Page 110 of Parting Shot

I missed the guy with the knife, but the blade sliced and didn’t stab, his angle poor.

Grabbing his arm, I bent his wrist and heard it snap, followed instantly by his scream, and then I shoved him down and off me, taking the knife as I whirled on Goran.

His eyes, which I had found so dead, were now wide and glittering. I stayed where I was, wary, listening for anyone.

“That was magnificent.”

Taking a step back, keeping all of them in my sight, I slowly straightened up from my crouch.

“I would like to speak to your master. Please show me to him.”

“You’re kidding?”

He took a step forward, and I took one back.

“No.” He lifted his hand. “Please. Let me talk to you.”

“You just tried to assault me.”

He smiled placatingly, as if my statement were insane. “It was a test. If you hadn’t fought, we would have let you go.”

“Or,” I offered, “the whole nonconsent thing is your kink, and now that I’m here and you’re there, you’re giving me this line of bull.”

“No, I⁠—”

“You just let me hurt your men for a test?”

He made a face. “They’re not my men, they’re resort security. They work for Wells. We’re not allowed to bring our people here with us. You know that.”

“Emergency,” the guy whose wrist I had broken suddenly yelled, and I saw the walkie-talkie on him. When he moved, hanging from the inside pocket of his dress shirt was his security badge. “We need immediate medical assistance.”

“Duncan,” Goran began, “please, show me to your master. I must explain and offer recompense for damaging his property.”

I heard people running, feet pounding up the concrete path, and in the chaos of the swarm of help, I bent and lifted the key card from the guy I had kicked unconscious and slid it down over my hip under my briefs.

A woman was suddenly in front of me, her hands on my face, looking at me.

“Your left eyebrow is going to need stitches,” she informed me. “Will you come to the infirmary with me?”

“Sure.”

“Who’s your master?” she demanded, wincing as she examined my neck.

“Aaron Sutter,” I replied, and just uttering the man’s name, I felt better.

The people in front of me did not have the same reaction.

My nurse or doctor—I wasn’t really sure yet—her eyes popped open wide, like I’d shocked the crap out of her. And big, scary Goran Begović made a noise in the back of his throat. When I glanced at him, he was absolutely ashen.

I grinned. “Let me guess. Do you happen to know Aaron Sutter?”

I thought he was going to faint.

THIRTEEN

Her name was Faith, and she was, in fact, a medical assistant at Buona Sera. She was very nice and gave me a local anesthetic before she closed the cut above my left eyebrow, three stitches in all, as well as the slice above my right nipple, which took six. My nose, amazingly enough, came through the assault unscathed, but my lip was cut, and my left cheek rapidly changed color. I had blood on my shirt, my jeans were done for, and my shoes—which had been in fair shape before—were cut up from the gravel we had been fighting on.

“I’m really worried about your head.” She winced. “Your pupils are huge, and your neck is just raw. You need to take that chain off.”