Page 221 of Caterina
The panel hums once, then dies again.
“Come on,” I mutter.
A sound comes behind me.
I turn, but not fast enough.
The attacker hits me low, driving me into the utility enclosure. Pain explodes through my side as metal bites into my back. My gun arm is pinned for half a second. He goes for my throat with one hand and my weapon with the other.
This one is trained. And strong.
I slam my forehead into his face.
He grunts but does not let go.
We hit the ground hard.
The impact tears through me. My vision grays at the edges, and for one dangerous second, the whole world threatens to go black. He uses it, rolling on top, knee driving toward my ribs.
I block it badly and too slowly.
His fist comes down. I catch it with my forearm, twist, and buck my hips enough to throw him off-center.
He reaches for a knife.
I catch his wrist with both hands.
The blade stops inches from my throat.
My side is on fire.
My strength is bleeding out faster than I want to admit.
His weight presses down. The knife comes closer.
Then his head snaps sideways.
Blood sprays across the gravel.
The pressure disappears.
I roll, dragging air into my lungs, and look up.
Vito stands a few feet away, gun up, expression stone cold.
Nico is beside him, weapon tracking the shadows beyond the enclosure.
For one second, I am too angry to speak.
Then I manage it.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
Vito lowers his weapon slightly. “Saving your ass, apparently.”
“I told you to stay in the room.”
“And I listened,” he snapped. “And then I said ‘fuck that’.”
