Ember #2
There’s no time to wait for backup. We have to get out of this bind. Yet the son of a bitch has leveraged himself on top of me, trying to wrap his big, hairy hands around my throat. I only have seconds to spare.
Moving faster than he can launch an attack, I rapidly strike him in the gut, lavishing the resultant grunt. Lava erupts under my skin where he strikes me with a firm backhand in response.
“Stay down, bitch!”
“Never!” I spit into his face.
Landing another strike to his side, right in the vulnerable opening where his ribcage should end, he curls over in pain. It opens up the space for me to deliver a punch to the cheekbone, throwing his weight off.
We roll across the floor, limbs flailing in an attempt to gain the upper hand. A fist sinks into my stomach, pummelling my organs until I cry out. With black spots dancing in my periphery, I push past the pain to lock my arms around his torso, refusing to relent until I’m on top.
“You shouldn’t have come—”
My words are cut off by a deep, stabbing agony that tears through my skin and ignites my veins. I wobble from my position above him, my oxygen cut off by a sudden seizing in my lungs.
Underneath me, he spits blood to the side, his fist fastened around the handle of his switchblade. Only the blade isn’t visible; it’s interred in the top of my right thigh, almost halfway to the handle.
“Shit!” a voice distantly calls. “It’s locked!”
The echo of furious crashing and banging against the door to the room seems to be coming from far away. As blood bubbles up around my torn flesh, I have to internally slap myself to think past the adrenaline swamping my whole body.
“Bad mistake,” I gasp. “Now I have to kill you.”
“Good luck,” he hurls back.
“Trust me, I don’t need it.”
His green eyes widen into saucers at the sight of me yanking the blade free, summoning the strength despite how the room grows pixelated. I clutch the blood-soaked handle tight then curve it overhead.
He attempts to buck and escape, but it’s little use. The switchblade slashes into his stomach over the medical coat, eliciting a squelching sound that would nauseate most. Me? I’m having the time of my life.
“Get the door, Axel,” I grit out. “He’s subdued.”
Just to prove my point, I turn the blade counter-clockwise, pushing through flesh and muscle. My hand is soaked in our mingling blood, though it’s nowhere near as satisfying as the animalistic howls coming from my captive’s gaping maw.
“Move an inch, and I’ll gut you like a fish. You’re already going to bleed out in a matter of minutes. I can easily make that seconds.”
“Do it.” A red haze of spittle propels from his mouth. “I’m as good as dead.”
“Madden doesn’t tolerate failure, huh?”
Somewhere out of sight, I hear the lock click. As soon as the door is tossed open, a cacophony of yells attack my ears. I keep my legs locked around our poor wounded soldier, ignoring my own weeping injury.
“Got a live one for you, Blaine.”
Thunderous steps approach, then he crouches at my side, pale and stony-faced. “You promised to shout.”
“I was a little busy defending Axel and myself.”
Blaine looks over me, his lips pressing into a firm line.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Then I suppose this is the perfect time to make good on your word. I left his eyes untouched.”
Beneath me, the mass of red-stained flesh and bone struggles. It’s futile. He doesn’t have the strength to toss me off, let alone fight his way out of here. When his eyes flutter over to Blaine then blow wide, I think he realises it.
“The tattoo.” I indicate to his hand. “Recognise it?”
Blaine nods stonily. “I do.”
“Thought I recognised it from somewhere.”
“You did good to remember. Like me, Raye and Spyder recently had their brands removed. There aren’t many of my people left who still wear the mark.”
“Traitor,” the man hisses. “You’ve betrayed your own kind!”
“I’d argue that’s what you did by aligning yourself with my father and his cause. Tell me, how much did he pay you to return to the fold? I do hope it was worth it.”
“S-Some of us are still loyal to the M-Madden dynasty!”
Craning over me, Blaine bears down on the protruding blade, watching in satisfaction as more liquid crimson bubbles up. The assailant’s out-of-control, frenzied screaming intensifies to inhuman proportions.
“I am the Madden dynasty now.”
Lightly touching my shoulder, Axel peers down at us, his face ashen. I muster up an attempt at a smile that feels a lot more like a grimace. He’s pushed aside for hospital security to enter, a burly man in all-black offering me a hand up from the floor.
“Don’t touch her,” Blaine warns icily. “Here, sweetheart. Let me help you.”
“It’s just a flesh wound.”
“I don’t care. He won’t see the light of day again.”
The security swarm over our attacker instead, leaving Blaine free to carry me over to the medical bed where Axel anxiously awaits. He places me down then immediately puts pressure on my thigh, causing me to yelp.
“I’m so sorry,” Axel rushes out all at once. “I tried to find the gun, and then the door and—”
“Breathe.” I clasp his bicep.
“I’m so fucking useless!”
“You’re still injured,” Blaine mutters curtly, ignoring Axel’s distress. “We need a doctor in here. Now.”
I should be concerned by the heavy flow soaking through his hands and spilling over the cotton sheets, but all my attention is fixed on the slumped body I’ve left behind. Barely breathing. Probably not for long.
“He w-works for your father,” I gasp out.
“Yes,” Blaine confirms. “An assassin.”
“How d-did he know where to find us?”
With medical staff running in to assist, his obsidians meet mine.
“Someone on the inside.”