The joint’s swollen as shit, but I’ll survive. Pain is just information I can acknowledge and ignore.
When I take another step, she bolts across the room.
I follow, plodding like a fucking pack mule. The sight probably looks scarier than it is. My ankle barely flexes, and I’m still half frozen.
After Nika disappears around a corner, thetinkof rustling utensils hits my ears.
As I poke my head around the edge of the wall, I hear the tiniestsnick. Metal sliding along calloused flesh.
I jerk my head back as a kitchen knife soars past. I risk another peek, and a second blade nearly chops off my nose.
Shit, are all her kitchen knives balanced for throwing? I can’t just wait around to find out.
Air rushes from my lungs as I duck and roll just as a meat mallet flies above and cracks into the wall. There’s nothing to hide behind, so I grab a metal garbage can and chuck it at her head.
If she wants to fight dirty, I’m down.
Nika dodges to the side. Food packages flutter around her, and the garbage can ends up in the sink.
But she’s not done. “You’re looking pretty sluggish. This should help.”
I spot a gray bottle in her hand and curse as I pull my parka up over my eyes.
The chemical stink of drain cleaner stings my nose as gel splatters over my sleeve. Through the snow and ice melting into my hat, I can’t tell if any gel landed on top of my head.
I rip the cap off with my clean hand before it can drip into my face and fling the damp fabric straight at Nika’s head. “I’d rather you have it.”
She leaps onto the counter like a cat. “I’m all good.” With strength she shouldn’t have, she rips a cabinet door off its hinges and swings.
The smooth wood is too slick for my gloved hands to catch hold of, and I take several blows as I lumber toward her. Each hit burns like fire as my nearly frozen skin fails to flex properly.
This brat is more trouble than she’s worth. She’s responsible for so much pain and suffering, including Sasha’s death.
Good thing trudging up the mountain gave me plenty of time to think. If I decide to kill her, I’ve already brainstormed a few ideas for a convincing story I can spin for Roman.
Nika maneuvers over the countertops as she heads toward the front room, using the height to her advantage and keeping that cabinet door held between us as a weapon and shield.
I spot a weird pale gray blob sticking out of the top of her underwear, but I can’t get a decent view as the almost two-by-three-foot door swings at my neck like an executioner’s ax.
I throw myself back. “Can’t you just throw dishes like a normal person?”
Hopping around hurts like hell. My ankle protests with each movement, and my skin prickles as the house’s warmth brings it back to life.
The heat has thawed my skin and clothes, causing ice and snow to slide from my gear in wet clumps. Backing into a half-melted iceberg, I slip and fall on my ass.
Nika takes immediate advantage of this, of course, and hurls the door like a frisbee straight at my face.
I clock her toes curling under her.
She’s about to jump.
Slapping one hand to the floor, I twist my hips to the side and kick off the white tile. As her legs start to straighten, I lunge toward her. “You’re not getting away again!”
I’m three stumbling steps closer when her knee dips.
She changes trajectory and launches herself at me. That amorphous gray blob sits in her hands.
I have no time to duck, and I’m already off-balance.
