Page 161 of Dark Night of the Soul

Kincade wrapped a hand around my upper arm and hauled me to my feet, pushing me behind him.

My legs shook. My throat felt crushed. I could feel it swelling already. But I stayed upright.

Decker’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Kincade.

“She’s made you weak,” Decker said softly.

“No,” he said. One word. Flat. Hard.

“You used to be sharper. Now—”

Decker’s words were cut off by the blaring alarm overhead.

“Fuck.” Kincade turned to me, gave me a shove out the door. “Ulrich, get us out of here.”

Four guards rushed down the hall. He fired twice, dropping two. I grabbed my knife and went for the third.

Decker lunged through the server room door and crashed into me. I slammed against the wall, dropping the knife. His hand wrapped around my hair, jerked my head back. Fury exploded through me, brushing open that cold place in my head—the one that housed the programming.

I elbowed him in the gut. Felt the air leave him in a rush. He grunted. Then I spun, used the heel of my hand to hit him in the nose. Blood spurted. His head snapped back.

Two precise shots. Decker went down, his kneecaps destroyed. His scream was immediate and raw.

Kincade reached for me, but I was still in attack mode. I knocked the gun from his hand and reached for his throat.

He caught my wrist, fingers digging into my flesh. his muscles taut as he forced me to stop.

“Anna, stop!”

His voice cut through to me. I blinked.

But that one second was all it took.

A gunshot and my shoulder exploded in pain. Hot. Burning. Like someone had shoved a poker through muscle and bone. I jerked sideways, nearly fell. He caught me, held me upright.

“Escape route is hot,” Ulrich said.

“No shit. Get us another route now,” he barked.

He was practically dragging me down the corridor now. And though I was back to myself, my feet didn’t want to cooperate. I stumbled, the pain in my arm sharp and biting. Blood ran warm down my sleeve, dripping from my fingertips.

More guards appeared behind us. Too many guards. Both of us weaponless.

Another shot cracked down the corridor.

Kincade grunted hard, the sound punched out of him. His face went sheet white. Sweat instantly beaded on his forehead.

His hand went to his abdomen—and came away slick.

“You’re—” I started.

“Keep moving,” he said, teeth clenched. “Don’t stop.”

Blood was already soaking through his shirt. Dark. Spreading fast. The smell of it sharp and metallic in the close air.

Too much. Too fast.

A figure dropped into the corridor from a side stairwell.