From the far side of the room, my mother shrieks as Marco charges toward me. I’ve got two choices.
I can use the side of my hand to chop down on the side of his neck where the tendons with their vulnerable nerves underneath sit. That move will drop anyone. All I have to do is follow through.
But I’m short. Marco is much taller than me, which makes that logistically impracticable. I go for an alternate technique, but one I have far less experience with.
Knife raised, he comes at me. My left arm sweeps out, pushing the knife out to the side. I put everything I have into driving the heel of my hand under his chin.
His teeth smack together with a loud crack.
His head snaps back.
The shockwave to his brain knocks him back, making him stagger. As he falls, however, unimaginable pain rips through my midsection.
I follow my uncle to the floor, crying out in agony.
Liam is somehow up. He wings his arms high up on his back and violently slams his wrists against his bowed back. The zip tie rips, and Liam’s hands are free. The two men grab Liam, placing their hands on his arms.
My fall seems to go on forever as everything around me slows down. Blackness crowds inward, stealing my sight. Liam battles the guards as I crumple on the sticky wet floor.
Sticky?
Wet?
A slow blink brings the unforgiving concrete into focus. That’s a lot of blood.
My blood.
A screech sounds over me. My mother races to my side. She grabs my shoulders, turning the pain in my side to white-hot agony. She lifts me into her arms, cradling me against her chest.
My arms flop as she holds me, crying into my ear.
The lights overhead flicker, and a loud cracking of wood pulls my sluggish gaze to where Liam battles for his life. Somehow, he split that rickety chair in two. With his ankles still attached to the front legs, the wood flies through the air as he lands one roundhouse kick after the next.
The men who fight him move in slow motion compared to the deadly blur that is Liam. Their reflexes come a second too late as he spins and kicks. His powerful fists smack into solid muscle, unstoppable and lethal.
He spares a look for me and pays for it with a hit to his jaw. All I see are the whites of his eyes and … fear?
Movement at the door draws my eye.
Something flies into the room.
A tiny canister.
It lands with a plink, then a pop. A hiss follows.
Two more canisters follow.
Plink. Pop. Hiss.
Plink. Pop. Hiss.
Thick smoke billows out of the first canister, followed by more from the other two. The smoke rushes inward, a roiling wave of smoke fills the room.
I blink, not believing my eyes. Six shadows materialize out of the smoke. From head to toe, they’re lethal wraiths cloaked in black. Guns raised, they spread out.
In the center of the room, Liam grabs one of his assailants by the ears, bends him forward, and jabs his knee into the guy’s gut. The man goes down in a jangle of limbs.
Liam turns to the last man standing.
That man looks at the shadow shapes and takes a step back. His hands go up in surrender, but Liam lays the man out cold with a kick to the head.
I blink, my thoughts sluggish.
Smoke obscures everything.
My mother’s tears splash on my cheek. Each time she rocks back, the pain in my abdomen makes me nearly blackout. The lancing agony, however, makes unconsciousness impossible.
A heaviness fills my arms. My thoughts turn sluggish as warmth spreads across my midsection. I know what’s happening.
I’m bleeding out.
So tired.
My lids bounce, staying closed longer while I seem to float.
An ear-piercing shriek brings me back.
My mother’s lifted up and away.
I slide toward the floor, only to be caught by strong arms and the comforting scent of the man I love. Liam lowers me down, laying me out on the floor.
He reeks of blood and sweat, but damn if it doesn’t smell like coming home. I drift in and out of consciousness, crying out when something hard presses down on my midsection.
“Medic!” Liam cries out. “Axel, get your ass over here.”
Closing my eyes, I can no longer fight the bone-deep fatigue pulling at me.
Darkness envelops me as I let go.
50
LIAM
The moment Marco pulls the knife, my gut clenches, and my heart leaps. When he turns toward Maria, I lose my shit.
Marco closes the distance between him and my woman while my stomach churns and the bottom of my world drops out beneath me. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and blood roars past my ears. I spit out more blood and see nothing but red as Marco closes in on Maria.
There’s no way I can reach her in time.
But my princess is a warrior.
She steps away from the wall. Like me, her hands are tied together with zip ties. Unlike me, her hands are bound in front of her body. She raises her hands above her head, then cuts down sharply, chopping like an axe.
Holy hell. I know that move. I teach that move to our rescues at The Facility.
The zip tie snaps, and her hands are free.
But, it’s too late.
Marco is too close.
He raises that wicked knife.
Maria, however, shows no fear. She leans forward, placing her weight on the balls of her feet, then brings her hand up across her midline. Sweeping out, she blocks his knife arm, but Marco isn’t done. He sweeps the knife out in an arc, then back toward Maria.
Her body stiffens as the knife slices into her, but my girl isn’t done. She rams the base of her palm up, against his chin, snapping his head sharply back. A shockwave ripples through Marco’s body. His hand shakes and his fingers loosen their grip on the knife. He staggers back half a step, then drops like a load of bricks.
Maria grabs her waist and cries out as she falls.
The whole thing happens in slow motion as Maria slowly crumbles to the floor. A powerful rage erupts deep within me and draws forth my most primitive, animalistic self.
Kill him.
Protect her.
Any thoughts of self-preservation fly right out the goddamn window.
With my woman in danger, I ride a powerful wave of adrenaline surging through my veins.
Strength amplifies.
Senses enhance.
Rage comes front and center.
I rise out of the chair like a man bent on murder.
Using a similar technique to the one Maria employed, I lift my bound hands as far up my back as possible. Bending forward, I turn my hands into a wedge by pressing my palms together and curling my fingers; this strains the zip tie.
Next step … a sharp, downward jerk cuts the skin of my wrists but also snaps the zip tie.
My hands are free.
As for the chair, it shatters beneath me. I kick away chunks of wood except for the two front legs, which remain attached to my ankles.
Delaying for my team to get here no longer matters.
Save Maria.
Now.
There’s no thought behind my actions. I simply react and let muscle memory take over.
I take out the man to my left with a brutal sequence of kicks and punches, then turn to the other man, ready to kill if that’s what it takes.
Muriel Rossi, however, shrieks like a banshee and runs to her daughter. It distracts me, something I pay for with a fist to my gut. I trade blow for blow with my assailant, but the broken chair hampers my movements.
The lights overhead flicker in a pattern I know well. It’s code. A series of short blips and longer flashes, similar to an S.O.S., it tells me my teammates are on their way.