4

I ducked and spun as the fist flew past me, cracking against the wood where my head had been a fraction of a second earlier. I instinctively reached for my nightstick, Daisy, though I wasn’t carrying her in my blazer. Not that it would’ve mattered if I had. A body crashed into me before I could blink, sending my coffee flying and me into the wood at my back.

The door groaned, cracked, and splintered, the lock on the handle no match for the force of my body being slammed into it by a much larger dude. Air escaped my lungs in a wheeze as I sailed into my darkened apartment, my assailant’s shoulder driving into the soft spot under my ribs.

I stuck my leg between his as I grabbed the back of his shirt and twisted to the side. The end result was exactly what I’d hoped for. The guy’s left foot bounced off my shin. He stumbled and fell, allowing me to rotate to the top. Somehow, I’d even timed it right. His head rebounded off the back of my couch with a thud as he toppled to the floor.

My fingers itched for Daisy, but she was still in my leather jacket in the closet. I’d have to make do without. I clenched a fist and aimed a knee at my attacker’s neck when the second guy hit me, him even bigger than the first.

So that was how Topples had hit me so quickly after throwing a punch—because he hadn’t thrown the punch. His partner had. All of which flashed through my head as Biggie slammed me into a bookshelf.

Pain lashed across my back, the shelves digging into my muscle and pressing against my spine. My collection of Rex Winters hardbacks cascaded over me and Biggie, battering the pair of us as we each fought to gain an advantage. Biggie shot a forearm at my neck, the stench of sour meat and garlic heavy on his breath, but I refused to hold still to accommodate him. I drove a knee into his midsection, once, twice. He countered with a downward chop of his free arm and a pair of coordinated mini-hops away from me. I tried to hook his left leg with my right, but he anticipated that, too, shifting his weight to his right leg and bracing against my swipe.

Shockingly, Biggie knew what he was doing. I would’ve figured a three hundred pound half-orc bruiser like him would’ve been attacking me in my own home for shits and giggles.

I kept him off balance with another knee aimed at his groin and managed to get a grip on his collar. As he batted away my knee and came in with his forearm again, I countered, pulling him in and dipping my head.

His jaw cracked off the top of my skull, which seemed to hurt him more than me. He stumbled back. I didn’t hesitate, blasting my foot between his legs into his Mini Biggies as hard as I could. I would’ve followed it with a hard kick to the head if not for the fact that his partner had shaken off his mild concussion.

Topples rammed into me again with his shoulder, executing his signature move with the same grace as the first time. Luckily, he hadn’t learned his lesson. I hooked his leg again as he drove me into the kitchen, twisting him around and using our combined momentum to slam him into the counter.

Behind me, I heard a crash as the bookshelf tumbled to the ground, likely taking one of my side tables with it. Topples shrugged off the counter’s blast to his lower back and threw a weak, off-balance punch my way. I caught it with my arm and threw an elbow at his face, but gosh darn it if the thug didn’t use my own move on me. As soon I had his arm in my grip, he lurched off the cabinets and sent us flying across the kitchen.

The opposite counter introduced itself to my spine, thankfully in a spot that hadn’t already been savaged by the bookshelf. Topples snarled and slammed his body against mine, trying to free the arm that I held captive. His weight crushed into me, pressing against my already bruised spinal cord. It felt great.

I let go of him with my free hand, still trapping one of his arms in my pits. He took it as an invitation to choke me with his other hand. It would’ve been a poor choice on my part if I didn’t know what part of the kitchen I was in.

I fumbled around on the counter behind me as Topples’ fingers dug into the soft flesh at my throat, eventually finding the smooth glass neck I was searching for. A half-full bottle of Montvue special reserve whiskey. I’d had plans for it that didn’t involve shampooing a snaggle-toothed criminal’s hair, but such is life.

I brought the bottle crashing into Topples’ face, where it shattered into a hundred razor-sharp shards. Topples gasped and fell back, the whiskey soaking his shirt as a dozen cuts in his face started to ooze.

I grabbed another bottle, but I lost it as Biggie put me in a headlock from behind. The bottle fell to the ground, shattering with a crystalline ring, and I knew right away I was in trouble.

Biggie’s meaty arm wrapped around my neck, my windpipe right in the crook of his elbow. I reached up and clawed at his hand, but he’d secured it with his other. His fingers felt like iron, clasped together in a death grip.

I moved my fingers farther north, clawing at his face. Biggie chuckled. His teeth snapped and I felt his hot breath as he almost made a snack of my digits.

Topples stood, feeling the wetness on his face. He pulled his blood covered hand back and stared at it. “Son of a bitch.”

My lungs screamed for air. I couldn’t get more than a trickle through Biggie’s grip. As dark as my apartment had been a moment ago, it was notably darker now and spotted with red.

I heard Biggie’s heavy breath at my ear. “End this. Now.”

Topples nodded. He whipped a six inch blade from under his belt loop and lunged at my midsection.

It was about the dumbest move he could’ve made.

With Biggie’s arms locked on my throat, that left the rest of me free to squirm, and squirm I did. Engaging the abdominal muscles I’d gained after months of cross training classes, I brought my knees up and twisted to the side. Fabric tore as Topples’ knife sliced through the side of my suit jacket, followed by a pained grunt and the sweet taste of fresh air as Biggie’s grip loosened.

Even in the darkness I could see the whites of Topples’ eyes. “Shit…”

I took advantage of the split second of confusion. I swung my arm down as fast as I could, chopping at Topples’ grip on the knife. His fingers broke from the handle like chaff from wheat, and before either he or his partner could stop me, I slammed the knife further into Biggie’s abdomen.

Biggie cried out and released me, clutching at his stomach, but Topples didn’t panic. He slammed into me for a third time. My ribs groaned in protest, and when I went to hook his leg he twisted his body away from me. He reeked of my best whiskey, with blood coating half his face and his eyes showing a wild determination.

Together we careened across the room, both of us scrabbling for purchase. With my fingers wrapped around his soaked shirt, I managed to twist just before we slammed into the wall. It kept me from taking another full strength blow to my back, but my positioning lacked precision. Instead of hitting the wall, my shoulder plowed into the face of the grandfather clock I’d ironically inherited from my grandmother. Shards of glass pricked me through my coat, but my muscles didn’t scream.

Topples, however, did. He emitted a guttural yell and swung a wild fist at me. I danced back as it cut the air a bare inch from my nose.

I was ready for the second one. As his right hook came flying in, I threw open the door to the grandfather clock’s innards. His fist punched through the thin board, his arm caught to the elbow. As he tried to pull it out, I leveraged the clock off the wall. Both it and Topples toppled.

The pair slammed to the floor with a deafening crash. If no one had heard the commotion before, they’d be hard pressed to feign ignorance now. Topples lay face down with his arm trapped under the clock, groaning as he desperately tried to pull it out.

I stomped on the back of his humerus. Bone cracked. Topples screamed. Turns out having two nameless thugs try to murder me brought out the worst in me.

I ripped Topples from the shattered clock and drug him, half stumbling, toward the windows, hoping to get a good look at him. The light from outside barely illuminated the floor, much less his face, but there it was. Bloodied, ugly, and crisscrossed with faded scars. I’d never seen him before in my life.

The breeze picked up outside, rattling my windows in their frames. “Who are you?” I growled, my heart beating like a drum. “Who sent you?”

Topples cursed and threw himself at me, ignoring his shoulder as we slammed into the glass together.

It cracked but didn’t give. I gripped Topples’ upper arm in my fist and squeezed. He screamed.

“Tell me,” I said.

Maybe I underestimated the guy. Maybe more strength remained in his legs than I gave him credit for, and more strength of spirit in his core than his wild eyes gave credence to. Maybe he really did slam me through the shattered window, sending us careening into the cool breeze outside at the tail end of twilight. But it sure didn’t feel like it. It felt like an explosion sent us both flying out the window, or an abnormally strong gust of wind had blown us out from the inside.

I didn’t have time to ponder it. I simply twisted in midair, trying to keep Topples under me as I aimed for the awning of Mitch’s coffee cart.