Page 41

No.

The word moves through me like electricity.

No.

Hawk slashes, wild, and Wraith surges and dodges, but the blade still cuts a line across his abdomen. It’s shallow, but it bleeds heavily, and in my head, I scream no.

I’m out of the bathtub before I’ve made a conscious decision to move. My feet hit the floor, and I’m crossing the bathroom, and my hands are reaching for something, anything, and they find the ceramic lid of the toilet tank. It’s heavy. Solid. Weight that could do damage.

I lift it.

I don’t think.

I just swing.

The lid connects with the back of Bruiser’s head with a sound like a church bell made of bone. His eyes go wide. His grip on Wraith loosens. He sways.

I hit him again. The lid shatters.

This time he goes down.

Wraith gasps in air, his throat working, his face still red, and he looks at me with an expression I can’t read — surprise, maybe, or gratitude, or something else entirely — and then Hawk is moving toward me with that knife and Wraith is stepping between us.

“Get behind me,” Wraith says.

“Fuck that,” I say.

I’m already moving. The whip is on the floor near the radiator where I dropped it earlier and I dive for it, my fingers closing around the leather handle, and when I come up Hawk is right there, knife raised, and I snap the whip without thinking.

It catches him across the face.

He screams.

The knife drops.

I whip him again. This time I aim lower. Much lower.

The leather catches him directly in the groin with a meaty thwack that makes every man in the room flinch in sympathy, and Hawk’s scream goes up an octave and his hands go to his crotch, and he drops to his knees.

“You’re really handy with that,” Wraith says. He’s beside me now, breathing hard, blood running from his nose and mouth.

“I know,” I say, and I whip Hawk again. Right in the dick. “I kind of like it.”

Hawk makes a sound like a dying animal.

Wraith grins. It’s a terrible grin, all blood and teeth. “We make a good team.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But I’m grinning too. I can feel it on my face. This wild, fierce thing that’s equal parts terror and exhilaration.

Wraith kicks Hawk in the face. Hawk goes down and stays down.

Bruiser is still on the floor by the bathroom, not moving, breathing but unconscious.

The apartment is silent except for our heavy breathing and the distant sound of traffic outside.

Wraith turns to look at me. His face is a mess — blood from his nose, a split lip, the start of a bruise on his jaw — and he’s still wearing nothing but those boxer briefs and his erection still hasn’t gone away, which is frankly impressive given everything that just happened.