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I twist around immediately and slam the person to the ground, jump up, and kick him viciously with my heel.
My limbs are heavy, my feet shredded, my knuckles bloodied.
One thug.
Then another.
Then I hear many more voices behind me. I turn but don’t see Archer.
“Archer!” I scream, but the only thing visible is a snake ball of bodies farther away from where Archer was.
No-no-no!
My nerves are jangling, my brain is on fire, my heart racing. I’ve never been so sure about anything as right now—there’s not a chance of me leaving Archer behind.
I stumble and run toward the mess, my eyes on the pile of bodies, Archer buried under them.
I can’t see him, can’t hear him. My heart thuds like it will explode in a second. All sounds mix together—my heavy breathing, the whispering rain, the grunts, and the thudding of kicks and punches.
I’ll never leave Archer! Even if it’ll leave me bloodied and bruised. Even if the worst comes for me afterward.
I can’t.
Not a fucking chance in this motherfucking world!
If he’s being dragged to hell, I’m going there to get him. He’s mine. And these people—
I roar in anger like an animal and shoot the gun in the air, then point it at the human mess. I’ve never shot at actual people, but that’s about to change.
I shoot at the thugs one by one as I approach.
Torso shot.
Torso shot.
One more.
Another one.
I could’ve shot them in the head. Even in the dark, I’d still hit where I aim. The fact that I’m shooting at real people doesn’t bother me, not when those animals are hurtingmyArcher.
A couple of thugs fall with screams and several scatter away like spiders. But several more are kicking at Archer. They must be high or drunk, immune to the sound of gunshots. Even the ones who went down start scrambling toward the group again. I can’t shoot the ones close to Archer for fear of hitting him, so I aim at the ones farther away.
Someone slams into me, sending me to the ground, but before I get up, I kick at the body that flung at me, sending it to the ground too.
Another one rushes to me. It’s dark, but I know danger when I see it. It doesn’t have to have a face. I swing my foot, slamming it on the side of the face I can’t see, a grunt escaping it.
In seconds, I pick up the gun from the mud and jump to my feet.
“Wanna play, little girl?”
A voice behind me whips me around, putting me face to face with an old thug baring his crooked teeth in a slimy smile. He grabs my throat with a steel claw, cutting off my breathing.
Without hesitation, I knee him in the balls, and when his hand slips down, I hit the moron who was taking his time sweet-talking right in the plexus. He’s paralyzed, a guttural sound escaping from him, as I smash the butt of my gun in his face, sending him to the ground like a log.
“I’m a woman, motherfucker. Have a problem?”
I dash toward the thugs that are on Archer.
