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Darn. She should have spread dirt on her hands. Something to note for the spy classes.
Dita dodged him and took off into a sprint. She could outrun him. She thanked her father for her long legs as her stride outdistanced her bulky pursuer. A smaller version of the grisly giant with well-developed forearms and a misshapen nose came out of a stall and stepped in front of her. “Goin’ somewhere?”
“Gentlemen.” She stopped and raised her hands as she searched the area for something to defend herself. She had her knife, but it required close combat. Two against one were not good odds, especially when they looked like seasoned brawlers. “Lord Clifton will be very upset that you won’t release his horse. No reason to cause yourself problems. He is a very important man. Let me have Fury and I will be gone.”
She inched closer to the pitchfork stuck in a hay bale. It was heavier than what she was used to, but it could work if she gripped it high. Screaming for Harry at this point would alert the other men who were busy in the alley saddling horses and hooking horses to their gigs. No one was paying attention to her, and that was what she wanted if she were to escape unscathed.
The bigger guy lumbered slowly toward her. Confident that he would be the winner, he wasn’t in any rush. His slow pace gave her enough time to grab the pitchfork and swivel her upper body to swing it over her shoulder to test the weight.
He laughed, his big belly hanging over his rope belt. “This should be entertaining.”
She didn’t respond but focused all her energy on defending herself. She balanced the instrument in her hand, judging by its weight and greater girth that she would have to use heavier force and a bigger arc than she did with her Kali sticks.
He plodded toward her, raising his ham-sized fists to his chest to pummel her. When he got within hitting distance, she slashed the fork, bringing it high above her shoulder. She swung with all her strength to strike him across the neck, the most vulnerable part of the body. Taking advantage of his surprise, she thrust forward across his middle. He staggered, and she used her offensive position to lunge forward and thrust the pitchfork at his chest. But she hesitated… she hesitated to stab him.
You hesitate, you die.Alfie’s words flashed through her mind. She couldn’t kill anyone. She couldn’t kill the brute just to make her escape.
The smaller guy, who still outweighed her by ten stones, sprung to tackle her. She pivoted and kicked him in the chest. She had strong legs, and the power of her kick had stunned him. He fell sideways, trying to right himself. She rushed forward and, twisting her body to use the momentum, slashed the stick against his temple, another susceptible spot. The thud reverberated in her hands from the force with which she hit him. He fell to the ground, knocked out cold.
If she ran, the giant would yell for others to stop her. Her arms would soon ache from the weight of the stick if she didn’t make a quick escape. All she had done to the big brute was incense him. Primal fear pulsed through her veins. Sweat trickled down her back.
The behemoth roared. “You slimy bastard. Fight like a man. Not some namby-pamby using a pitchfork.”
Dita accepted that she couldn’t stab him. If he got the best of her and was going to beat her, she could pull off her cap and declare who she was. What would the big bully do then? Take her to Haversham? In the least, she’d be ruined, and at the most, she’d be taken prisoner and possibly worse. She had to knock him out quickly and get back to the carriage. It sounded easy in her head. But the reality of her burning muscles and the hatred pointed at her gave her pause. She was becoming too tired to use the stick. She’d have to strike him in the kneecap first, but it meant getting pretty close. He roared again. “I’m going to kick your blimey arse for knocking out Bert.”
Anger was a great weapon to turn on your opponent. She took a slow breath, calming herself. Out-of-control emotions were a detriment in a fight. Calm and focused were how Alfie trained her to be.
With his face mottled, he ran straight at her, giving her the perfect opportunity to rotate to her left side and strike him hard straight to the kneecap.
He gasped and keeled over shouting, “Fucking hell. I’m going to tear you apart.”
She moved in to deliver thepiece de resistanceand bring her knee up to hit him hard and fast in his manly parts as he bent over.
“Perdita. My God.” Dash’s voice.
For the one second that she lost her focus, the furious man, oblivious of the knee injury, delivered a punch to her stomach, causing stars to dance before her eyes and the light to flicker on and off in the stable. She tried to keep upright, but the pain blocked out any defense she could muster. She staggered backward, trying to breathe in fractured breaths before the light faded. She felt herself falling into oblivion when suddenly a sharp pain exploded in her head.
