“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Another grunt releases from Cec’s throat, followed by the sound of heavy iron loosening its hold. The scrape of metal against cobblestone reverberates loudly from above—I wince when it echoes worse through the tunnel.
Wait… that’s not metal.
I glance down the tunnel—finding a shadow moving toward us swiftly.
“Bes—” I start, but he’s already lunging toward the person, procuring a switchblade from his pants pocket. I go to reach formy own, but he pushes me aside; I slam into the bars Cec just climbed up, the metal bruising my ribs and hip.
Instead of words, I’m answered with a grunt—a fist hitting flesh—another grunt—then a third. The two men exchange blows, neither knocking the other to the ground.
Even with the grate open and the low moonlight shining through, our attacker remains a shadow in the dark. I grip my switchblade tighter. I don’t attempt to join just yet. We’re in such close quarters, there’s a good chance I might stab Bes instead.
Gaining the advantage, the man steps into the light more. I gasp. I recognize him as the one I danced with briefly. Betrayal strikes into my heart—when he lands a punch on Bes that knocks him out of the way for a moment. He then lunges for me with a knife, his other hand reaching toward my midsection.Is he trying for the amulet?
Before I can think to move or shout, Bes steps in front of me.
The blade sinks partway into the flesh between his shoulder and his heart. He collapses into me, groaning and gasping.
Fuck,fuck.
I move to charge at the man with my own weapon—instead, Bes thrusts his switchblade between the attacker’s ribs and into his heart. Surprise flits across his face and he loosens his grip on his weapon before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.
Now the fascist no longer poses a threat, Bes leans into me completely, his breath low and rapid.
“Shit,” I mutter as I grip his shoulders, my chest clenching. “Not now, Bes. You can’t die. Not like this.”
“Fear not, Miss Hawkins. It missed my heart,” he manages to say, confirming my earlier deduction. “But good God, it really fucking hurts.”
Tears bite behind my eyes, taking his swearing as a good sign. “If you hadn’t stepped in front of that knife, you wouldn’t be hurting at all.”
His glasses glint in the low moonlight. “Physically, no.”
Cec’s voice carries down from above before I can respond. “What’s happening?”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I tell Bes, “I can’t carry you. Can you climb up to the street with one hand?”
Luckily, the blade pierced his bad side, leaving his right side free and clear.
Bes nods, wincing even at that small movement.
I head up first, arms and hands trembling along the metal bars. They’re slick with God knows what, and I’m careful with each step so I don’t slip.
Chest heaving, I pull myself up onto an empty street, Cec at my side.
“What the bloody hell happened down there?” Cec demands.
First, I crouch low, taking stock of my surroundings before answering him. Luckily, there aren’t many streetlamps here; in fact, the grate sits almost directly between two of them. Either we got lucky, or this tunnel was strategically placed.Something tells me it’s the latter.
I turn back as Bes’s white-shirt arm pops up through the hole, followed by his head and other arm.
“Bes was stabbed,” I explain, leading Cec over to the open hole and guiding his hand to Bes’s right forearm. “Pull him up.”
Dropping his cane, Cec does as I ask without question. I shift over to Bes’s injured side, wrapping my arms around his torso and lifting. He groans but otherwise doesn’t say anything.
Once he’s over the edge, we lay him down on the ground. Eyes closed tight, his face is as pale as can be, the knife still stuck in his chest. Now I can see it better, I let out a breath: as he said, it doesn’t look like it pierced anything vital.
His handsome face is bloody with a couple fresh cuts, his eye already blackening.At least he’s alive.
