I don’t open my eyes. I already know who it is.
Markev never takes a hint. He never gives me room to breathe. There is no space from this man.
I turn, ready to tear into him, when a hand clamps over my mouth and another arm locks around my chest, the cigarette slipping from my fingers and hitting the ground.
Cazzo.
I was actually enjoying a cigarette for once, and of course it gets spoiled.
“Don’t move,” a voice growls in my ear, and I go completely still.
I don’t even breathe, and he relaxes.
Huge mistake.
He murmurs something that sounds like bring the car, as if into an earpiece, his accent strong… though I don’t have time to worry about it.
I bite down hard on the hand covering my mouth instead. Blood floods my tongue instantly. He curses and loosens his grip just a little and I drive my elbow back into his stomach and bring my heel up hard between his legs. He grunts and stumbles, but recovers much quicker than I would like.
Now that I am turned, I look at him properly and see that he is masked, a plain black mask, nothing more than a piece of material over his face. He is dressed entirely in black, hood, jacket, gloves. Only his eyes are visible.
A gun glints at his side.
I swear at myself for being so careless, for not having my own gun on me, though at least I still have my blades.
“Who hired you?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer and moves on me again. At least he is not using the gun to shoot me.
I swing again, landing another kick. He grunts and catches my arm, twisting it before yanking me into a headlock.
Pressure bites into my throat, and my vision begins to blur at the edges.
I reach blindly over my body. My blade slides free, and I ram it into his thigh.
He screams and loses his grip, creating the opening for me to wrench myself away, the blade still in my hand.
I step back, turning to face him, ready to finish it, when I hear fast footsteps behind me. Another man bursts into the alley, but this one has his gun raised, aimed straight at me.
“Don’t fucking move or I shoot.”
I smirk despite the ache in my throat. I know it’s probably already bruising, and it’ll be a bitch to hide under foundation. “You won’t,” I say, coughing slightly.
He falters.
“You were told to bring me in alive.”
His jaw tightens. “Alive doesn’t mean unharmed.”
I look into his eyes and see that he means it.
Damn it.
Before he can pull the trigger, a gunshot cracks through the alley.
The man drops instantly, blood blooming across his chest as he hits the ground.
The first attacker scrambles for his own weapon when another figure steps into the alley.
