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A man grunts.
A fist catches my ribs. Pain tears through my side so sharp and immediate it’s almost welcome. I know what to do with this kind of pain. It has a shape, an edge, a place it lives in my body. It’s nothing like the other kind, the kind that doesn’t bruise or bleed. The kind that’s been sitting in my chest since the creek, with nowhere to go and nothing to fix it. This, at least, I know how to survive.
I slam my forehead into Slate’s nose. Blood pours over his mouth.
“You son of a bitch.”
"Tell Cullen." I spit blood into the snow. "To stop being a fucking coward. If he wants revenge, he can quit hiding behind his boys and come earn it himself."
That costs me.
The scarred man kicks me in the stomach. Air tears from my lungs. Hands drag me off Slate and throw me against a tree. Bark scrapes across my cheek.
I swing at the first face I see.
My fist lands.
Another takes its place.
There’re too many. I know it, and they know it. But it doesn’t stop me.
A blade appears near my ribs. I trap the wrist, twist until the man shouts, and drive his hand against the trunk. The knife falls into the snow.
I reach for it as a boot crushes my fingers. Something heavy strikes the back of my shoulder.
My knees hit the ground, but I rise again.
Slate wipes blood from his face with the back of one hand. “Hold him.”
Three men come at me. I drop one. Maybe two. The details blur together.
A mouth splits beneath my fist. A knee drives into my spine. Someone’s fingers claw at my eyes. I taste blood.
I don’t defend myself well enough. That realization comes distantly, almost curious, like it’s happening to someone else. I’m attacking, not surviving, and some part of me has already decided that’s fine.
Raven taught me the difference once.
She made me promise I’d always come home.
But she’s not home anymore.
A fist connects with my temple, and the world tilts. Snow rises to meet me before I remember falling.
Hands roll me onto my back.
The sky above the trees is pale and colorless. Snow lands against my face and melts into the blood near my mouth.
Slate stands over me. His nose is crooked now.
“You’re not nearly as impressive as I remember.”
I laugh.
It hurts.
“Come closer.”
His boot drives into my ribs and something inside gives.
