My weapon hits concrete.
Across the garage, the man with the shattered knee laughs through pain.
Cherry sobs once. “They said they’d kill me.”
Lady rises from behind the pillar.
“No,” I bark.
Too late.
Because the gun shifts from my neck to her chest.
Everything in me goes still.
Lady looks at me, and for the first time this morning, there’s real fear in her eyes.
Not for herself.
For me.
“Don’t,” she says softly.
I don’t know if she’s talking to them or to me.
Maybe both.
The man behind me speaks louder. “Tell Diablo we got his girl’s girl.”
Lady’s chin lifts. Even with a gun on her, even shaking, she gives him that Miami-famous smile like she’s standing under club lights and not in a garage full of blood.
“I’m not Diablo’s anything,” she says. “I’m Lady Nyx.” Even with a gun pointed at her, she makes it sound like a headline, a warning, and a middle finger.
The man grins.
“Even better.”
I move.
I don’t think. I just turn, fast and mean, catching the barrel with one hand and driving my elbow back with the other. The shot goes wild. Pain rips across my side, hot and wet, but not enough to stop me. I break his wrist. He screams. I slam him into the elevator frame hard enough to crack his head against steel.
Then the van door opens again.
More men.
Too many.
One throws something.
Smoke bursts across the garage in a thick gray cloud, burning my eyes and throat. Lady coughs. I hear her heel scrape concrete. Hear hands grab. Hear her curse so sharp and vicious that pride and terror hit me at the same time.
I reach for her through the smoke.
My fingers catch fabric.
Then nothing.
“Lady!”
