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Air slams out of my lungs—
I twist, trying to get leverage—
He’s stronger.
Bigger.
Closer.
Too close.
His hand closes around my wrist, slamming it into the dirt.
“Got you,” he snarls.
My pulse spikes—
Not fear.
Calculation.
Always calculation.
I shift my weight—drive my knee up—
He blocks it.
Of course he does.
Professional.
Trained.
Not just a hired gun.
Something else.
“You’re worth a lot of trouble,” he says.
My stomach drops.
Not random.
Never random.
“Who sent you?” I demand.
He smiles.
Cold.
Knowing.
“You already know.”
No.
No, I don’t.
