My head cracks against the wood. Everything goes white and fuzzy.
My palms slip against the floor as I try to push myself up, but Mathis is straddling my chest. I buck my hips. He doesn’t budge. I sink my teeth into the fleshy part of his hand. He doesn’t even flinch.
I’m not playing any of this asshole’s games. I swing my fist at his face as hard as I can, but Mathis catches my hand and twists it. A strangled cry tears out of me.
I can hear Nico yelling through the phone. It’s lying on the floor ten feet away, the screen still lit up. Might as well be on the moon for all the good it does me.
What do I do? What wouldDaddo?
I drive my knee up hard into Mathis’s groin with everything I’ve got. His body jerks, but his face registers no pain. It’s like kicking a brick wall that happens to be shaped like a person. I swing my free hand at his face, connecting with his cheekbone. Pain reverberates through my knuckles. His head snaps to the side from the force, but when he turns back to look at me, he’s grinning wider than before, tears streaming down his face.
I throw my body forward and sink my teeth into his cheek. He roars, probably more in surprise than in pain. I bite until blood stings my tongue.
An arm wraps around Mathis’s throat, yanking him upward. Griffin has blood streaming down his face, and his prosthetic is at an angle, but he’s standing on it.
“Come on, you bastard,” Griffin growls through gritted teeth, every muscle in his arms straining. “Go to sleep.”
Mathis’s hands drop to his sides, then his whole body goes limp in Griffin’s arms.
Griffin holds on for another few seconds before lowering the unconscious man to the floor. We both stand there, panting, staring down at Mathis, who suddenly looks very ordinary, like some random middle-aged guy taking a nap on his living room floor.
Griffin wipes blood from his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a red smear across his cheek.
“Is he…?” I can’t finish the sentence.
Griffin kneels to press two fingers to Mathis’s neck, his other hand braced on the floor to keep himself steady. “Unconscious.”
There’s a ringing in my ears that won’t go away, and adrenaline is still coursing through me, making me jittery. “So, we got him?”
The color drains from Griffin’s face so fast I think he’s going to pass out.
“Griffin?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to get outside the building.” He stands up, and his voice is the kind of calm that means everything is absolutely not calm.
“Why?”
Oily smoke pours out of Mathis’s mouth, rising and pooling against the ceiling.
Oh,fuck.
Griffin rushes for the box of salt on the floor and tips the box frantically. Not even a grain comes out. The salt line is scattered across the hallway, completely obliterated. Griffin tries to salvage what he can, but there’s so much of his blood on the floor that anything he sweeps up sticks to his hands in red clumps.
The smoke above us grows thicker, condensing into something with actual shape. I can see the suggestion of shoulders forming, then arms.
There has to be salt in the kitchen. I scramble across the floor on my hands and knees, throwing open the cabinet under the sink. Dish soap. Sponges. A bottle of bleach. I shove everything aside, the bottles clattering against each other as I dig deeper.
Griffin’s behind me, tearing through drawers. I can hear him slamming them open and shut. Cabinet doors bang. Utensils clatter to the floor.
I get up on my knees to look across the counter, my eyes skimming over that disgusting gallon of milk—the dirty dishes—there. Behind the microwave is a cardboard cylinder of Morton’s. I nearly sob with relief when I feel the weight of salt inside.
“Got some.” I go to pass it to Griffin, but his hand is already closing around my arm, lifting me to my feet so hard I fall into his chest. His fingers dig into my shoulder as he spins me toward the door.
“I’m not kidding.” His face is inches from mine, and there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. “You’re not trained for this. Get out of here and let me contain him.”
“But—”
“Please.” He gives me a small shove toward the hallway. “Go.”
