Page 15 of Righteous Enforcer
"I know." My heart splinters with pain and guilt. "But you're so good at it. Remember what to do if someone grabs Mama?" My voice stays steady despite the men closing in. I need her prepared. God help me, my three-year-old needs to know how to survive without me.
I scan for escape routes, my muscles coiling with the instinct to run. But where?
The street to the right has a bus stop, but the next bus won't arrive for twenty minutes according to the schedule board.
The café across the square might offer temporary shelter, but the Bratva would just wait us out.
They're coordinating through various nods and hand signals.
The man by the fountain makes his move, walking directly toward us.
The other two shift positions, cutting off potential escape routes.
"Hold tight to Mama," I whisper, slipping my hand into my jacket pocket where my switchblade waits.
I turn down a side street, moving quickly but not running.
Running attracts attention.
My thigh throbs with each step.
Three more blocks to the train station. If I can just make it?—
A man appears just ahead. I pivot, changing direction into the nearest alley, but my heart sinks when I see it's a dead end.
Brick walls on three sides, the mouth of the alley already filling with the silhouettes of men.
My mind catalogs escape routes, weapons, vulnerabilities. The dumpster on my right could provide cover.
The fire escape above is unreachable.
I place Mirabella down behind a dumpster. "Stay here. Don't come out unless Mama calls you."
Her bottom lip trembles. "Like the hiding game?"
"Yes, baby. You're so good at that game." I step away from the dumpster, now exposed to the men. My ribs scream, my vision blurs at the edges. I'm injured, exhausted, outmanned and outgunned.
I pull out my switchblade and a second knife. I’ll fight to the death, and as I assess my situation, I believe that death will happen here.
I can only hope they don’t find Mirabella and that she’s able to find help.
I hope she’s sent to live with a family who can love her and care for her in the way I haven’t been able to.
My body drops automatically into a fighting stance, muscle memory from years of survival.
The pain in my ribs fades to background noise as adrenaline floods my system.
Every sense heightens.
I can hear each footfall, smell the cologne of the men approaching.
Three men block me in.
Will they kill me or kidnap me?
Behind me, I hear my daughter's tiny, muffled whimper.
The sound hardens my resolve.
