Page 146 of Inferno

Now I play my own.

One chance left.

Survive.

“Yeah,” he grunts.

He steps closer, and I assess. Pistol on his right. Knife at his waist. Handcuffs clipped to his belt.

I let him get close. Close enough to smell the cigarettes on his breath.

He’s wary of me, I can see it in his stance. His hand lashes out, fingers splayed, but I anticipate his move and swerve, the rush of his movement brushing against my arm. I can feel the heat of his anger. Driving my heel into the back of his knee with every ounce of strength I possess, the impact sends him sprawling onto the hard ground.

With my right arm wrapped around his throat, I secure it in place with my left hand, applying pressure to the right spot on his neck.

“Grab the fucking key!” I scream.

Emma scrambles forward, trying to grab the key, but this asshole reaches out, violently tugging on her hair, easily throwing her to one side. Jess reacts instantly, claws extended,and scratches his face. My muscles scream at me as I tighten my grip. As Jess holds up the key, I grab him by the hair and push him down on his front, sitting on his back, digging my knee into his spine.

“Cuffs,” I shout, and Emma’s shaky hands find them and hand them to me.

“He’s too strong,” Jess whispers through gritted teeth.

I pull back his head.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes.

I need to speed this up, so I smash his face into the concrete, hard enough to knock him out. He goes limp beneath me, and the girls get to work.

Jumping off him, I roll him over with a grunt, swiping the gun first, then the blade and chain of keys.

Making a run for the door, I stop as I swing it open.

“You coming?” I ask them.

Emma shakes her head. Tara is a shaking mess in the corner. Visions of Isabella flood my mind.

I don’t have time for this. But they need some sort of weapon; they helped me.

“Here.”

I toss the gun at Emma’s feet, slam the door closed, and stop at the first corner.

I look up as the red dot flashes on the camera.

Maybe he will come to me.

As I reach the door, I stop, remembering the way we got in.

With a grunt, I roll this guy over and flick open the knife.

“Emma. Hold his palm down hard,” I order.

Despite trembling, she manages to maintain her composure as I open the flick knife and begin cutting through his thumb.

“You’re a fucking psycho,” Tara cries out.

To make the task easier, I snap the bone before finally grasping his thumb in my hand.

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