When I looked at Julius and Talon, I found Julius’s motions were slowing. In the time I’d confronted one man, he’d taken down two, and Talon had incapacitated another. But Julius was favoring one side. The bottom of the left leg of his jeans was dark with blood—his.
Shit. Another attacker stepped into view from the dispersing smoke, his gun aimed at Julius, and I leapt toward the masked man without a second thought.
This guy was taller and broader than the others I’d fought. With only one fully usable arm, I knew I had a challenge ahead of me. I didn’t allow myself to glance at the bodies that littered the floor. I didn’t bother acknowledging anything around me but my opponent.
He might be bigger than me, but I was born for this.
I fell into the rhythm of the fight, using my fists and legs brutally and efficiently enough that it didn’t feel like I was impaired in any way. In fact, the brace over my wrist acted as a blocking tool rather than a burden. Using the footwork that Talon had adjusted yesterday, I found myself ducking, weaving, and punching with greater intensity—just as rapidly as I would have with my right arm fully functional.
The man’s size didn’t matter as he succumbed to my attack, careening to the floor with my assault.
The gun spun away from his hand, but he fell within reach of a discarded knife. He noticed it at the precise moment that I did. I stood no chance of reaching it before him.
So when the man jerked forward and snatched up the serrated blade, I did the only thing I could do. I veered right, clutched his wrist with my left hand, and slammed his forearm into my bent knee.
The first time, he didn’t release it, though a groan of pain fled from his lips. I turned my back to his body’s mass and used my right arm to add more force to the blow this time. The knife finally clattered to the floor. I pushed him away from the blade, and he held my leg like a lifeline, attempting to drag me alongside him.
I caught the cool leather grip of the knife and whipped it around as the man pulled me closer. With a jerk of my hand, I plunged it into his chest.
He slumped, his breathing sputtering and then halting completely, leaving the room just a little quieter.
I glanced toward Talon first, my eyes drawn to him automatically. He still moved like a storm—quick, brutal, and relentless. He left nobody unaffected in his path of skillful strikes. He looked to be enjoying his last opponent—taking his time with him. I saw the way the man tired, and I could tell that Talon was playing with him.
A yearning in the pit of my stomach arose as I watched him move. He was absolutely extraordinary.
But there were only two attackers left, that one and the one Julius was just heaving into the edge of the kitchen island. The cops could handle the situation from here. I’d done my bit, and now I needed to get going.
As I dashed toward the open doorway, Talon cracked his opponent’s skull. I still could have made it, but just a few steps from the blasted-up doorframe, Garrison and Blaze stepped from opposite sides to block my way.
My fists jerked up, and in the same instant, Talon strode over to join them. He didn’t seem to notice the blood trickling down the side of his face from a scratch on his forehead.
Garrison smirked at me, the effect only slightly weakened by the tensing of his jaw against the pain he was in. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”
Fuck. I’d waited too long. I swiveled in the other direction, just in time to see Julius marching over.
He took in the room as he approached, limping just a little, and I got the sense he could pick out exactly which kills were mine, though that didn’t make any sense when several of them had happened when it was too smoky to see where anyone else was. When he came to a stop a couple of paces away from me, he nodded approvingly.
“Thank you. We might have been in a tough spot if you hadn’t stepped in.” He gave the apartment another glance and sighed. “We can’t stay here after this. Maybe it’s time we take you home.”