“Me.” She threw another dagger. It caught the wounded attacker in the thigh. He went down howling. “Surprised to see me? You shouldn't be. I go where the interesting work is.”
More attackers emerged from the van. Six of them. Armed. Coordinated. They spread out with tactical precision, surrounding us in a loose semicircle. Professional muscle who'd done this before.
“We need to move,” Cal said. “Now.”
“We need to fight,” I corrected. “They'll follow us anyway.”
“Both of you need to stop arguing and start hitting people,” Lori interjected. Threw another dagger. It embedded in an attacker's gun hand. The weapon clattered to pavement. “I can't do all the work myself. Well, I could. But where's the fun in that?”
The attackers moved as one.
I caught the first with a straight punch that snapped his head back. Followed with a combination to his ribs, felt bones crackunder my knuckles. He staggered. I grabbed his jacket, used his momentum to throw him into his colleague. They went down tangled.
Cal fought like a surgeon. Precise strikes to nerve clusters, pressure points, joints. Every movement calculated for maximum damage with minimum effort. He dropped an attacker with a palm strike to the nose, crushed another's windpipe with surgical accuracy, moved through the chaos like he'd choreographed it in advance.
Lori was pure violence wrapped in elegance.
She moved like death dancing. Spun inside an attacker's guard, drove her dagger up under his ribs with clinical precision. Twisted the blade. Released it. He collapsed gurgling. She already had another blade out, threw it across the courtyard into someone's throat before they could draw their weapon. Blood sprayed. The body dropped.
“Dom, right side!” Cal shouted.
I turned. Blocked a pipe aimed at my skull. Grabbed the attacker's arm, used his forward momentum to flip him over my hip. He hit pavement hard enough to crack his skull. Didn't get up.
“Appreciated,” I grunted.
“Don't mention it. Left!”
Another attacker. This one had a knife. Came at me low, aiming for my kidney. I sidestepped, caught his wrist, drove my knee into his elbow. The joint hyperextended with a wet pop. He screamed. I silenced him with a headbutt that shattered his nose.
“You two fight like you're married,” Lori observed. Threw two daggers simultaneously. Both found targets. Throat and eye socket respectively. “It's adorable. Deadly, but adorable.”
“We're not married,” I said.
“Could've fooled me. You move like you've been doing this together for years.” She ducked under a punch, drove her blade through the attacker's femoral artery. Blood fountained. “Cal, duck!”
He obeyed without question. Her dagger sailed over his head, embedded in the chest of someone behind him. Perfect throw. Perfect timing.
“Thanks, darling,” Cal said. Dropped another attacker with an elbow to the temple.
“Anytime, handsome.” She pulled a dagger from a corpse, wiped it clean on expensive fabric. “Though we really should stop meeting like this. People will talk.”
“They already do.”
“Fair point.”
I grabbed the last standing attacker. Lifted him bodily, slammed him into the van with enough force to dent metal. His eyes rolled back. I dropped him. He didn't move.
Silence descended. Broken breathing. Groaning from the wounded. The metallic scent of blood thick in the air.
Twelve attackers down. Three of us standing. Webb cowering against a wall, his expensive suit ruined, his face white with terror.
“Well,” Lori said brightly. “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”
Cal turned to her. “What are you doing here?”
“Working. Same as you.” She retrieved her daggers with practiced efficiency. “Harrow's network is targeting Webb. I'm targeting Harrow's network. The math isn't complicated.”
“You could have mentioned you'd be here.”
