“Message from a friend. Stay away from Chicago. Go back to London. This is your only warning.” His voice stayed flat, right next to my ear.
Then he went for my kidney.
The first hit made every nerve in my body light up. The pain was instant and total, radiating out from the impact point like someone had lit me on fire from the inside.
He hit me again and I tried to scream but nothing came out. Just a choked gasp that sounded pathetic even to me.
Another blow landed and my legs gave out. Only his grip on my arm kept me upright, kept me pinned against the wall while he methodically destroyed my insides.
The world was going gray at the edges when he hit me again. I tasted bile.
One more strike and everything went white.
He let go.
I collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. I hit the ground in a heap, curled around the agony in my side, gasping for air thatwouldn't come. Every breath felt like someone was shoving a knife between my ribs and twisting.
He crouched beside me. I could see his boots in my peripheral vision, polished and clean despite the fight.
“Smart man would take the warning. Question is whether you're smart or just stubborn.” His voice was still calm, still professional, like he hadn't just beaten me half to death in an alley.
He stood up and walked away. I heard his footsteps, steady and unhurried. I heard his bike start up. I heard the engine fade as he rode away like this was just another job completed.
I lay there for I don't know how long. It could've been a minute or it could've been ten. Time stopped meaning anything when every breath felt like someone was shoving a knife between my ribs.
Finally I forced myself to move. I rolled onto my hands and knees. The world tilted violently, righted itself, and tilted again.
I vomited. I couldn't help it. Everything I'd eaten that day came up in a rush that made my ribs scream and my kidney throb and brought tears to my eyes that had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with pain.
When I was done I sat back on my heels and wiped my mouth with a shaking hand. I tried to take inventory through the haze of agony.
My ribs were cracked at minimum. They were maybe broken, but it was hard to tell when everything hurt this much.
My kidney felt like someone had beaten it with a hammer. I was probably going to be pissing blood for days.
My face was a mess. I could feel swelling already, could taste blood from where I'd bitten my tongue or split my lip or both.
My hands were scraped raw even through the gloves. My knee was throbbing from where I'd hit pavement. My shoulder was protesting every movement.
But I was alive. I hurt like hell, but I was alive.
My bike was still there. It was upright on its kickstand like nothing had happened. I stared at it, trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to get on it when standing felt like an Olympic achievement.
I needed to focus on one thing at a time.
I got to my feet. It took three tries. I leaned against the wall while the world stopped spinning enough that I could risk walking.
I made it to the bike somehow. I got my leg over the seat with a sound that was half groan, half sob. I sat there trying to remember how to function.
Someone had just tried to kill me. Or warn me. Or both.
And whoever sent them knew my name. They knew where I'd be. They knew exactly how to find me.
I started the bike with shaking hands and pointed it toward Declan's house. Snow was falling steadily now, sticking to the roads, making everything slick and treacherous. Every bump in the road sent fresh waves of agony through my battered body.
This wasn't over.
It was just getting started.
