Page 61 of Danger Close
I had no weapon. Not even my car keys which had pepper spray.
I looked at Charlotte’s hands, and while her keys looked sturdy, if these were Ray’s men, they’d make little difference.
“Charlotte,” I said, quietly. “Go to the car and lock the door. Drive away.”
Charlotte didn’t take her eyes off of them, but from what I could see of her expression in my peripheral vision, she had no intention of doing what I told her to.
“Do it.” I looked at the men, their build, even their clothes… They were muscular, with those tan pants that had a lot of pockets, and t-shirts that showed off built biceps, and muscular shoulders. They were government agents. I could tell.
They were Ray’s men. I had no doubt of it.
“Charlotte, go!”
“Fuck that noise,” she said viciously. “We don’t leave our own.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know these people.”
“And you do?”
“Yes!” I hissed out the word with desperation, tugging on her arm, telling her to go. “They’re not here for you. Get away, before you get hurt.”
One of them had black hair, and a scar along his cheek. He smirked at me, his light eyes looking white and washed out in nothing but the silver moonlight. It was unsettling.
She turned her head for an instant, her face full of scorn. It wasn’t directed at me. It was directed atthem. “No man gets left behind.”
It happened in an instant. The one with the scar lunged for Charlotte and she crouched to the ground. He toppled over her as she lurched forward, taking him by the center of gravity until he fell over her, his face scraped on the cement.
Another man had long hair, pulled in a ponytail. He leered at me, as he clicked his tongue.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you, baby,” he said in a mocking seduction that made my stomach twist. “I’ve heard a lot. Seen pictures, too.”
Bastard!
He laughed, and without provocation, I punched. My right fist connected with his nose in a sickening crack. I attacked first.
You shouldn’t punch people in the nose, not just because of the injury to them, but the injury to your hand. A fist is no good ifyou break it. Thankfully, mine was just tender. The throbbing ache on my knuckles would be nothing compared to how his face felt.
Fueled by years of misery, I fought, and fought. Whoever was before me, it did not matter. He was Ray. He was his effigy. I would break him. The third man tried to intervene. But I didn’t care.
Misery. Pain. Sorrow. Humiliation.
They were all there, spiraling out of control as tears streamed down my face.
The third man, clad in a bomber jacket and baseball cap kicked with his metal-toed boot, hitting me in the ribs. I grunted, falling forward, as the man with the ponytail struck the blade of his forearm against my throat. I dipped my chin, creating space between his hold and my skin so he couldn’t cut off my air as I stomped my foot onto his, wailing as I elbowed him in the ribs, then punched forward to hit the man with the bomber jacket.
Charlotte was still fighting, punching down at her opponent, far better trained than these people.
I should have expected that. If she was in the same line of work as Cobra, then surely she’d be a good fighter. I just… didn’t expect it from her, as I had only ever seen her maternally cooking for her “children”.
I elbowed Ponytail again, and again, until his grip around me loosened, and I could slip from his grasp.
“You okay?” Charlotte called, still busy with the scarred one.
“Yes,” I said, as I ducked down to avoid a punch from Bomber Jacket. I was too slow and the impact hit my shoulder, but did not cause permanent damage. Ponytail stepped in and he kicked my kneecap, taking me down to a knee with a yelp, while Bomber Jacket lunged forward, hitting me in the face again.
I felt the sickening crack as his knuckle hit my jaw, and I whined, feeling the old injury agitated once again.
But it didn’t break. Not really. It just hurt. I would not be eating liquids from a straw.
