Page 20 of The Darkest Hour

“Make me.”

Closing up the space between us, I shot several times.

She focused on dodging the bullets and not the fact that I was getting near her.

Then, I pulled the trigger, and nothing came but a click. “Fuck.”

Well, I’m close enough.

I dropped the gun and charged for her.

She flung those daggers at my chest.

I slammed them away with my hand. “I’m impressed.”

She tried to dive to the floor.

I caught her arm and slammed her into the wall. “But not that impressed.”

She punched the right side of my neck.

“Goddamn it!” I reared back.

“No, come here.” She smashed her fist into my temple and followed it with a swift kick to my groin.

Pain exploded.

I staggered to one knee.

Another punch struck my nose.

I caught her wrist before she could pull her fist back. “Has anyone told you that you hit like a bitch?”

Then, fast her fingers wrapped around my wrist, yanked my hand up, then her body twisted, and somehow I was down on both knees, wincing as my arm burned in pain.

She dug her fingernails into my skin. “I hit like a bitch? Huh?”

“Yes.” I slammed the back of my head into hers.

She grunted in pain.

We fell to the ground.

She let go.

We both rolled away and recovered several feet from each other.

Both of us jumped to our feet, ready to go at it some more.

With no weapons.

Just fucking untamed rage.

Face-to-face we glared at each other.

There were things I was used to when fighting any opponent. I expected fear to decorate their face, desperation to ripple in their eyes.

None of that filled her gaze. Only confidence and energy radiated from her side like she was ready to fight for several more hours.