10. Hyacinth #2
He growls and raises his gun at me, but we’re close enough that I can grab his wrist. He struggles and tries to shove me.
I’m prepared for that move, and I use his weight as leverage to flip him over and slam him down hard against the nearby stovetop.
The handgun clatters to the floor, and I kick it away.
“Fuck!” The man grunts as he gets up. He’s too large for me to take in hand-to-hand combat, so it’s good that I’m never unarmed.
I slice my knife across his face. He screams again, a beautiful sound that adds to the crescendo of chaos in the kitchen.
I change the angle of my knife so I can go in for the kill—his neck, because the rest of him is covered in padding. Before I can drive my blade into him, somebody knocks into me from behind.
I gasp and stumble, gripping the side of the counter to prevent myself from falling. My knife slips from my grasp.
“Watch it!” I shout.
It’s the bodyguard and his opponent. Neither of them pay any attention to me. Stefan wrestles the other man for his gun.
They crash into the nearby shelves, pots and pans clanging as they fall from the impact.
While I’m distracted, my own opponent gets back onto his feet.
“Get on the fucking floor and I won’t hurt you,” he growls. “On account of you being a lady.”
I internally roll my eyes, but I can’t afford to let my guard down.
My knife is on the floor, near the man’s feet.
Forget it. I’m not getting that one back.
My eyes land on the knife block a few inches away on the counter.
I’m really not picky about my weapons.
I fake a lunge, and when the guy tries to grab me, I evade so I can grab the largest of the knives.
“What the—”
He doesn’t have the opportunity to say much more. I slice the knife across his neck. The blood gushes out, dyeing my dress even more.
I need to start wearing red.
His throat gurgles, and he reaches up to his neck like he has any chance of stemming the flow of blood.
I kick him in the knees, and in his weakened state, he goes down hard.
Two more, or maybe three more, if I take out Stefan too.
Wait.
I need to take out Zane.
It’s the perfect opportunity.
I grip the kitchen knife. I don’t have time to catch my breath, because a large pot comes flying my way. I duck in time, and the pot cracks the tile on the wall behind me.
A gunshot goes off—in the main event hall, not here, but I don’t have eyes on the guns here.
Never lose track of the guns, my mother’s voice echoes in my ears.
Like she’d be able to keep track in this situation.
I duck behind one of the shelves, my eyes zipping between Stefan and Zane.
There’s a loud grunt as Zane’s back hits the side of the deep freezer, and he kicks at his assailant, driving him back a step. Zane takes advantage of that split second by reaching his hand into a drawer nearby.
He comes out with a meat mallet, a tool that looks large and weighted, and he doesn’t wait for his attacker to close with him again. He lunges forward, and he swings the mallet like it’s a baseball bat.
It thuds as it slams into the other man’s skull, but Zane doesn’t give him a chance to recover from that, either. He grabs the man by the hair and slams him head-first into one of the countertops. Once, twice, then a third time, until he’s releasing the man to slump motionlessly onto the floor.
I don’t think he’s getting up from that.
Zane is breathing hard, the bloodied meat mallet still in one hand, as his gaze snaps to mine. He bares his teeth in a grin. “Want a taste, Sin?”
Yes.
My mouth is dry, and my lips part.
I take a single step toward him.
Another gunshot rings out, followed by a sudden sharp pain in my arm.
“Fuck!” I duck back and whirl around.
The pain is sharp, but the bullet only grazed me.
I know what a bullet wound feels like, and it’s a lot worse than this.
Stefan’s opponent has his gun aimed at me. Stefan is on the floor, clutching his head.
“Stay fucking still!” the man snarls. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Something flies through the air, hitting the man dead in the shoulder, and he lets out a startled sound. The gun goes off, but the shot goes wild, embedding itself in the wall several feet away from me instead of in my head.
Zane stalks forward, blood trickling from his own forehead, and the look of thunderous outrage on his expression is almost enough to make me go weak in the knees.
“If anyone’s going to kill him,” he snarls, “it’s going to be me.”
My heart thuds hard in my chest.
My cheeks grow warm.
Now’s not the time to get swept off my feet.
The man turns his attention to Zane. Zane tackles him, shoving him against the stove. The two of them struggle for the gun.
I watch stupidly for a second, before remembering where exactly I am. I run forward, knife out, and stab the man’s arm.
He screams, dropping the gun. It goes off again, the bullet embedding itself in a cabinet on the other side of the room.
Zane’s expression is wild as he forces the man’s face against the stove. It’s a complete 180 from his usual calm, and he snaps, “You made a mistake in coming here. What the fuck were you thinking?”
I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical.