Page 136 of Throwing Fire

I ignore him. My kitten is crucifiedon the fucking wallten meters from me. Whatever bodies there are between me and she, I’m going through them.

I kick a rat out of my way and cut down three more Ojos before Erin, grinning bloodily, shoves a shock stick into my shoulder. My body armor takes the worst of it, but she would get my good shoulder.

My arm goes numb. My blade clatters to the floor.

She spits blood in my face before she pulls her arm back to hit me with the stick again.

I draw with my injured hand, feeling bone grind on broken bone, and ram a kukri through her gut.

Her designer uni might look good, but it doesn’t deflect my blade.

I leave her spitted, sagging to her knees, her eyes and mouth wide with shock. I kick her onto her back and snarl as I pass, “Don’t bleed out until I get a chance to hang you.”

Match has fried whoever was blocking the road to Kez and Acker. I step over the black, smoking lumps, step up to my kitten. They’vestretched her high on the wall; our heads are even. She’s covered in blood and soot. I can’t tell where and how she’s injured except for her arms.

I press our chests together gently to take the weight off her arms. Cup her chin with my broken, throbbing hand. I pull off my breather, give her the comfort of skin-on-skin as I lift her head and nuzzle gently along her jaw.

“I’m here, kitten,” I breathe into her ear. My words catching on a cough from the smoke. My nose fills with the reek of burnt hair. I swallow back a hard gip. “I came. Tell me you held on for me.”

A hiss of breath. The tiniest movement against my cheek. “I ... held on.”

The rush of relief is so vast, so profound, all I can do for a long moment is breathe against her. When I pull my ass together, I fit the breather over her face.

“Deep breaths, kitten. As deep as you can,” I whisper to her. Watch as she takes a few deep breaths to make sure the mask has a good seal. “I’ll come back and kill everyone who hurt you, but we’re getting the fuck out of here now.”

“Acker,” she hisses. “Erin shot him. Defending me. Take ... him first.”

“No, kitten. The rats’ll take care of him. You’re mine. You first.”

Before I can take her off the wall, I have to pull out the knives through her wrists. Before I pull out the knives, I have to get up close and personal with the wounds to make sure she won’t bleed out when I remove the knives.

She wrapped her forearms with genSkin and monofilament before we left the Deeps. My smart kitten. The genSkin has sealed the wounds. Some of the monofilament has been driven into her flesh, but I don’t need to touch it to take out the knives. I’ll let Doc Gray work his magic on her once we’re safe.

I ease the first knife out, catch her arm before it flops, and lay it gently over my shoulder. Feeling is finally returning to my goodhand, which makes the removal of the second knife easier. I pull Kez tightly to my chest as she slumps away from the wall.

“I have you, kitten. I have you.”

“Hand?” She blinks up at me. She’s in shock. Her cheeks are pale and waxy. Her eyes glazed. There’s blood spattered across her face, streaked down her neck. Either hers before the genSkin sealed the wounds or Acker’s. Or both.

“Fuck my hand,” I tell her as I figure out the angles and swing her up into my arms. Settle her head on my good shoulder, her legs cradled in my bad arm. Even with the sling, that hurts. Definitely getting another lecture from Doc Gray. “Doc Gray can cut it off and make me a new one. I might even opt for a flamethrower model.”

Match, who is performing the same knife-removal operation on Acker less than a meter to my left, grunts. Tears cut runnels through the soot on his face, down to the pink newskin. My own face feels wet; I probably look the same. I lift my chin at him. He nods at me.

“I’m taking Kez to my ship. Kill everyone.”

Match doesn’t blink. “Come to the Deeps when um done.”

“We will,” I promise. “Do you want a Tyng med team for Acker?”

Match shakes his head. “We heal our own.”

I turn away from the wall and find a silent crescent of rats behind us. Six, black-uniformed Ojos kneel at their feet. One holds Erin by the throat. My kukri’s still sticking out of her stomach, quivering with each breath.

I turn my head until I find Exeter. He’s standing near the windows, holding his gun on Erin.

“Get the rope outta my pack,” I tell him.

He nods, holsters his gun, and roots around in my bag until he comes up with the rope.

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