Page 89 of Sinner's Sacrifice
Two men attacked Yvgeny’s aunt, and one landed a hit on her shoulder with some kind of short sword.
She made a noise, not quite a scream, but it was full of pain. Blood bloomed where her neck and shoulder met. Given how deep the wound was, blood should have sprayed out, but all it did was stain her clothing. Only a few drops made it to the floor.
That wasn’t right. That so wasn’t right.
It caught the attention of almost everyone. Two other attackers disengaged their fights to join the two who had scored the injury, but Yvgeny was suddenly there, only he didn’t have a sword. He held a mallet. It had a wide heavy handle and a large metallic blunt head.
He came up behind one of the men and caught him in the side of the head with the mallet.
Where the fuck had he gotten that?
The man dropped like a stone. His head gushed blood from several places and there was brain matter clinging to his hair. He should be dead, yet he quivered and wheezed on the floor.
Baz’s mother, who had been backed into a wall, suddenly moved between her two opponents, a knife flashing in each hand.
One man rocked back and forth, then fell, his head going one way, his body the other.
The other man clutched at his neck as arterial blood sprayed the wall. He bent forward a little, and Baz’s mother jammed one of her knives into the back of his head.
Behind her, Yvgeny swung his mallet at another man and knocked him off his feet and across the floor about six feet.
Robert appeared behind Yvgeny. He had something in his hands, but she couldn’t see what. The British asshole brought his hands up, holding a wide black bat or stick of some kind.
Adrenaline set Sam’s body on fire and she opened her mouth to scream a warning, but he’d never hear her. His safe room was too well hidden, the walls and ceiling too thick. She took a step back, intending to run for the stairs, but it was too late. There was no time to stop the British bastard’s attack.
Robert brought the weapon down on the back of Yvgeny’s head, a murderous glee in his eyes and a serial killer’s smile on his face.
Yvgeny went down, his limbs sprawling out awkwardly, in odd directions as if he were already dead.
There was a dark, spreading stain on the once white collar of Yvgeny’s shirt.
Sam sucked in a breath, then found she couldn’t force the air out of her lungs. Panic choked her with a band of burning steel wrapped tight around her throat.
No, no, no.
Robert hefted the bat, dripping and dispersing blood in a wide arc around him. He raised it high to bring it down for a second strike.
Baz hit him from the side in a linebacker style tackle that resulted in both men sliding several feet across the room. Baz began punching Robert as they continued sliding into the opposite wall.
Robert shoved Baz off him for a moment. Enough time for him to pull out a knife from somewhere.
Baz spun away, snatched something off the floor and blocked Robert’s knife blade. He grabbed Robert’s wrist and yanked the other man toward him as he slammed down Yvgeny’s mallet like he was some kind of Viking god.
It smashed into Robert’s face with a sharp crack. Robert collapsed, but Baz wasn’t done. He brought the mallet down over and over. Obliterating Robert’s face.
Yvgeny was face down on the floor, a pool of blood under his head.
The next thing Sam knew, she was on the stairs, racing upward to the trapdoor. There had to be a release or lock or some way to open it from this side.
Someone grabbed her searching hands from behind.
She thrust an elbow back at whoever thought they could touch her and received a twisted arm for it.
“Stop,” Nika hissed into her ear. “Stop or I’ll Taze your ass right now.”
At the hard female voice, Sam paused. “What?”
“Come down the stairs.” It was an order, one that promised punishment if it wasn’t followed.