Page 93 of Knot Playing Fair 2

He was backlit in the open doorway, a gun silhouetted in his raised hand. I charged forward—praying there were no more random items to stumble over—and lifted the drawer in both hands the way I’d practiced. With my full weight behind it, I hauled off and slammed it into the man’s head an instant before I crashed into him.

He dropped like a stone, my momentum sending me over the top of him and several steps into the room. Miraculously, I still had hold of the drawer, although my left hand’s grip was slick and wet now. The metal edge must have sliced open my palm.

“What thefuck!” shouted the second goon, even as Luca screamed “Get off me!”

I blinked, dazzled by the sudden light after stumbling around in the dark for so long. When details became visible through the glare of portable lights, I found myself facing another angry man with a gun. Only this time, it was already pointed straight at my chest, and I didn’t have the momentum of a running start.

I froze, gripping the drawer in front of me like the world’s lamest non-bulletproof shield.

Luca scrambled off the old metal table where the second guy had apparently been holding him down. He backed away, looking around wildly, and I recognized the all-too-familiar expression of someone looking for a weapon when there were no good weapons to be found.

“Motherfucker,” the goon cursed, looking past me to the crumpled body in the doorway. “The boss ain’t done with you yet, asshole—but I expect you can still sign a piece of paper after I blow off yourfuckin’ kneecaps!”

Luca had fetched up with his back pressed against the wall to my right.

“Don’t hurt him!” he gasped. His left hand was clamped over his right bicep, and I just had enough time to think, ‘oh, god, we were too slow’before the goon sneered and steadied his aim, lowering the barrel of the gun from my chest toward my lower legs.

“I’ll do more than hurt him, you omega piece of crap,” he threatened. “And when I’m done with him, I’m gonna tie you down and make you take it up the ass until you’re shitting ribbons.”

I had a panic-stricken instant to wonder if I could throw the drawer at the guy before he could get a shot off. In my moment of frozen indecision, a weak voice behind me wheezed, “Yeah, don’t think so. Nat,duck.”

Don’t think. Just act.

I dove for the floor, grunting as I landed on the unforgiving edge of the drawer. An explosion of sound deafened me, and when I craned around to look, the goon was halfway through the act of toppling over, as though someone had filmed him in slow motion. The gun fell from his limp hand, although I could barely hear the clatter as it hit concrete.

I whipped around in the other direction, gaping—the breath knocked out of me. Byron was sprawled half on top of theunmoving body of the first goon. A tiny curl of smoke drifted up from the barrel of the stolen gun clasped in his right hand.

He let it fall from his grip, eerily echoing his victim.

The rushing in my ears began to recede, replaced by the muffled sound of three people’s harsh, ragged breathing. I turned, looking for Luca.

The omega slid down the wall, still clutching his arm. His green eyes were as wide as dinner plates, flicking from me to Byron and back again.

“You... you came for me,” he said, the words sounding tinny and distorted through my messed-up hearing. “N-no one ever comes to help... but you came.”

“Did they inject you?” I asked urgently.

He shook his head, looking dazed.

“Your arm?” I pressed, gesturing at the bicep he was holding.

“I think I wrenched my shoulder when they were pinning me down,” he said, sounding worryingly distant and detached. “You’re both hurt. We need to get out of here. Blaze may still be in the building.”

“Love to,” Byron grated out. “Just one small problem.” He gestured at his leg, which was bleeding through the makeshift bandage again.

Somewhere outside, distant sirens sounded. It took me a moment to realize that if I could hear them through the all-pervasive ringing in my ears, theycouldn’tbe as distant as all that. In fact, they had to be pretty goddamn close.

“Are those sirens getting louder?” I asked.

The other two paused, listening.

“Yeah,” Byron said after a moment. “Shit.”

He looked at the two unmoving bodies on the floor.

“Wipe your prints off the gun,” I said without thinking, only to stop and shake my head. “No. Wait. It’s not a crime to use force when someone’s threatening your life.”

The sirens were getting really close now.

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