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Then he hit the wall, harder than I’d even intended. And to be honest, I’d intended pretty hard.
I heard a muffled ‘crack’ that could’ve been his spine, or his head, or whatever else. Then he slumped to the ground, his limbs at odd angles. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
In the end though, I looked too long. Because when I turned back to find asshole number one, he was no longer where I’d left him.
Damn.
I was still scrambling to my feet when something hit me hard, in the back of the head. An explosion of silver white sparks obliterated my vision. I fell again, for a third time in as many minutes, and this time I knew I wouldn’t be getting up. I was too drained. Too dizzy. Both from the blow, and from what I’d just done.
“You still wanna talk?” I sneered. I needed time. A distraction, maybe. “You still—”
He kicked me, doubling me over. A cheap shot. It knocked the wind out of me though, which meant I couldn’t talk. I spat at him instead. He didn’t like that at all, and I really couldn’t blame him. It occurred to me that the peace and quite of my hotel room — as boring as it was — sure sounded good right now.
You’re a jackass, Serena. Xiomara’s voice again, this time in my head. An insolent, rebellious-for-no-reason jackass.
The man standing over me already had his fist raised for another blow. There was murder in his eyes. And something else, too. Something more primal, more savage and—
“Umffhh!”
I blinked as my attacker disappeared entirely from my vision. Something hit him sideways, something that knocked him clear to the other side of the alley with vicious, blinding speed.
There was an opportunity here. I seized it. I was up in a heartbeat, backing away and keeping my eyes on the
two men now struggling against one another. The asshole who’d kicked me was getting the worst of it. He was on his back, getting repeatedly punched in the face by some pretty-boy blonde with a flowing, shoulder-length hair and really fast fists.
My conscience screamed at me to go help him. The rational part of my brain forced me to take another step backwards.
What are you doing?
My attacker kicked upward, connecting hard with a knee. As my would-be hero was rocked onto his back, I found myself rushing forward.
A repeating horn blared, loud and obnoxious, followed by flashing lights. I thought it was an ambulance at first, but then I remembered where I was. In Paris, the monotonous two-toned sound meant the police were arriving. And judging from the volume, very soon.
Now, even.
I glanced back again, unusually torn. My handsome savior was back on top again, raining down blows. He was going be okay. Arrested probably, but okay.
I on the other hand…
He looked up for a second, and we locked eyes. Was that a smirk? I thought it could be. My hero was beyond handsome, almost to the point of being pretty. His jacket had fallen off, his exposed body accentuating a lean, muscular physique that was slender yet still rippled with muscle. He looked like an athlete. Or with the long golden hair, some kind of surf god.
More flashing lights. The noises grew louder, and now they were accompanied by yelling voices.
Go!
My hero broke eye contact and took off running. I ran in the opposite direction, passing two full blocks before ducking through to the next alley. From there I made a series of blind turns, each crazier than the last. Every street brought me deeper, closer to the heart of the Gordian knot that made up this stupid tangle of a neighborhood.
And then I saw it; a neon blue sign. A bar or nightclub, still open: Le Sirène.
Off in the distance I could hear shouts and commands. The crackle of a bullhorn. But still, nobody in my alley. Nobody in my alley yet.
I ducked through the doorway before that happened, melting easily into the dimly-lit smoke and shadows.
2
SERENA
The bar was more crowded than most at this hour. By the time I’d crossed the room and settled into a stool that put my back to the wall, I was among a good thirty or more people.
