Page 332 of Immune

The first rushes at me with a shock baton. I step inside the swing of it because away would be too slow. The baton catches my shoulder instead of my ribs, and electricity zaps across my skin. Pain claws at my vision, but my pipe still smashes across his knee and the joint buckles with a wet pop.

I take his baton as he falls just as the second grabs me from behind. I jam the baton backward between his legs and trigger it. I think I giggle at the scream he releases, but I can’t actually hear myself over the shrill decibel of the guy’s pain. Good. I hope it fucking hurts, too.

The third punches me in the stomach hard enough to fold me in half. Air leaves my lungs in one pained rush, and he catches my wrist before I can swing, twisting until my fingers open. The baton drops, so I do the next best thing. I slam my fucking forehead into his mask.

The goggles crack and so does something in my poor, sorry head. Stars burst across my vision, cementing that it wasn’t such a great idea after all, but it was certainly useful. He staggers around aimlessly so I kick him in the knee and lunge for the service lane.

For one beautiful, impossible, glorious second, I think I might have actually done it.

Then the universe absolutely shits on me and the whole world jerks sideways. Something loops around my throat and under one of my arms and it doesn’t take me long to realize what it is.

A strap.

No. No, no, no.

A capture sling.

The words appear in my brain with a bone-chilling certainty, because there is absolutely no way a normal person would think to use something like that unless they’ve done it before.

The strap tightens, but not enough to choke, just enough to control. I claw at it with my good hand, but another shock round slams into my leg and my knees buckle. I hit the ground hard enough to rattle my teeth, cracking together with a sound that’s too loud in my ears.

A hand catches Maine’s hat while it’s still on my head.

“No,” I snarl, and the sound that comes out of me isn’t human at all.

I grab the wrist attached to the hand and bite down through gloves, fabric, and skin. The man curses loudly and the hat stays on, which is a tiny victory. A stupid victory, but mine all the same.

It’s short-lived, too, because a boot slams into my ribs a moment later, and the breath that explodes out of me comeswith a world of pain. It flashes so bright that the three bonds inside me grow feral.

Ewan’s panic turns vicious.

Kaito’s control fractures into murder.

Fletcher’s steady warmth becomes an animalistic roar so deep that I feel it in the marrow of my bones.

They’re coming. I know they’re coming. I can feel them tearing through the compound toward me. But every second stretches. Every inch matters.

And Vector knows that too.

“Dose her,” someone orders.

“No,” I spit, because I’m absolutely nothing if I’m not committed to being the biggest pain in the ass to deal with.

I wrench sideways and manage to get one knee under me. It’s my bad one, but who gives a shit right now? Not me. The sling tightens and another hand grabs my bad arm, and the pain blanks my vision completely.

A needle flashes from nearby and I catch the wrist right before it sinks into my neck. The injector stops literally an inch away from my skin, and we freeze there. Me shaking, him pushing, and the needle trembling between us like the world’s worst compromise.

I bare my teeth and snarl, “Try it, fucker.”

He does.

I twist my head and the needle stabs into the side of his hand instead. He shouts and drops the injector, and I can’t help but laugh at the idiot. It sounds completely unhinged, literally crazy. Good. That’s good. Let them wonder and worry about my mental stability. Let them understand that whatever they thought they were stealing isn’t just going to fit neatly in the cage they’ve already prepped ready for me.

Then the fourth man appears, but he’s not rushing. He’s not angry. He steps through the smoke with a different kind ofmask, black glass over the eyes, and a long coat sealed at the throat. Older, maybe. It’s hard to tell. But his gloves are clean and his posture is calm.

I hate the bastard instantly.

He crouches in front of me while two men hold the sling and another guy grips my arm.