Page 86 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
Nothing looks out of the ordinary, though, so I heft up the bag of rubbish I need to dump and slip into the alley to get rid of it on the way to my car.
It’s dark back here. Darker than usual, and I notice one of the lights has blown. Still, I hurry forward, my eyes trained on the dumpster as I navigate these damn cobblestones in my boots.
The scuff of a shoe is my only warning before I feel the air shift behind me.
With my heart in my throat, I go to turn around, but a blowto the side of my head comes out of nowhere, and all I can do is brace myself as the grimy ground rushes towards my face.
I cry out as I land with a jolt, my knees hitting hard, my hands saving my face from smacking the solid ground.
Everything moves so fast, and I brace myself for the next blow, even as I shove my hand into my bag and manage to wrap my hand around the hilt of my knife as a foot crashes into my ribs.
The wind gets knocked from me, but the momentum from the kick helps me to roll to the side and get a glimpse of my attacker.
Unfortunately, my view is obscured by the crimson trickle of blood oozing from my temple where the fucker hit me, and I blink rapidly before I see a booted foot too late.
It slams hard into my gut, and I wheeze out as more wind lurches from me, while the rest gets trapped in my lungs, burning as I try to gasp.
Well, shit! Isn’t this just great!
Keep it calm, Lily. You’re trained for this.
My little pep talk helps to clear my head, reminding me how I’ve been trained to push the pain away and only focus on my target. To strategise on how to take them out.
Before my attacker can swing their foot to land another blow, I ram my blade into my attacker’s ankle with a sickening crunch.
Whoops. Sounds like I broke through bone. Too bad for him.
“Ahhh, fuck!” the male voice cries out, and I fucking grin.
I rip the knife free, swinging it again, but it only meets thin air as he quickly moves away.
“You fucking cunt. You will pay for that!” He hisses as I wipe the blood from my vision to see his shadowed silhouette looming over me.
He bends down, as if to grab me, but another shadow comes out of nowhere, tackling him to the ground.
I gasp, air finally seeping into my lungs as a man… a stranger, absolutely pummels the shit out of my attacker with iron fists.
Shuffling back, I use the wall to pull myself up, taking in what I can about this man.
His hair is blond. He’s ripped as fuck. Covered in tatts. And he has a gun tucked into the back of his pants.
Who the hell is this guy?
Shit. It could be another assassin wanting to take the kill.
The groans of my attacker fall silent, even as this guy keeps hitting him, so I lurch forward, wrapping my hand around the handle of his gun, and when I go to pull it free, I find more wind whooshing from me as I’m shoved against the wall, the stranger’s forearm pressed against my throat as he holds me in place.
“Is that any way to thank me for saving your arse?” a deep Australian accent asks, and my brows shoot up.
“I had it handled,” I rasp past the pressure of his arm, and his lips spread wide in a grin.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to meet me, but here we fucking are.”
“What?” I ask, and a moment later, the barrel of his gun, the gun I failed to steal, presses against my temple.
Oh… shit.
He’s gotta be an assassin.
