Page 143 of Brutal
He knocks over a crate as he runs. It splinters against the concrete and tools scatter. A wrench skids under my boot. I keep going.
“Stop!” I bark.
He doesn’t.
I gain another few feet.
Then I hear it.
Not him.
Her.
She’s right behind me. Running. Damn, she’s fast.
I don’t look back. Can’t. Won’t. If I take my eyes off him now, I lose him.
“Delaney, stop!” I snap, hoping my voice carries behind me.
She doesn’t.
The runner hears her too. He risks another look over his shoulder. He pushes harder.
He lunges through the last gap between two boats, hits the open concrete behind the service garage, and slips on water. Maybe oil. Doesn’t matter which.
I’m on him before he can recover.
I hit him low and hard, driving my shoulder into his middle and slamming him into the side of the garage. He grunts and catches my ribs with his elbow. I barely feel it.
I pin his wrist, wrench it up behind his back, and shove him face-first into the wall. “Who sent you?”
He thrashes.
I twist harder. “Who sent you?” I repeat.
He sneers through split lips. “Fuck you.”
I slam him once more into the metal. The sound rings out sharp and ugly.
“Samson—” Delaney’s voice.
“Stay back.”
The runner spits blood onto the concrete and tries to twist free.
I shove him harder.
“Watch him,” he snarls, not to me.
To her.
Or about her.
Doesn’t matter.
I tighten my grip. “What were you doing at her building?”
He laughs.
