Page 9 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
Or at least, I try to.
I make it maybe three steps before I see him. The other man. The one who must have been waiting for me. He's standing at the end of the alley, blocking my only escape route, and he's massive. Easily six-three, maybe taller, with shoulders so broad they seem to fill the entire width of the narrow space. His long black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and there's a scar cutting through his right cheek that makes him look even more dangerous.
He's a beast.
He's staring at the knife in the other man's side, his expression completely blank. I can't tell what he's thinking. Can't tell if he's angry, impressed, or planning to kill me where I stand.
Then his dark eyes shift to me, narrowing slightly. My heart slams against my ribs. Now what am I supposed to do?
I'm trapped, completely and utterly trapped. One man behind me, one in front of me, and nowhere to go. The brick walls of the alley press in on both sides, too high to climb and too solid to break through.
I turn back to the man I stabbed, hoping maybe he's incapacitated enough that I can get past him. But what I see stops me in my tracks before I can even take a step.
He's pulled the knife out.
He's standing there, holding my little silver blade in his hand, wiping the blood off on his pants like it's nothing. Like getting stabbed is just a minor inconvenience.Like I didn't just bury a knife in his side.
And then he smiles. Chills run up and down my spine, raising the fine hairs at the nape of my neck. I try to swallow the lump that's suddenly formed in my throat, but my mouth is too dry.
That smile! It's not a grimace of pain. It's not a forced expression meant to hide how much he's hurting. It's a genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. He looks almost… amused.
What the hell?
"That was unexpected," he says with just a hint of a Russian accent. He tosses the knife aside, and it clatters against the pavement. "I'll give you credit. You've got more fight in you than I thought."
I don't respond. Ican'trespond. My throat is too tight, my mind racing through options and finding none that end well for me.
There's nowhere to go in this alley. A man stands at each end, blocking the only way out. Both of them are bigger than me, stronger than me, and clearly, more experienced at this kind of thing than I am. Plus, I've wounded one of them, and even though he looks amused, for all I know, that's his killing expression. He could be about to murder me now.
But I'm not going down without a fight.
I drop into a fighting stance, my feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and hands raised in fists. My father drilled this position into me until it became second-nature. Balance. Center of gravity. Always be ready to move, to strike, and to defend. The best defense is a good offense. Get them first. Take them off guard.
The man I stabbed starts laughing. It's a deep, rich sound that echoes off the brick walls. "You're serious? You actually think you can fight your way out of this?"
"Stay back," I warn, my voice steadier than I feel. "Both of you. I don't want to hurt anyone else, but I will if I have to."
The beast at the end of the alley takes a step forward. Just one step, but it's enough to make my pulse spike even higher.
"I said stay back!" I shout.
He doesn't listen. Neither of them does.
The man I stabbed moves toward me, and I lash out with a kick aimed at his knee. It's a good kick, fast and powerful, the kind that should buckle his leg and give me an opening to escape.
But he blocks it with his arm, absorbing the impact like it's nothing. Before I can pull back, his hand wraps around my ankle, and suddenly, I'm off balance, hopping on one foot, completely vulnerable.
I try to twist free, but his grip is iron. He yanks my leg, and I go down hard, my back slamming against the pavement. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and for a second, I can't breathe. I can't even think as stars seem to dance above my head. I can't do anything but lie there gasping.
Then the beast is there too, looming over me like a mountain. I try to scramble backward, but there's nowhere to go. My back hits the brick wall, and I'm cornered.
"Get away from me!" I swing at him, my fist connecting with his chest. It's like punching concrete. He doesn't even flinch. My knuckles sure as shit hurt like hell, though. Briefly, I wonder if I sprained or even broke one of my fingers on his brick chest.
I keep fighting anyway. I kick, I punch, I claw at anything I can reach. My father's training comes back in fragments. Go for the eyes. The throat. The groin. Anywhere that might give me an advantage.
But it's useless. These men are professionals. They know every move I'm going to make before I make it. The man I stabbed catches my wrists, pinning them together with one hand, while the beast grabs my legs.
"Stop," the man with blue eyes says, his voice calm despite the blood still seeping from his side. "You're only going to hurt yourself."
