Page 68 of Emperor of Corruption
“Check her purse,” he calls over her shoulder. “Let’s see how much the bitch is worth.”
Not very much at all. I have a good salary, but in a city as expensive as New York, six figures is the bare minimum to live a halfway decent life. My purse is from an off-brand label, as is my wallet, and I don’t carry more than twenty dollars in cash with me at any given time. My phone model is from years ago, so that won’t make them much either, and I left my personal laptop at home today.
I see a flash of movement behind the man holding me against the wall, just before another guy picks up my purse, turns it over, and dumps the contents on the filth-covered uneven pavement.
“Phone,” the one holding me says. His forearm lifts from my neck, replaced with a cold steel blade. A whimper claws its way up my throat, and a tear leaks from my eye.
Just comply, Lyra. Comply, and they’ll leave you alone.
I reach a shaking hand into the pocket of my slacks, withdrawing my iPhone and holding it up. The other guy—also wearing a ski mask—rips it from my hand.
“Password,” the one holding me demands. “And don’t fuckin’ bother screaming. Ain’t nobody around to hear you.”
“128437,” I whisper, my voice shaking. Ski Mask One—the man pressing a sharp knife to my throat—throws a glance over his shoulder. “Does it work?”
After a pause, the other one says, “Yup.”
“Good.” Ski Mask One turns back to me, and I feel his muddy eyes rake a disgusting gaze over me. “You’re a pretty one, aren’t ya?” he leans closer, and I close my eyes, turning my head away. My panic triples as he raises his knife to my cheek, pressing the cold steel right under my eye. “How about we have some fun?”
No, no, no, no, no.Being forced by Killian is one thing, and it’s something I’ve come to terms with. In an alleyway, with men who are probably riddled with STD’s… I’d ratherdie.
“Please let me go,” I whimper, not bothering to conjure any bravado. “I—I won’t tell anyo—”
Ski Mask One cuts me off with a cruel chuckle. His free hand drops to my pants, fingers hooking over the waist. “You can tell whoever the fuck you want. Doesn’t mean we’ll be found.” He gives a sharp tug, and a tearing noise sounds. My pants loosen.
That’s when my survival instincts overcome my better sense, and I start fighting in earnest. I lift up my knee with all my force to relieve the asshole of his family jewels; the knife cutsintomy cheek, right under my eye. Ski Mask One doubles over with a roar, and I release an ear piercing scream.
The noise cuts off when Ski Mask Two punches me in the stomach with such force, it knocks all the breath out of me. I let out a pathetic wheeze, dropping to my knees and clutching my abdomen.
The mouth of the alleyway is just in front of me.I can get away.I know I can. I crawl a step forward, but Ski Mask One recovers quicker than I can and jerks on my ankle, making pain radiate through my legand flattening me on the ground. He flips me over and punches me again in the stomach; this time, I nearly pass out.
His eyes are manic now, absolutely furious. He pins my arms above my head, and I scream again—he wraps a hand around my throat.
“Fuckingbitch,” he spits. “I’ll show you—”
He pauses when a shout comes from Ski Mask Two, the pressure on my throat loosening. He turns around, and a loudbangsounds. Time slows to a crawl as his blood splatters across my face, and a pitiful cry leaves my lips. The spray is warm, thick, and the horrible sensation is something I’ll never be fortunate enough to forget.
I blink when I see abullet holein his temple. His eyes glaze over, any hint of life leaving them. My vision’s blurry, my eyes are watering from agony, and I’m shaking like a sapling in a storm. His weight crashes down on top of me, flattening me completely. I try to shove him off, but he’s too heavy.
A heartbeat later, he’s dragged off of me. A pair of hands clasp my shoulders, and I screech again, fighting instinctually, shoving and clawing.
“Lyra—Lyra!” A voice roars. Afamiliargritty voice.
My eyes crack open.
Locke.
Killian’s guard dog leans over me, shaking me furiously. He stops when I quit fighting him, and his dark eyes do a cold, analytical sweep of me.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
I don’t respond, numb with shock. My brain is trying and failing to process what just happened—to process thedead body beside me.
Locke gives me another shake. “Are you hurt?”
“I… I d-don’t think so,” I wheeze, my voice scratchy. My abdomen is in agony and my cheek stings, but nothing’s broken.
“Good.” Locke shakes his head, making the tattoos on his neck dance across his skin. “This is gonna be a fuckin’ nightmare,” he mutters to himself. “Can you walk?”
