Page 189 of After the Burn

The grip on my hair loosened, and I drove my head backward. Bone crunched behind me, and a man screamed. I dropped, twisted, and came up with the small knife I’d hidden in my bra, stabbing the second man.

Wren drove her knife into the thigh of the man holding her. The dumb bastards hadn’t even disarmed her. The man howled, and she ripped free.

“Robin!” Wren shouted frantically.

“We need to move!” I shouted at her.

Men were running toward the eastern fence. Others were shouting near the office, likely gathering more weapons.

I heard someone cranking on what must have been a backup generator, but it coughed twice and then died.

The yard stayed dark except for moonlight and muzzle flashes.

As we neared the middle of the compound, we ducked behind an old truck. A large shape cleared the fence, and my chest nearly cracked open when I saw Beck hit the ground right after and roll to his feet.

Lucas came over behind him, as Adrian appeared through the side gate seconds later, pistol raised.

Colson hurried past me and focused on Wren. His eyes immediately fixed on the blood on her mouth, and his expression turned icy. The man nearest to her died faster than I could blink. One second, he was standing, and the next, Colson had him by the throat and drove a knife up under his jaw.

Wren froze, her mouth hanging open. “Damn.”

Good. She deserved that kind of brutality protecting her.

Beck found me, and his eyes swept over my face.

Split lip.

Bruised cheek.

Blood on my shirt.

Then his gaze landed on Nash trying to fight his way to me, and everything inside him changed.

“Dad?” The shock on his face turned into rage when he looked back at me. “Did he do this to you?”

“Not before I did that to him.”

Beck looked at Nash’s wrist and the slash across his face near the other one.

Understanding dawned, and he smiled. “I should be pissed you started without me.”

Before I could reply, Nash lunged.

Beck met him halfway, and they hit hard. Nash took the brunt because he couldn’t match the enhanced strength Beck was capable of.

Nash’s injured wrist, swollen and useless, hung close to his body. He fought with his other hand, aiming his knife at Beck’s ribs, but Beck deflected it with his forearm and punched Nash in the mouth. Nash reeled, and Beck struck him again, forcing Nash against the truck’s side.

“Is that wrist bothering you?” Beck taunted him.

Nash spat blood into the dirt. “Your bitch did that.”

Beck smiled. “She’s an ass-kicker. A smarter man would’ve learned that already.”

Nash lunged with the knife he still held in his grip. Beck caught his forearm, slammed it against the truck door, and drove his knee into Nash’s stomach.

The knife dropped.

Nash folded, but instead of staying down, he grabbed a fistful of Beck’s shirt and head-butted him.