Page 54 of Illicit

I hear it before I see it.

A shuffle at my back.

I whip around.

He’s lunging at me, the knife angled straight for my neck.

“Fuck.” The word barely slips through my lips when I put an arm up and dodge to the right.

I was an all-state receiver before I dropped out of high school.

I played D-1 for four years. Granted, it was a small D-1.

But I’ve got three inches and at least thirty pounds on this guy.

He might not be fast, but he’s not slow. The blade grazes my arm. I grip his wrist and twist.

He cries out in pain when his arm is pinched up his back in a way God did not intend. I slam his face into the wall.

“Drop it,” I growl at the same time I feel hands on me from behind.

Fingers squeeze around my neck like a noose.

I gasp for air

I keep hold of the guy’s hand with the knife and let go with the other. I swing my elbow back and hear the crack the moment I connect with his jaw, but he holds tight.

I do it again.

And again.

Just when I think I’m going to have to focus on the guy behind me so I can breathe, I swing my arm around. He howls and lets go immediately.

I’ve been in tight situations before, but never one where oxygen felt like a gift.

I rip the knife from his hand and push him to the floor with his friend, who’s writhing in pain. Blood is seeping from his face where he’s holding his eye.

I thought that felt like an eye socket.

Jules Robichaux is standing there watching the whole thing like this is his favorite spectator sport.

It probably is.

His arms are crossed, and he’s wearing a smirk on his ugly mug. He unfolds his arms and starts to slow clap. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trained.”

I back up to the door, and for the first time, feel the pain in my arm.

Exactly where I wear the scar to remind me of what I could’ve been.

“If you consider the school of hard knocks training, then yeah. Don’t fuck with me, Robichaux. You’ll get it back ten-fold if you do.”

He drops his arms to his sides and loses the smirk. “You’re the one who needed me, fuckwad. Tonight was my JV squad. This is a taste of what you’ll get if I get blow back from working with you. Get the fuck outta my building.”

That’s something I don’t need an invitation to do.

I don’t take my eyes off him or the incompetent assholes he calls the JV. I put my hand to the door and push it open.

I check my surroundings, but don’t waste any time. My phone is going crazy, and I don’t hesitate when two cars I recognize drive by. It’s Taylor and another agent. They must see me, because they hit the gas and speed by.

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