Page 113

I ran out of bullets first. I chucked the gun somewhere and flew down the mezzanine stairs. I lurched into the fray, tackling the Wolverine who was aiming for Mason, throwing us both to the floor. I ignored the pain of falling on concrete, hitting the guy’s arm, and shooting off a shot that hit one of the giant overhead lights.
Sparks came raining down. I heard Caroline yell.
I forgot my fight. I jerked up, scanning the chaos, but just as I caught sight of her being chased by a member of her former club, I got elbowed in the jaw.
My whole brain jarred, and I saw stars. The Wolverine laughed like a bridge troll as he hauled me to my feet by my neck. Hell, he was huge, roided out like a pro wrestler. He unsheathed a wicked-looking knife from his belt.
Hell no. I wasn’t getting stabbed today.
I kicked the knife out of his meaty hand—and then kneed him in the groin. Even with his shriveled little steroid balls, the effect was immediate. He grunted and doubled over, releasing me. I snatched up the knife off the floor and stabbed him right between the ribs.
One down, at most seven to go.
Without waiting to see him fall, I bolted after Caroline.
Didn’t get very fucking far.
“Knox!”
I whirled at Grant’s cry for help. He was nearby, fighting a Wolverine. They were both beat to shit, but they kept punching, guns gone. I ran to his rescue, swiping up a fallen gun. I aimed, but when I pulled the trigger, it was out.
“Fuck,” I hissed, tossing it.
The Wolverine punched Grant square in the jaw. That was the final blow.
Grant went down like a tree.
“Fuck!” I roared.
I snatched a knife from a dead man’s hip. Grant’s Wolverine spun on me. He was an ugly son of a bitch with yellowed, smoke-stained teeth and a battered face from road rash and Grant’s successful punches. He dipped his shoulders forward to charge at me like a bull.
I charged straight at him, too.
He got his arms around my torso, all too excited to belly-to-belly suplex me, but I was holding something pointy. All he fucking got was a knife to the gut and a headbutt to the nose.
He released me and stumbled back, staring in shock at the blossoming wound.
I panted, bracing my hands on my knees. “If I had a nickel for every person I put a knife through, I would have three nickels.”
The Wolverine braced his hand over the hilt and made to wrench it out.
“Ah!” I warned. “Take that out, you’ll bleed out, idiot! You don’t have to die today. Just your boss.”
Common sense? Dude clearly never heard of it. He pulled out the knife and ran at me with a roar.
“Knox! Catch!”
I saw the gun spinning through the air from Abel’s hands. I caught it, aimed, and shot true.
The Wolverine jerked and immediately dropped to his knees. The bullet had embedded in his shoulder. He tried to get up as I approached, but I shoved him onto his back. I propped a boot on his chest to pin him there. He barely struggled, clutching his arm and stomach.
My voice was deadly low when I leaned in to growl, “Which one of you fuckers shot Gabriel?”
“Dunno,” the idiot groaned. “Heel, probably.”
I snorted. “Which one is Heel?”
“Brown hair. Brown eyes. Tats. Gotta gut. Fuck.”