Page 101 of The Vixen

Blood drains from my face as my stomach lurches.

“Go back to the library, Dreg,” Thorne says, his voice more gruff than normal.

My eyes track Liberty on the screen. Her room is the last on the left.

I turn and start down the hall, but Thorne grips my shoulder and swings me to face him. My chest expands but then freezes in place while I try to make sense of his eyes,softnot hard.

“Go back to the library, Dreg,” he repeats with a shove that has me stumbling back a step. He doesn’t attempt to clear his throat, though his gravelly voice suggests he should. He doesn’t attempt anything; just stands there hoping I’ll leave.

There’s a chance I’d be able to reason with him.

But I don’t take it.

My fist rears back but before it can get halfway to Thorne’s face, he lands a predictable blow to my gut that has me hunching forward. I slink to my knees, arm wrapped around my stomach while I let out a low groan that’s more authentic than I’d hoped.

Thorne towers over me with contempt that doesn’t seem as strong as it should be. I weave a hand beneath my pant leg to retrieve the sharpened piece of metal and visualize where to put the blade—my next two moves playing out in my head. One slash to his femoral artery. One yank of his wobbly leg to send him toppling to the ground.

“I know you think you’re smarter than me, but it’s time you learned that brains only get you so far,” he says with all the confidence of an oversized G.I. Joe. I slide the metal from my sock and grip it tight, eyes aimed at his thigh where the artery awaits. It’ll be a quick death. Mostly painless. “It’s thestrongestwho survive, youpuny wimp. I could hurl you across a room.”

A garbled sound comes from my mouth—not as high as a laugh; not as low as a grunt.

That’s not what Darwin meant.

I lift the blade to his thigh in a quick slash, but in the millisecond it takes to slice, something pale and poised flashes through my mind—so fast it’s hardly to blame for my hand hitching. I miss the artery at least two centimeters off my mark.

There’s a half second delay where I could correct the mistake, but instead, I tighten my grip and plunge the blade through Thorne’s boot. Metal pierces leather and flesh until I’m met with too much resistance.

Thorne bellows as his heavy feet shuffle backward. His eyes pop as he looks down at his foot, and before he can fully react, I scramble around him and hurry for the last door.

I slide the lock and fling open the door, my senses immediately assaulted. There’s no time to be paralyzed, but I hesitate long enough to see everything. Hear everything.

Liberty’s screams—angrybut more than that. Worse.

The naked back of a Keeper. The dirty soles of Liberty’s bare feet.

Too late.

My chest swells as I lunge for the man, his head knocking into the wall as I tackle him off Liberty. She scrambles off the mattress while I scramble on top of the assailant. He blinks as if confused, but his eyes slam shut when I ram my fist into his teeth.

His hands lift but hardly shield his face as I bust his nose. Crack his jaw.

And again.

And again.

Until his hands drape awkwardly at his sides and blood no longer sputters from his mouth.

“Sawyer,” Liberty cries. My fist hovers by my ear as I turn. She sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, a shaking hand clutching her ripped shirt.

I go to her with my hands carefully held out. She clenches her eyes shut to sob.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I say. Except it isn’t. It never will be.

I pull my hoodie off my head and carefully help her into it while Thorne barges into the room, blood wetting his pants and seeping from the hole in his boot. He breathes heavily as another Keeper comes in after him.

Limping to me, he stares down with an expression so vengefully ragged, it’s manic. “Thank you. You just made my life so much easier.”

“Sir?” The Keeper prods for the order.