Frantic, I reach for the knife and bring it up in a slashing arc, catching the Death’s Disciple across the calf. There’s a wet slick grinding noise as the knife bites all the way through his calf to his shin.
He falls.
And I pounce. Climbing atop him and planting my knee on his throat.
“Where is she?” I growl. “Where is Kendra? Where is that bastard keeping her?”
He stays silent, glaring at me with murderous fury as he struggles beneath me.
“Talk,” I say as I press the tip of the knife to his throat with just enough pressure that droplets of blood form as the steel breaks his skin. “Or I will bleed you out so fucking slow that you will beg me to end it.”
“Fuck you,” he spits.
“Last chance,” I say and I press the knife just a fraction harder, enough that the droplets of blood flow freely and he struggles and surges beneath me. “I can do this all fucking night.”
Then a new sound cuts through the sound of our struggle; a door upstairs, opening and closing, hard. It makes my head turn and worried thoughts of Violet — or worse, Josie — coming down those stairs and witnessing everything. And he seizes on my distraction, pushing with everything he has to dislodge me from on top of him, sending me sprawling to the side.
Before I can recover, he’s on top of me, wrapping his hands around my throat.
“So, you’re going to kill me, huh? Fat fucking chance, you limp-dicked piece of shit,” he growls.
My sight darkens. Blood pounds in my ears, in my brain, the sound of my heart striving with all its vain might to push oxygen through my body. I can feel my life leaving me, a numbness that starts in the tips of my fingers and swells inside me, sending cold welling from the tips of my extremities and racing toward my core.
Then warmth.
Wet, hot, thick.
A look of surprise flares across the face of the Death’s Disciple and he slumps sideways, a thick gash in his throat.
Behind him, holding the chef’s knife, I see Snake. He’s wearing boxers and nothing else. And he’s grinning like it’s fucking Christmas.
“Fucking finally got to stab someone,” he says. “God damn, it’s been too long.”
“Thanks, brother,” I croak.
“It’s me who should thank you for saving him for me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I’ll try. But can you do me a favor though, brother?”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“You think you could put some fucking clothes on? Seeing you naked and covered in blood is giving me all kind of weird thoughts.”
“Jesus, dude,” I say, and I put my hangs down to cover myself. “I’m going to go take the world’s quietest shower — because we sure as fuck are not waking anyone else up — and then I’m going to get dressed and we’re going to get rid of these fucking bodies.”
“Got it.”
“And Snake?”
“Yeah?”
“Any word from Blaze or Mack on where this Switchblade guy might be hiding Kendra?”
“No. They searched the whole fucking town and couldn’t find any sign of her.”
“Fuck,” I snap, feeling unease and worry take hold of my gut. “You know what this means?”
“No, what?”
“If they’re making a move on Vi and Josie, they’re running out of patience and cleaning up loose ends. Kendra’s time is about to run out.”
Chapter Eleven
Violet
My eyes open to an empty bed, yet one still fresh with his smell and still warm with the heat of his body. This is a feeling that, however fleeting, is one that I never expected to have — at least for a long while — and, now that it’s here, I can’t get enough of it. A time passes, minutes, at least, where I just lay in bed, with my head on his pillow, taking in the smell and feel of him. And I smile. Smile in a way that I haven’t smiled in years. Satisfied, fulfilled, giddy, sensations that are such a welcome and unexpected addition to my morning.
For the first time in four years, I’m sharing my morning with a man. And it feels so good.
I take my time getting up, and I put on a pair of flannel pajamas — scratchy, but soft and warm, the perfect pajamas for keeping away the frosty Colorado mornings — and I leisurely make my way downstairs.
The smell of coffee hits my nose before I’m halfway down. And I hear the sizzle of eggs in a pan and the sound of lively chatter around a breakfast table.
I’ve gone from alone to a full house in a single night. And, while the men — and young girl — that I know are sitting in my kitchen aren’t here under the exact circumstances I’d wish for, it’s still a wonderful feeling all the same. I pause before I leave the staircase and just listen to the life and happiness that float through the air on the wings of their conversation. Crash is in the middle of telling Josie a story — something involving his road name — and I wait for a moment, not wanting to interrupt, but then the delicious smell of coffee and eggs overwhelms me and I enter the kitchen.
“Morning,” Crash says, the second he catches sight of me. Before I take a second step, he’s reaching for the coffeepot.
“Wait, no,” Josie says, leaping out of her seat and running to intercept Crash.
He stares at
