Page 33 of Hooked On Victor
Victor didn’t give her time to get up.
He surged back at the intruder like a cornered animal, both hands out, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting until bones cracked. The knife clattered across the floor, spinning under the table.
The intruder snarled, slamming a knee into Victor’s injured thigh.
Victor buckled.
But he didn’t drop.
He punched the man in the throat so hard the sound was wet and choked.
Blood hit the floor in thick, obscene drops.
Rose didn’t think.
She grabbed the heavy cast-iron kettle off the stove, its bottom slick with grease, and swung it with all her weight.
It connected with the intruder’s skull with a sickeningthunk.
He crumpled immediately.
Victor didn’t hesitate. He followed him to the floor, pressing a knee into the man’s throat, his own blood dripping onto the black clothes below.
The man thrashed once.
Then went still.
Victor stayed there, chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and blood, his lip split and leaking red onto his teeth.
Rose scrambled to his side.
Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip his arm, but she forced them still.
“Victor,” she gasped, voice cracking. “We have to go. Now.”
He turned his head to her slowly.
Eyes wild.
Focused.
He swallowed, blood dripping off his chin.
“Are you sure?” he rasped.
She stared at him.
Really stared.
Took in the blood. The bruises. The fear behind his rage.
“I’m sure,” she whispered. Her voice didn’t shake this time.
“You’re not alone anymore. And I don’t care what your name used to be. I’m not letting you die here.”
Victor closed his eyes, exhaled like he was in pain.
And then he nodded once.
