So I’m not surprised when he nods his dumb head, reluctant and greedy despite himself.
And that’s all the confirmation I need.
He doesn’t have her.
Thank you, random violence of fate.
The universe tripped over its dick, fell in my favor, and I’m not wasting it.
This is the opportunity Jag wanted for decades.
I crook a finger, beckoning him closer.He hesitates, then bends in, drawn by the promise like every predator before him.
Clamping a hand on his shoulder, I dip my mouth to his neck.Carefully, I roll the razor blade with my tongue, slide it from my cheek, and bite it between my canines.
“This is for Celeste and David,” I whisper past clenched teeth.
With my back to the room, the guards can only assume I’m running my lips across Crowe’s throat.They don’t know I’m slicing him ear to ear until he gurgles and spurts and makes a nasty, wet mess.
Blood drenches my face and chest before I can dodge it.The trajectory and reach of the projectile spray is fucking impressive.I’d love to watch it spew until the end, but the room is slowly losing its ever-loving shit.
“Please remain calm.”I hold up the bomb switch.“Or we all die screaming.”
Bodies surge, and guns fly up, like they didn’t hear a word I said.
Fucking mall-cop energy.
The rent-a-cop behind me shouts, cut off mid-sound, as I spin and open his throat with the blade in my mouth.
The taste of blood clogs my throat, making me gag.I spit the dental weapon into my hand, dance into the mob, and start slashing fingers, arms, bellies, faces, every inch of exposed flesh within reach.
“Congratulations.”I slam my modified brass knuckles into an angry face.“You unlocked the bonus level.”
Adrenaline detonates through me as I finish him off with the razor.
Sweat stings my eyes.Breath burns, and every nerve screams as I move faster.
Wounds open in flashes.Fabric darkens.Crimson splashes the concrete, and the air fills with the tang of blood and the grunts of effort, pain, and surprise.
Jag is a storm beside me.
The chain snaps taut between his hands, steel singing as he whips it up and around a man’s throat.One hard pull, a sharp jerk, and the body drops.
He’s done that before.
The next guard doesn’t get his weapon up before Jag pivots and cracks the chain across the man’s face.
He swings it again, using it as a shield, garrote, lasso, whatever presents itself.Metal and flesh tangle as he drives forward with brutal economy.
That’s what ten days of restraint looks like when it breaks loose all at once.
His injuries don’t slow him.They sharpen him.And I’m feverishly, inappropriately turned on.
“Focus!”Oliver shouts in my ear.“Get out of there!”
Fists smack flesh.Chains clang, and someone lunges.I dodge by inches and feel heat rush past my ribs.
Hands slip.Bodies collide.My razor sinks deep, again and again.The floor slicks underfoot.Someone stumbles.Someone doesn’t get back up.Another crow stupidly aims his gun at me.
