“We appear to have different definitions of fun,” I grumble.
I glance over at Bes, who’s currently pinned to the ground. He reaches for a fountain pen in his pocket and presses the release along the side. The black ink splats the man directly in the eyes. He rears back, stumbling across the gravel. Bes leaps to his feet in one quick movement, grabbing at his bad arm.
Ingrid doesn’t react beyond narrowing her eyes. Meanwhile, I can’t help being impressed by his resourcefulness.
“Miss Hawkins, get out of here!” Bes yells at me as he lands a right hook along Klaus’s jaw. Klaus rebounds quickly. Despite being blinded by the ink, he manages to land a hit to Bes’s stomach. He bends over, coughing.
Before I even have a second to consider his suggestion, Ingrid raises the Luger and aims it directly at my chest, drawing my full attention back to her. “You’re not going anywhere.” She holds out her hand. “Give me the amulet, Miss Hawkins, and perhaps I’ll let you live.”
My heart pounds inside my chest. “I didn’t know your kind dealt in empty promises. Why let me live when you can take the amulet, as you said, off my cold, dead corpse?”
Her lip twitches and she cocks the gun. “This is true.”
I swallow hard. I should be terrified that I’m about to die; logic tells me it’s extremely likely. But I’ve stared down death enough times to not assume defeat. And, again, if she wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. The only hope I truly have is for Bes to get the better of Klaus so I can catch Ingrid by surprise.
When her finger hovers dangerously over the trigger, though, I’m forced to consider the possibility my quick wit won’t get me out of trouble this time—
A yelp pierces the night air behind me. I flinch.
Ignoring the gun in my face, I glance over my shoulder to find Klaus clutching his bleeding right hand, his face twisted in agony. Bes spits blood onto the ground in a crimson spray.
My eyes widen: Bes actuallybitone of the God Men.
He doesn’t spare me a glance, much less react to my silent admiration. Instead, he scrambles for Klaus’s gun, now resting flush against the museum wall. Klaus reaches for him with surprising speed and latches onto his ankle with his good hand before he can grab it. Bes slips and hits the ground hard. Undiscouraged, his fingertips scrape across the gravel mere inches from the grip.
Once again, Ingrid is completely mesmerized by the fight. Glancing down, her hand gripping the Luger has gone slightly limp and concern mars her gaze.
It’s now or never.
With the element of surprise on my side this time, I charge at her.
She catches sight of me at the last second, surprise scored across her manicured face right as I barrel into her. We hit the ground hard, the impact forcing the weapons out of both our hands. My switchblade skitters across the gravel and out of reach. The gun doesn’t go far—I clamber over her for it. She struggles beneath me, digging her nails into the flesh of my shoulders through my shirt.
For a moment, we’re nothing but a tangle of limbs and grunts. The gauze wrapped around my hands begins to loosen until it unravels itself entirely and gets lost in the tussle. Adrenaline numbs my knee but there’s a very good chance I’m already bleeding through my bandage.
Finally, something gives: the fabric of her skirt tears as she tries to sling her legs around mine. And I’m once again thankful for the invention of pants. With the long end of the Luger within my reach now, I grasp the metal with a steady hand. Rearing back to straddle her waist, I point the still-cocked gun at her head.
She immediately stops struggling.
I expect to see fear in her eyes with death staring her in the face, but she sneers instead.
“Do it,” she spits. “Pull the trigger.”
She lifts her head so the gun presses directly between her eyes. I tighten my hold on the grip.Don’t flinch.
“Because if you don’t kill me now, I’m going to hunt you down, and then you’re going to wish you had.”
My chest heaves with indecision. I likely have less than five seconds before she tries to take the gun from me. I’ve already made up my mind, though: I can’t kill her. As much as I’ll regret not executing her when I had the chance, I can’t take another person’s life today.
I hope I live to regret this.
“You talk too much,” I tell her. “And I should know.”
Swinging the handle at her skull with as much force as I can muster, I smash the grip into her temple with a crack. She goes limp.
Breathing hard, I inspect her face: the skin where I clocked her is split open and bleeding more than it should, as head wounds tend to do. Her eyes remain closed shut in unconsciousness. The sight of another one of the God Men hurt by my hand should sicken me, but instead it gives me a warped sense of satisfaction.She won’t be going anywhere any time soon.
Then, I remember Bes.
