tears through me.
“Get the fuck off me, you piece of shit!” I snarl, shoving at him uselessly.
I glare up, as he towers over me. Catching his emotionless face, jet-black hair, and dead, blue eyes. He’s a goddamn mountain, at least 6’6. He’s built like a fucking house. How in the hell did I miss when I shot at him?
“I asked you a question. Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“Wherever the hell I want. Now get your goddamn hands off me.”
His brutal grip tightens. “You think I’m just going to let you walk after the shit you pulled? You blew up a Sovereign operation.Myoperation. You’re not going anywhere.”
My fingers find the scalpel I stole, hidden in my pocket. I don’t hesitate. I jam it into his side and twist.
His body jerks, and for one second—one beautiful second—he actually looks human.
Then his fist connects with my bullet wound.
Pain detonates through me, ripping me apart. I hit the floor, clutching at my side, the stitches tearing open. He wrenches the scalpel free and tosses it, then crouches, grabbing my throat with one blood-slicked hand.
“I was going to kill you quick. But now I’m gonna make you wish you died in that explosion.”
His grip tightens. My vision darkens at the edges. I thrash, clawing at him, but it’s useless.
Somewhere down the hall, someone clears their throat. His hand loosens just enough for me to suck in a broken gasp.
“Priest, you need to take this call,” a nervous voice says.
Priest?This asshole’s name is Priest? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Priest sighs, stretching his shoulders like dealing with me is a chore.
“Little girls shouldn’t play with knives,” he sneers, nudging the bloody scalpel across the floor with his boot. It skitters away, spinning out of reach. “Especially when they’re already half-dead.”
“Fuck off.” I force myself upright even as the room spins.
His fingers brush the wound on his side, coming away red, and a dark glint flickers in his eyes. He crouches again, close enough that the scent of him—gunpowder, blood, mint—chokes the air between us.
“You think you’re a fighter?” His tone drips with disdain. “You’re not. You’re prey. Weak, stupid, worthless prey. And you,kitten, are going to bleed sofucking pretty for me.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“But that’s exactly what you are. Soft. Weak.Pathetic. Fucking nothing.”He straightens and spits on me. The glob of saliva hits my cheek, sliding down my skin.
