“You’re welcome to try, kids.” I crooked my fingers at them, inviting the attack.
Prepared for the inevitable moment when one or all of them would charge, I got lighter on my feet. Knowing how they perceived me, I suspected they’d at least initially try to take me one-on-one. Nothing hurt a masculine ego quite like needing backup just to beat up a girl.
Like I anticipated, the leader gave the nod to one of the more wiry guys in the group. I was disappointed I didn’t get to start with the big guy in the back, the bald-headed one who was pushing six and a half feet tall. He looked like he’d be a lot of fun to play with.
The wiry guy lunged for me with an adorable little growl.
I sidestepped, bouncing on the balls of my feet. I would have preferred a lighter shoe for this, but if you can’t do martial arts in high-heeled boots, you’re probably not very good at martial arts.
He spun around, trying not to act surprised his move had failed. His first attack had clearly been meant to grab me around the waist and was a smart approach. This time, he kept himself rigid and came right at me.
Amateur hour.
I weaved under his outstretched arm and elbowed him hard in the gut, then grabbed his arm as he doubled over in pain. I flipped him over so suddenly he was still groaning about his belly even as he slammed back-first onto the concrete. Then, because this was a fight for my life after all, I kept h
old of his arm, straightened it at the joint, and with a practiced yank, dislocated it from the socket.
He wailed.
This was me being nice too. I could have just as easily broken it.
The skinny guy rolled onto his side, mewling in pain and cradling the damaged arm. His belly was probably still hurting too.
I looked back at the four remaining thugs and pointed to the big boy.
“Come on, then. Let’s dance.”
He stared at the man on the ground and looked at his not-so-fearless leader like he wasn’t sure what to do. The leader didn’t seem certain either, but they were here to do a job, so I guess one damaged lackey wasn’t going to deter him.
“Go,” he barked.
The big guy decided to be cinematic about this. He nudged his way through his buddies and slowly stripped off his too-tight leather jacket to give me a personal invitation to his private gun show. His arms were huge. This guy did not skip upper-body days at the gym, bless him. His biceps were covered in old tribal tattoos, and he cracked his knuckles loudly as he dropped the.
“You a tough guy?” I asked him, my tone low and conspiratorial.
“Uh.” He was not expecting banter.
“Big, bad strongman gonna beat up a little girl?”
His gaze moved towards his buddy lying on the ground, who hadn’t even bothered to drag his ass out of the way. The big man sniffed, not sure how to reply.
“I see witticisms are not part of your repertoire. That’s okay. No one is perfect.” As he continued to stare blankly at me, I darted forward and slammed my flat, rigid fingers right into his windpipe.
A long, raspy wheeze escaped his throat, and his eyes went wide.
I took a step to the side, then hooked my foot around his leg and put the slightest pressure on the back of his knee.
He toppled like an imploding Vegas casino.
Now two of the five guys were lying at my feet, and the remaining three really didn’t know what to make of it. They had probably assumed the big guy would flatten me, and that would be that. Sorry to ruin their plans, but I did tell them ahead of time I had no intention of going with them.
“You two,” the leader said. “Finish this shit.”
Ah, a challenge.
The two remaining goons, including the one who had suggested they should knock me out, carefully avoided their fallen friends and slowly advanced towards me.
“Just an FYI, you might want to take that guy to a doctor. I crushed his trachea.”