Page 65 of Revenge Saints
“Your blonde friend.”
“You’re lying!” I snarl, rage burning through my fear. “She’s dead!”
I don’t think. I move. I lunge, snapping my head back with all my strength, and I hear the bones in his nose crack.
He howls, jerking back. His fist flies and connects with my cheek, hard enough to make my ears ring. The taste of blood floods my mouth.
Pain sears across my face, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I drive my knee into his ribs. He curses, body flinching, and that’s the opening I need. I scramble back, my fingers finding the handle of the knife strapped to my waist.
“You little bitch,” he spits, reaching for me again. “Fuck this. Let the blonde play with the mercenary. We don’t need you—”
I drive the knife under his chin, burying the blade to the hilt.
Blood gushes over my hands, hot and thick.
He gurgles, clawing at me, but I remember what Knox taught me—I twist.
The sound he makes echoes through the woods.
I sit there for a second, chest heaving, watching his blood pool around him, soaking the dirt and my clothes.
My fingers tighten around the bloody handle.
“She’s dead!” I scream, yanking the knife free and stabbing him again. And again. And again.
Blood splatters everywhere, hot, slick, soaking into my clothes, my skin.
His body stills. I know he’s dead, but I can’t stop.
Tears fall in thick, hot rivers down my cheeks as a guttural scream rips out of me, raw and endless, echoing through the woods until my throat burns.
I sit back, hands shaking, chest heaving, trying to breathe through the blood and panic.
Trying to remember who the fuck I am.
A crack of leaves behind me makes my body lock up. I lurch to my feet, knife raised, adrenaline blasting through my veins.
Someone steps toward me, too close, and I charge, screaming like a fucking animal.
“Fuck!” He shouts, rough and familiar.
A fist slams into my wrist, and the knife clatters from my hand. I cry out at the sharp sting shooting up my arm.
Another hand grabs me and hauls me in so hard our bodies crash together.
“It’s me!” he growls, breathless. “Aspen, it’s me!”
“Ryker,” I sob, collapsing into him, my fists clutching his jacket, my whole body trembling like it might break apart.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into him, the words hiccupping out of me with my tears.
His hands find my shoulders, steadying me, and he pulls back just enough to lean down, eyes locked onto mine, scanning every inch of my face.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
