Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
“You really don’t want to try this,” I tell him, assessing the situation, Tobias’ steady voice in my mind: look for exits; run away if you can, but be prepared to fight if you have to; don’t let them get at your back; anything can be a weapon.
I tighten my fingers on the tray in my hand and think about running back into the rear room, but discard the idea quickly.
There’s no exit, no place to hide, and tight quarters.
There’s surely another entrance somewhere, maybe down one of the hallways that branch off the main area on the left and right.
I can’t chance running for an exit that I don’t know actually exists though, possibly getting trapped.
No, it’s better to be out here in the open where I have a better chance at fighting back.
So, I remain at the end of the aisle, waiting.
“Oh, I think I do. I think I do, very, very much,” Turner says, the smile pulling his lips while his gaze roves over my body making me ill.
“Makers must be smiling down on me tonight—imagine my surprise when I saw you coming in here with your keeper, only to see her finally fucking leave you alone.”
The other two men slowly walk towards me, each moving as far to the edge as the pathway will allow, attempting to come at me from both sides, I assume.
“Do we get to take turns?” the taller man asks. I don’t recall his name, though I remember that the shorter one is Gregor.
“You can have her when I’m done with her,” Turner grins.
“I don’t want your scraps,” Gregor says, sounding glum.
“It’s never stopped either of you in the past.”
He smiles at that, and he and his taller friend both chuckle low.
“Get her so we can start our fun,” Turner says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t think we have much time.”
“I don’t need much,” the tall man says.
“Somehow that is not shocking to hear,” I tell him, curling my lip. It takes a moment for him to realize what I’ve implied and then his face twists with anger.
“That’s not what I meant!” With that, he lunges forward and I slam the metal plate across his cheek, food and blood flying as his head whips to the side. I move to kick him, only to find that I can’t because of this fucking dress.
“Ruddy fucking fuck!” I spit through gritted teeth as the man rights himself again.
He pulls a knife from his belt just as Gregor comes at me from the other side.
I spin away but he manages to grab my coat, yanking me backwards.
I drop the plate and pull my arms free, stumbling away just as the other man slashes out with his knife.
I scream out in pain as the blade slices through the sleeve of my dress and into my upper arm.
“Oy! No more of that you fucking idiot! Can’t have her all sliced to ribbons,” Turner snaps.
The pain burns like fire and blood pours from the wound, hot and thick. I know the cut must be deep but I grit my teeth against the pain, and it slowly fades from the forefront of my mind. I back away from both men, keeping them in front of me.
I note that Turner's staying back and letting the other two do the hard work. He’s a coward, then, as well as an asshole.
My Gift roils within me, icy vipers desperate to strike, but I’m still blocked by Blackheart.
Fucking prick. If I could use my Gift, this would have been over in seconds.
No matter. I learned long ago to defend myself without the use of my power, and this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do it.
I quickly assess the two men, going through options before I settle on one.
One that I hate but know that it’s the best one that I have, so I take a quick breath and then let the man with the knife grab me.
He turns me so that my back is to his chest and holds the blade near my throat, just as I knew he would.
Men are nothing if not predictable. Gregor grins, but it falters when I wink at him.
His thick brow furrows in confusion but he doesn’t have time to do anything more before I drop to the floor like a sack of flour.
“What the—” the tall man barks, thrown off balance from the unexpected dead weight.
He pitches forward as he tries to catch me, and I take advantage, grabbing his tunic and pulling him down as I roll.
He hits the floor and groans, and I kick him in the ribs hard enough to hopefully break one or two.
I push up to my knees just as Gregor lurches forward to help.
I punch him square in the crotch and he cries out in pain, a keening, high pitched whine that makes my ears ring.
He folds, covering his bollocks, and I spring upward with all of my strength, using my momentum to put as much force as I can behind the punch I aim at his nose.
Bone crunches, blood gushes, and I smile wickedly even as pain screams up my arm.
I use my elbow to land another blow to his temple and he flails backwards, landing with a grunt and a thud.
He lies there, groaning quietly, so I turn back to the other man.
He rolls, panting, and pushes himself up to his knees, brandishing the knife.
“You bitch,” he sneers.
“It’s always bitch,” I say, eyeing him and calculating the next blow.
“Can none of you come up with something more original or creative than bitch?” I make a show of moving to punch him with my left hand, and his eyes track the movement.
I reach out with my right hand instead and latch on to his wrist, squeezing in the exact place Tobias taught me, the place I know will send a spike of pure agony through his arm.
Right on cue, he screams and drops the knife, and keeping a firm grip on his wrist, I grab his hand with my other and twist. The bone snaps and he screams again, cradling his broken wrist to his chest. I curl my fingers into his hair and yank downward, forcing his face to meet my knee as hard as I possibly can.
He chokes out a pained groan, and I do it once more for good measure before I let him tumble to the ground, blood squishing beneath my boots.
I swoop down to grab the knife and see that my entire arm is coated in blood. The pain is still distant, but I know that will only last so long. I’m breathing hard when I straighten and face Turner. He curls his lip, clearly furious that his companions weren’t successful.
“Come on, you fucking coward. Face me yourself,” I spit.
“That won’t be necessary,” a low, lethal voice sounds from a darkened corner of the room.
Turner pales, head whipping to the side as Blackheart strides into the light.
I must have been right about the other door.
My heart races as I take him in, a cold, calm fury radiating off of him so forcefully that I take a step backwards and swallow hard.
I have no idea where this anger is directed: Turner for attacking?
Me for fighting back? Most likely the latter, I think with a sinking feeling.
After all, Turner is one of his men and I’m the prisoner fire bitch who he plans to deliver to his king to have Makers know what done to me.
I won’t delude myself into believing I have much of a chance of fighting back against someone as big and skilled as Blackheart, but I keep the knife in my hand, steady and waiting all the same. I won’t give up without a fight.
“Blackheart,” Tuner gasps, voice quavering ever so slightly. “I thought you were—”
“Otherwise engaged, yes, I’m quite aware,” Blackheart says in a flat voice, stalking forward. Turner stumbles back.
“It-it’s not what it looks like.”
Blackheart cuts his gaze to me, taking in my bloody arm and missing coat, the men on the floor, the knife in my hand. He clenches his jaw and turns his stormy eyes back to Turner.
“I very much doubt that. You have ten minutes to gather your men and whatever supplies you can carry on your back.” I blink at that, clearly having misheard him. Your men? What does that mean?
Turner’s eyes bulge. “What? You can’t possibly be serious. Over this Gifted cunt??”
Blackheart only stares, deceptively calm.
“Nine minutes and forty-two seconds.” Turner sputters at that.
“You can leave with supplies, or you can leave with nothing but the clothes on your back, the choice is yours. But you’d better make it soon.
Now get your fucking friends and go.” He all but bares his teeth, reminding me of a feral wolf, or the dragon on the hilt of his sword.
I frown, not understanding what the hells is happening.
Why would Blackheart care about this? Especially enough to, what?
Banish his own men to face The Perilous in a snowstorm?
I’m so confused that my head starts to pound, though that could be due to the gaping wound in my arm.
I blink away the spots threatening at the edges of my vision, and just stop myself from swaying as a wave of dizziness rushes over me.
Turner looks like he wants to say something but knows he can’t, so he stalks towards me, eyes blazing with hatred.
I take a step backwards and twist the knife so that the blade is facing backwards and lying against my forearm, ready if he wants to do something stupid.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blackheart’s brow furrow ever so slightly, missing nothing.
Fuck. Tesni shouldn’t know the right way to hold a knife.
But I can’t make myself worry with that right now.
Turner manages to rouse his companions and they limp warily to the door.