Page 102 of Devotion

“Not for us.” Because nothing can stop us when we are together.

But we are a little taken aback when a motorcycle skids to a halt several feet from us. The man in the black mask, decked out in black leather, steps off the bike. And the balls on this guy.

He doesn’t even appear to have a gun.

Other than the rifle I see strapped to the bike.

His stance is calm, balanced. Somehow, it’s still threatening as hell.

So I rush him, banking on the element of surprise.

A knife appears from nowhere, almost catching my face, my shoulder, my ribs, my arm. He’s insanely fast. Fortunately, so am I.

Parrying the first few blows, I pinch a nerve, dropping the knife into my hand.

Just as quickly, another one glitters in his other hand, meeting my strike and blocking me in a flurry of perfect slashes.

He drives me back a step, then another.

But I’ve got backup.

Vanya lunges in from his blind spot, sweeping his leg. Somehow he’s already in the air, hopping over the kick and driving the heel of his boot into her face.

A glancing blow.

Then he’s charging and it’s everything I can do to brace myself as he careens into me, tackling me to the ground. I scoop my knees under him in the tumble, kicking him into the air above me, right over my head. Like a goddamn circus performer.

Gloved hands hit the ground first, handspringing back to his feet.

The utter audacity of this motherf?—

Three knives gleam and I’m spinning, Vanya’s leaping. His throws are dangerously close. It gives us a moment to close, teaming up on him. He uses the wall, bouncing back on us with every kick, punch, and slash; matching us in speed, strength.

He’s a fucking ninja.

And add to the fact that we kicked our own asses tonight and Vanya is not dressed for action…

The killer has us on the ropes, driving us back, inch by inch.

Despite our best efforts he drives a wedge between us, pushing us apart. With a fraction of an opening, he feigns toward Van’s head and I reach out involuntarily. A stupid move.

Blood sprays from my hand, a fist following to smash my nose.

Then I’m soaring through the air.

Pavement cushions my fall. We’re old friends.

Off a ways, past my front-row view of my feet, I hear a sharp impact, a scuffle. Then a piercing yelp of pain. Trying to sit up, I catch him swinging her around, twisting her arm behind her and driving her to her knees.

“Vanya!”

Adrenaline floods into my numb extremities and I’m fucking fish-eyed, first-person-shooter vision and charging like a linebacker. In slow motion, I watch him swivel to the side, hooking an arm around mine, lurching me out of his path and away, stumbling in my own momentum.

He’s right there when I turn, his knee catching me in the sternum, blasting the breath out of me. Black dims the edges of my vision as I collapse.

And he scoops up Vanya before she can recover, pressing a blade to her neck.

“Enough. Move and she dies.”

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