Page 34 of Ruthless Touch

The tension crackles between us like an electric storm, both of us waiting to see who’ll make the first move.

Then instinct takes over and my hand flies to the dagger strapped at my belt, fingers closing around the steel before I launch it at him in one fluid motion.

Gun’s reflexes are fucking impeccable—his upper body swerves left with the kind of speed that comes from years of martial arts training.

But I’ve anticipated he would dodge my blade, so I’ve already rolled into my follow-up attack. I drop into a crouch and sweep my leg out in a wide arc that catches him behind the knees.

He crashes down hard, his back slamming against the gravel with a grunt of surprise and pain. That free second is all I need to get the hell out of here.

I bolt toward the edge of the rooftop. The mission is blown—there’s no way we can take out Ko with Gun here. We can’t possibly salvage what’s instantly become a clusterfuck.

Our best bet is to call it off.

“Mission’s aborted,” I puff into the smartwatch on my wrist. “I repeat, Onyx. Mission’s aborted. Evacuate the scene.”

My boots hit the ledge just as I finish sending the message. I launch myself into the void, the space between buildings a pitch-black gaping hole.

But it looks like a farther distance than it really is. About ten feet or so.

I land with less grace than usual, stumbling forward as I regain my footing.

Behind me, Gun’s already scrambling to his feet. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s charging toward the rooftop edge, clearly determined to follow me.

He leaps with no hesitation from the other building to this one with no hesitation.

Fuck.

He refuses to give it up.

He makes the jump look easier than I did. His long legs eat up the distance with alarming ease.

One second he’s a building away, the next we’re on the same roof. He’s gaining ground with every stride.

For a man built like he is—tall and trim but with broad shoulders and noticeable muscle—he’s impressively quick.

But will he be able to maneuver the tight and dizzying space of the building’s fire escapes?

I dart straight for the one on the other side of this structure, grabbing the metal railing and swinging myself over and down like an acrobat.

Years of childhood gymnastics always pays off during moments like these.

My hands find each bar with ease as I drop from level to level. The ladders shudder under my quick movements, but then Gun lands on the top platform with enough force to make the whole thing rattle in protest.

He’s taking the stairs four or five at a time, his boots thundering against the metal grating.

By the time I hit the alley floor, he’s already halfway down. I dart toward the maze of side streets, hoping to lose him in the labyrinth of narrow passages.

I’m breathless and less strategic than usual, the ache in my side throbbing away.

Where the hell is KD?! Why didn’t he voice message me back?

A part of me considers calling him for backup. But then my pride inevitably gets in the way. I always rely on myself and myself alone.

I always do things on my own.

It’s like Uncle Jerald said:

You have to be paranoid in the world we live in, baby girl. That’s why it’s best not to let people get too close. You remember what that cost your father? He thought those people were his friends, and what did they do to him?