Page 56 of Pretty Savage: Defy

“You know me?” I ask. The recognition sends a dark wave of satisfaction through me. There’s power in watching a man know exactly who’s come for him.

Damian raises the revolver and pulls the trigger again.

Click.

I laugh. “That won’t work.”

His stare darts from the weapon to me. “Why not?”

“We used an electrogenerator.”

“A what?”

“Electrogenerator.” I lift my gun slightly. “It changes the polarity in anything magnetic. Your gun, your bullets. They’re pulling toward each other now instead of doing what they’re supposed to.”

He turns the revolver over in his hand.

“The rounds are locked in the barrel,” I add. “You could stand there pulling the trigger all night. Nothing’s coming out.” I wave toward the other guns on his desk. “Those are dead too.”

He points to the gun I hold with its muzzle directed to the floor. “What about yours?”

“Nonmagnetic composite.” I hold it out so he can see. “The rounds too. They can kill you, though.”

Damian’s gaze moves over the weapon with interest.

“That’s clever,” he says.

I grin. “Thank you.”

“You’re still planning to shoot me.”

“Of course.”

He sets the now-useless revolver down.

Then he comes at me.

Damian crosses the space faster than a man his size should be able to move, one massive hand swatting my gun from my grip before his shoulder drives into my chest. The weapon skitters under his desk just as my back slams against the edge hard enough to rattle the monitors.

Pain flares along my ribs.

Well. That’s embarrassing.

Damian follows through with a fist to my side, all brute force. I dodge before he can put his full weight behind the next one, but his knuckles clip my jaw. The room pitches sideways. I brace one hand against the desk, tasting blood where my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek. The coppery tang wakes the oldest part of me, the one my father and his instructors taught to come alive at the test of my strength against another man’s. In a fight, my body moves without hesitation, and it feels good enough that, for years, I let that feeling answer every question about who I was.

I catch his wrist when he reaches for me again. Bracing myself against the desk, I shove hard enough to force him back a step.

“You know,” I say, breathing quicker than I’d like, “most people say thank you when I show them something cool.”

Damian bares his teeth. “I am impressed.”

Then he swings again. This time I’m ready. I turn with the punch instead of meeting it, using his size to my advantage. Without me to stop him, his momentum sends him sailing past to slam into the wall. I jab him hard in the ribs as he passes by, and he grunts from the impact.

“You can’t kill me,” he says, turning back around.

“I assure you, I can.”

He charges at me again.