The drone was ink-black, with tiny red lights. It passed low, buzzing right by the villa.
Too low.
Ripley unleashed a creative stream of curse words, under his breath.
“INSIDE,” he said, pushing me back. “We need to—”
The living area window exploded inward with a tremendous crash. I spun around too late to avoid the shower of glass, but quick enough to save my eyes.
Before I could recover, I felt an arm hook around my waist.
“Got her.”
I whirled on a man dressed all in black. He wore a headset and goggles, with thin layers of body armor pulled over gloves.
Instinctively, I elbowed him as hard as I could in theface. When he didn’t let go, my hand grabbed something else… something hard, and smooth, and full. I recognized it halfway through my swing: the bottle of rum we’d been drinking the night before. It was only half-empty, and shattered spectacularly against the man’s face.
There was a crack of teeth. Multiple teeth.
“FUCKKK!” he spat, through a gurgle of blood.
I was still holding the jagged end of the bottle, so I shoved it back in the direction of his face. Lines of blood appeared, accompanied by more screaming. For some reason, I thought I’d feel fear, or guilt, or revulsion.
But I felt none of those things, so I pulled back and stabbed forward again.
My attacker’s grip loosened momentarily, and I pulled myself away. There was no way I was being taken; not now, not ever. Donovan Prescott had owned me once already, or at least he thought he did. But that was long since over.
And I vowed I would die before that ever happened again.
“Get her!”
The man to my left rushed in, and I stomped his foot as hard as I could. There was crunch and a scream, as if I might’ve broken something. But his arms still made their way around me, pinning me to the wall.
“Peyton, DUCK!”
I let myself go utterly limp in his grasp, my body dead weight. It was just enough to slide downward, in the direction of the floor. Something passed over me, a split-second after I got out of the way. That something was a table leg. The assholes crashing through the window and smashing thefurniture apart had so thoughtfully provided it, and Ripley had taken them up on their offer to introduce it to someone’s face.
The sound of thick wood thudding against a skull was a little bit frightening, but also relieving. It meant we were winning. It meant we were—
CRACK!
A fist suddenly connected with my face. My jaw moved sideways, in a really weird way. I was left standing there, holding it, counting my teeth with my tongue. Looking back at the guy who’d just struck me.
Ripley saw the whole thing.
Something in his face changed.
Oh shit…
Rage ensued; unlike anything I’d ever seen or even imagined. Ripley didn’t just pounce on the guy who’d hit me, he lifted him into the air before body-slamming him to the ground. The noise he made as the air was forced from his lungs didn’t sound human at all. Neither did the sound of Ripley’s fists as they connected, again and again, with what remained of the guy’s face.
“Hey…” I muttered through my sore jaw.
He was on top of the attacker now, straddling the man, pinning him down. Ripley’s fists moved in opposite circular arcs, like great windmills of destruction. Every time they fell, they brought even more damage and destruction. I was hypnotized by arcs of blood, as his white knuckles turned red.
“Ripley!”
He spun at the waist, whirling back to check on me. His expression didn’t even look human anymore. It was purelyferal, animalistic. Without a word, he went back to pulverizing what remained of the man’s face.
