I gasp, my hands over my mouth, but Kostya dodges it and hits the guy in the ribs. The second guy shouts and grabs for Kostya as the first guy grunts and stumbles, but Kostya steps backward and knocks him off-balance, just as the first guy recovers.
“Stop fighting!” I shout.
It’s useless, obviously, but I can’t just stand there, and joining in would just be stupid.
They rush him both at the same time and this time I yelp. Kostya elbows one in the side of the face and I cringe and hold my breath, because that looks fucking painful.
Maybe he has this under control, I think, even though I still feel like I can’t breathe.
Then someone grabs around me from behind.
I scream, struggling hard against the arm that’s around my chest, dropping my motorcycle helmet. Kostya looks over and one of the guys clocks him in the chin.
“Fucking get off me!” I shout, but the guy who’s got me just laughs and tightens his arm, saying something I don’t understand into my ear.
I grind my teeth together and force myself to take a deep breath, even though I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand up straight, and I will myself to remember something, anything, from all those self-defense classes I took in college.
I stomp the heel of my shoe down as hard as I can, right on his toes.
The guy behind me roars. He doesn’t let me go but I thrash and manage to get away from him at last. He’s screaming at me in Russian, one hand on the wall, his foot in his other hand.
I just made him angrier, I think.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
He looks down at his foot, and in that split second I grab Kostya’s helmet off the bike and swing it at his head as hard as I can.
It connects with a dull thud before glancing off, and the guy’s head snaps to one side but it doesn’t knock him out like I was hoping it might. He’s still screaming, his face turning purple with anger, and behind me I can hear Kostya still fighting the other two.
The guy I hit lunges toward me, and I scream again. His face is inches from mine, and for some reason, I notice that his top teeth are straight and his bottom teeth are really fucked up as he grabs me by the front of my jacket and shakes me.
I drop the helmet. He swings me toward the wall, nearly lifting me off my feet, and I do the last thing I can think of.
I knee him as hard as I can in the balls.
His eyes go wide and he makes the worst sound I’ve ever heard a person make, the veins in his forehead popping out.
I do it again.
Then I back away. My foot catches something and I nearly go down, but then the wall’s at my back and I put my hands on it for support. My heart’s thundering and I’m breathing so hard I feel like I’ve run a marathon, my eyes glued to the guy whose balls I just kicked.
He stares at me, agony written all over his face.
Then he falls to his knees, both hands cupping his crotch. I just stand still. My whole body’s shaking so hard with adrenaline that I feel like there’s an earthquake inside me.
“Hazel,” Kostya’s voice says, and I snap my head up.
He’s still standing in the middle of the narrow alley. One of the guys is on the ground, curled around himself, and the other is against the wall, holding his nose, both eyes purpling.
“Hey,” I say, like an idiot.
He glances at both the beat up men, then walks toward me and grabs me by the arm.
“Are you okay?” he says, his voice low and serious. His eyes bore into mine.
I just nod wordlessly. I’m afraid that if I try to say anything else I’m going to start sobbing.
Chapter Sixteen
Kostya
I’ll fucking murder them, I think, looking down at Hazel. If they fucking hurt her I’ll fucking murder them, I swear to God.
“I’m fine,” she whispers at last, and even her voice is shaking. I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
I pull her to me and hold her tight. She’s trembling and my heart is still beating wildly. Sweat’s pouring down my back, and I’m practically jumping out of my skin with adrenaline, but Hazel’s okay.
I’ll kill them, I think, over and over. I swear I’ll kill them.
“I’m sorry,” Hazel whispers.
“Shh.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine,” she says. She’s babbling. “I’m okay.”
The guy on the ground coughs, and I tighten an arm around Hazel, her head against the hollow of my throat. She takes a deep breath, and I can tell she’s trying to get a grip on herself.
“Can you hold on?” I ask.
She nods shakily.
“Then we’re gonna leave,” I say, and let her go.
The asshole against the wall with the black eyes is looking at me like he’s thinking of trying again, and the guy on the ground is on his hands and knees, still breathing funny, but he’s looking at me with murder in his eyes.
The guy Hazel kicked in the balls is down for the count, on his knees, head bent. I fight the urge to kick him in his goddamn face and break his skull, because I’ve got enough honor not to hit someone when he’s down.
I grab my jacket and hand it to her.
“I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head.
“Take it,” I order her, and she does.
I pull on my helmet and straddle the bike, watching the three guys while she climbs on behind me and buckles her helmet. I can’t actually kill them, at least not if they stay down.
“Pig,” one of them says to me in Russian.
“You want more?” I growl back at him.
He glares, but he doesn’t do anything. If I were alone I’d happily go another round, but I just want to get Hazel out of here.
I can’t believe I took her here in the first place, I think. What the hell is wrong with me?
Hazel gets on behind me, swimming in my jacket, her hands disappearing into the sleeves when she reaches around me.
“Hang on,” I say into the intercom.
Then I start the bike with a roar, leaving the three of them behind and zooming along the canal as fast as I dare. Neither of us says anything until the hulking gray buildings are disappearing behind us, but I can hear Hazel’s breathing over the intercom, slowing and evening out.
Once we’re in a better neighborhood, I slow down a little, then take one hand off the handlebars and slide it into the sleeve of my jacket, finding Hazel’s hand.
“What was that about?” she finally asks.
“The bar got busted by the military police,” I explain.
“Is that why they had machine guns?” she asks.
“All police have machine guns,” I say.
“Oh.”
“The men in the alley recognized me,” I say. I zoom around a little white hatchback. “They were drunk and decided it was my fault that their good time got ended tonight.”
There’s a long pause.
“It seems pretty dumb to beat up the crown prince,” she finally says. Her voice is starting to sound like her again, with just a sliver of that laugh, and I’m relieved.
“It is,” I say. “At least, it’s dumb to try.”
“Are you okay?” she says, and squeezes my hand. “I didn’t even ask.”