Page 62 of Danger Close

I grunted, pushing forward. Ambrose’s words stuck out in my head.Attack. I needed to attack.

Charlotte yelled like Serena Williams at Wimbledon with each of her hits. She hit a steady rhythm, pommeling her opponent. I didn’t need to concentrate on her. Not when I had two of my own to go after.

“Why… are you… here?” I said through panted breaths, my fists up, remembering everything I’d learned.

This was nothing but sparring. We hit one another at the gym all the time. It was a part of growing as a fighter. These men were not better fighters than Harrison Guile. Not by a long shot.

Ponytail spat blood to the ground, his eyes cruel and hard as he got ready for another bout.

I leaned in, determined to take it on the chin. I would not be powerless this time.

I bent my front knee forward, landing a front snap king to his ribs. He howled, tumbling, but not before his fingers grabbed at a chunk of my hair.

He pulled me down with him, his fingers twining in the shoulder-length strands.

I punched, I kicked, and so did he. Bomber Jacket came from behind, kicking me in the ribs, the thighs, the shoulder, the elbows, anywhere he could get his foot on. When he stomped down hard on my back, I fell forward, my face scraping on the concrete. They walloped me, fists slamming into the back of my head as I struggled to stay conscious, my blood splattering in front of me.

Charlotte yelled, and I heard the definitive click-click of metal. I looked up, my one eye swelling, to see a gun at Charlotte’s jaw.

“Fuck!” I whispered.

“Quit fighting, and take it like a good girl,” said the scarred one. “It’ll be over soon.”

I looked at Charlotte’s terrified eyes. I had tried so hard… I had tried so, so,sohard to not be defenseless. But I still was.

“You gonna be good or am I going to blow your friend’s head off?” he purred, his finger on the trigger, tensed, ready to squeeze.

Everyone stilled. His friends sneered, knowing they had won.

They were bruised, bleeding, and battered, too. So that was something.

I pushed myself to a kneeling position, but didn’t try to stand. They might think I was defying them and hurt Charlotte.

Between me, and Charlotte? It was an easy choice. Charlotte was loved. She was a part of a family. She was necessary. Someone would miss her. Mydaughterwould miss her.

Me? I was an afterthought. A vestigial appendage, forgotten and unneeded. I’d trade my life for hers.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Maybe they would finally kill me. I just hoped that when they were through, it wouldn’t be too painful.

I knew what would come next. The hits, the punches, the kicks. I let it happen, limp, and empty. I let my body take it, as I built up my defenses, circling the wagons around my mind. But at the rate they punched and kicked my head, my mind might scramble, and break like an uncooked egg.

“Just… kill… me,” I said, tasting blood.

I smelled it, too, gasping for air through my mouth because my nose was blocked. Likely, it was broken again.

Ponytail kicked me in the face, and threw me down to the ground. My skin scraped raw, as Bomber Jacket kicked my ribs like a soccer ball.

Something cracked, the wind knocking out of me. Ponytail stomped down on my calf, and I screamed, feeling the impact in my knee, my hip, my ankle, praying that nothing was dislocated.

They hurt me, again and again, their violence reaching a fevered pitch. They had smelled my blood in the water, and would devour me in their frenzy.

The familiar click-click of a knife, quiet, but so, so loud at the same time, broke through my haze.

“Message for you,” Ponytail said, with glee in his eyes as he bunched my shirt in his fist, lifting it to reveal my bare stomach. He pressed the tip of his blade into the skin and began slashing.

I didn’t need to look. I knew what he was writing on my flesh. Three letters. A reminder.