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He jumped up to his feet.
“You guys coming? I haven’t even broken a sweat.”
They came. Every one of them ran at Hammer with weapons at their sides. Lead pipes, chains, fists, and boots beat Hammer to his knees.
Hammer protected his head with his hands and forearms. Pain shot through his back, coupled with a blunt-force kick under his rib. He grunted as he was attacked, biding his time.
But then the chain whipped his back, cracking him on the spine.
Dragons did not scar without deep, deep, deep wounding. Hammer’s chest contracted as the rage built. Redness, fury, and hatred filled his vision. And with one final kick to the side, Hammer released his fury.
Fire erupted out of his mouth, some thugs catching fire and others jumping back to avoid being burned. Hammer went after the ones who weren’t rolling on the ground. He grabbed one by the shirt collar. He nabbed another by the elbow.
Hammer took the two bodies and smashed them together. Both collapsed when their skulls cracked into each other. The two rolling on the ground had both extinguished their fires.
Hammer went over to one, stomped on his hand, and knocked him out with a punch to the temple. The last two guys circled Hammer. They ran at him at the same time. One shifted into a wolf quicker than Hammer could register. The other into a panther.
Hammer was taken aback, but dragons were still more resilient than dogs or cats. He caught both by the throats and threw them down with a dragon’s force. They were out cold by the time they hit the ground.
Hammer’s breath was heavy as he looked around. No one seemed to notice a huge fight in the middle of a public place. If they had, no one did anything about it.
Hammer checked each goon. They were breathing, but just barely. They were all unconscious, and he was satisfied with the job.
He fell to his knees. The fighting had rattled him. The pain was still fresh. With no one left to take it out on, the energy reverberated around his chest as panic.
Sharp, shallow breaths extinguished the confidence he had in battle. Hammer placed his head between his knees and covered his head with his hands. He tried to calm his panic, but it wouldn’t stop.
The tension spiraled into a tight ball of his chest. He couldn’t breathe or see as his fear blackened his vision.
Then, like a beacon, Charlie’s face bobbed into his mind. She was why he was out of that life. He was cursed without her. She was his saving grace in more than one way.
His breaths became longer. The spiral of anguish unraveled. Hammer held onto the image of Charlie. Her sapphire eyes. Her dark hair. Her scent of rosemary.
Hammer inhaled. He mixed all the parts together, and they built strength inside him. He saw her face with a shining light haloed around it. Hammer knew he could never be without her again.
He laid his hands on the pavement and focused on the cool ground under his palms. He heard the crickets chirping and far away traffic running over the road. He could smell the rain that had just fallen.
“I’ll never be forced to fight again,” Hammer said, standing. He looked around and saw that the shifters and other men were still out. He brushed off his hands, grabbed the bag of food, and knew they had to leave.
“I don’t know about that, Mr. Vykovsky,” a voice from behind Hammer said. “I think you’ll be going right back there as soon as you give us the girl, although you gave us a really good show.”
The cool muzzle of a gun pressed against Hammer’s back.
Hammer knew if he moved, the bullet would rip right through his heart.
He could never help Charlie if he was dead.
Hammer froze, unsure what to do.
TWENTY
CHARLIE
The warm water trailed along Charlie’s skin. She dried off with a hotel towel. The thin fabric scratched her skin, but it was a luxury she was happy to have. Living and sleeping outside was never part of her plan.
But neither was running for her life.
She wiped her hand over the mirror in an arch to see her face and stared at herself. It was a habit she had picked up from years of teenage insecurity long ago and was left over.
