Page 33 of Allegiant

It’s the gun pointed straight at Samson’s chest.

Oh fuck.

What do we do? I’ve never had someone point a gun at me. Do we run? Do we roll over? Or is that for bears?

Fuck. I don’t know.

The gun shakes as the man throws out a shaky order. “Give me the bag!”

I don’t move, my brain trying to catch up with what I’m seeing unfold before us. I’ve decided I’m going to follow Samson’s lead. It seems the safest.

Samson gives an irritated laugh. “Fuck off.”

Maybe not the safest.

Oh god.

The man wavers but the gun doesn’t lower. “I mean it. The bag. And the food.”

Samson’s tone is calm but lethal. “Nothing in here but dance shit. So go away before I cut your tongue from your mouth.”

“Fuck. You. Give it to me.” The man’s words are awkward and stilted.

Samson sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before handing me the bag of food. “Take this. Guard it with your life. Nonna will kill me if it ends up splattered across the dirty pavement.”

I do as he says and watch as he pulls the bag from his shoulder and holds it out toward the mugger. My breath catches in my throat, but I’d rather replace my pointe shoes than see Samson bleeding out on the asphalt.

The mugger doesn’t hesitate, his fingers closing around the strap.

But Samson doesn’t hesitate either.

His hand flies out to grab the guy’s wrist—the hand holding the gun. The mugger gives a garbled scream as a sharp snap echoes through the alley. He drops the gun on reflex.

I spring into action, kicking it as hard as I can. Don’t even know where it goes, just know it’s far enough away now.

The man is wailing in terror, but Samson isn’t finished. My grumpy lumberjack descends on him like a tornado, ripping my bag from his grip and tossing it in my direction. I catch it deftly as Samson’s hand wraps around the thief’s neck.

He shoves him roughly against a brick wall, lifting him up, making the man claw at his hands.

“You should have left when I said, because now I’m going to have to cut out your tongue.” It’s said calmly as the man gasps, his legs kicking out. But Samson doesn’t let go, his gaze laser focused as if this is just another day at the office. “You chose someone in the wrong family today, my friend.”

I’m frozen in horror, unable to move. To speak. To do something.

It takes me back to another time. One when I failed to act.

And the consequences of that.

Samson pulls something out of his pocket—not his dagger, but a switchblade. He flicks it open and presses it against the man’s lower lip.

The man’s face contorts into Adam’s and back again. It has me finding my voice. “No! Don’t hurt him.”

Samson pauses, slowly turning his head to look at me. In any other circumstance, his incredulous expression would be comical. Adorable, even. “Are you shitting me? This fucker tried to rob you. He aimed a gun at you.”

“Technically, he aimed it at you.”

“It was in your vicinity, so it counts,” Samson growls.

“No one was hurt.” Well, the mugger was, but he did aim a gun at Samson. Maybe a broken wrist will have him rethinking his current career path. People can have a change of heart, right? “Please, Samson. Just let him go.”