Page 212 of The Devil We Crave
The guy is strong, built like a tank, and is a little more muscular than me. But I took Brazilian jiu-jitsu for ten years with my dad when I was younger.
Surprise, motherfucker.
He grunts when I flip us over, wrench the knife from his hands, toss it, and pin him to the grass, slamming my forearm against his trachea.
“Not fucking bad,” he grunts.
I ignore him and yank my phone out of my pocket to open the app connected to the tiny tracker I glued to the back of Yelena’s necklace months ago.
You know, just normal, rational behavior.
But I don’t make it as far as the app. Instead, I go utterly still when my eyes land on the text from my dad sitting on my home screen.
Dad
Just got off a call with my contact at the NYC FBI field office. Kyle Santoro was positively IDed by a speed camera leaving New York and entering southern Connecticut two hours ago. Keep an eye out.
“Achilles!”
I barely even register Damiano's voice as I leap up from him and take off at a dead run, Yelena’s location pinging on the phone in my hand.
And I hope to God I’m not too late.
42
YELENA
“And to thinkthere was a time when I actually wanted you.”
My pulse feels heavy as it thuds its way through the zip-ties binding my wrists.
Lightning flashes in the distance, and I shiver when I feel the waves pick up a little, making the boat we're in rock more aggressively as I watch Kyle stumble across the lower deck.
“Coulda had you, too,” he slurs, taking a big swig from the whiskey bottle in his hand. “Basicallydid.” He grins lecherously, making my stomach heave.
“No, you didn’t.”
Months ago, I’d never have talked back to Kyle like this. I would just have sat here, being scared, and pathetic, and weak.
But I’m stronger now. I don’t scare so easily anymore.
“You neverhad me, you pathetic motherfucker,” I hiss. “You think slipping something into my drink and then trying tosexually assault me ishaving me?” I bark out a laugh. “How weak a little bitch of a man do you have to be to?—”
My head snaps to the side as Kyle backhands me across the mouth. The taste of copper floods my tongue, and I wince, turning and spitting blood on the floor.
“Real men,” he snarls, “take what they want. We’re fuckingconquerors.”
I bare my teeth at him and spit more blood on the floor. “You didn’t conquer shit, baby dick.”
Pure rage suffuses his face, and I brace myself for another hit. But he just glares at me as he takes another swig of whiskey.
“I could have you right now if I wanted.”
A chill ripples down my spine.
“But no fucking thank you,” Kyle spits. “Like fuck do I wantAchilles’ sloppy seconds. You got a thing for Para Bellum presidents, hmm?”
No.
