His jaw tightens. He doesn’t like being talked to like this, especially not in front of his goons. Awesome, I hope it pisses him off.
“You owe us double now,” Taewoo says, his voice hardening. “For all the trouble you’ve caused. For making us waste our time hunting you down like a rat.”
He nods at his thugs. “Take him.”
I smirk, rolling my shoulders back as the thugs close in. My pulse kicks up, but not from fear. This is familiar. This, I know how to handle.
“Come on then,” I say, spreading my arms wide. “Let’s dance.”
They rush me all at once, which is their first mistake. No coordination, no strategy, just a bunch of muscle trying to overwhelm me with numbers. I duck under the first swing, feeling the air whistle past my ear. My fist connects with someone’s kidney, a solid hit that makes him grunt and stumble sideways.
Another one comes at me from the left. I pivot, letting his momentum carry him past me, and drive my elbow into his spine as he goes by. He crashes into one of his buddies, and they both go down in a tangle of limbs.
But there are still too many of them. A meaty hand grabs my shoulder, spinning me around. I see the fist coming, but I don’t move. I let it connect with my jaw, my head snapping to the side. The pain is bright and sharp, stars exploding behind my eyes. A laugh bubbles up in my throat.
“That all you got?” I taunt, spitting blood onto the pavement.
They don’t like that. Two of them grab my arms, trying to pin me. Another one steps in, his fist driving into my ribs right where that guy in the ring hit me earlier. The pain doubles, tripling the earlier ache. I gasp, my knees buckling.
Perfect.
I let my legs give out completely, my full weight dropping. The sudden shift catches them off guard. Their grips loosen just enough. I wrench my right arm free and swing it up, my fist catching one of them square in the nose. Blood spurts. He howls, stumbling back.
The other one still has my left arm, but he’s off balance now. I use it, planting my feet and yanking him forward. He trips over my leg and goes down hard, his face meeting the concrete with a satisfying crunch.
I’m free. For about two seconds.
They’re regrouping, circling me again. Taewoo is shouting something from the sidelines, his face red and furious. I don’t wait to hear what he’s saying. I fake a stumble, my hand going to my ribs like I’m hurt worse than I am.
They buy it. Of course. They surge forward, thinking they’ve got me.
I wait until they’re close, until I can see the smug satisfaction in their eyes. Then I lash out with my foot, catching the nearest one right in the face. His head snaps back, and he drops like a sack of rice.
I don’t stick around to admire my work. I roll to the side, coming up in a crouch, and then I’m running.
“Get him!” Taewoo’s voice screeches behind me. “Don’t let him get away!”
I sprint for the mouth of the alley, my boots pounding against the pavement. Behind me, I hear the thunder of footsteps as theygive chase. My ribs scream with every breath, but I push through it. Pain is just information. It can wait.
I burst out of the alley and hang a sharp left, nearly colliding with a drunk couple stumbling out of a bar. They shout something at me, but I’m already past them. The thugs aren’t far behind. I can hear them crashing through the same space, their heavy breathing and cursing getting closer.
I duck down another alley, this one narrower. Garbage bags are piled against one wall, and I vault over them without breaking stride. One of the thugs isn’t as lucky. I hear him crash into them, the sound of splitting plastic and his muffled cursing.
One down.
I take another corner, then another. The alleys in this part of the city are a maze if you don’t know them, but I’ve spent enough time running through them to have the layout memorized. I know which ones dead-end, which ones have fences I can climb, which ones connect to the main streets.
I spot a chain-link fence ahead, maybe six feet tall. I don’t slow down. I hit it at full speed, my fingers grabbing the metal and hauling myself up. My ribs protest violently, the pain sharp enough to make my vision blur for a second. I grit my teeth and keep climbing.
I’m over the top and dropping to the other side when I hear them reach the fence. They’re slower, heavier. By the time they start climbing, I’m already running again.
I cut through a narrow gap between two buildings, so tight I have to turn sideways to fit. My jacket scrapes against the brick on both sides. Behind me, I hear one of the thugs try to follow and get stuck. His frustrated yell echoes off the walls.
Two down.
I emerge into a small courtyard, cluttered with broken furniture and old crates. I don’t hesitate. I grab the edge of adumpster and use it to boost myself onto a low roof. My arms shake with the effort, my ribs screaming, but I pull myself up.
From here, I can see a fire escape on the building across the courtyard. It’s a jump, maybe eight feet. Doable. Probably.
