Page 55 of Challenge Me

The gunman stumbled backward, landing on his ass in the mud.

Ghost turned his head toward him, his smile too wide, too still. He didn’t look like a shadow anymore. With the rain pouring down over him and the glow of his eyes casting eerie light through the dark, Ghost looked like a demon.

The man fired. I saw the muzzle flash, but the bullet passed uselessly through Ghost’s chest and struck the Challenger’s door frame behind him, punching a hole in the metal. Ghost didn’t even flinch; instead he bent and picked up the tire iron lying in the mud, moving silently toward the man who had taken everything from him, watching impassively as the man shakily pulled himself back to his feet, backing away from the spirit of vengeance.

Ghost swung. The first strike landed against the side of the man’s head.

THUD.

The man staggered sideways, his knees buckling as he stumbled into the beam of Ghost’s headlights. His gun fell from his hand.

Ghost followed. He raised the tire iron again.

THUD.

The man collapsed in front of the Challenger’s bumper. His hands clawed at the ground, fingers tearing through mud as he tried to drag himself away. Ghost stepped over the man’s legs. His outline flickered in the headlights, blood darkening the iron in his hand.

He lifted it.

THUD.

Bone gave way beneath the blow.

THUD.

Blood sprayed across Ghost’s white hood in a fine red mist.

THUD.

The man stopped moving. Ghost did not. His arm rose and fell with the steady rhythm of a machine doing what it was made to do. Each strike was measured, patient, and placed with hideous care.

THUD.

The hits had obliterated the man’s face; he looked like raw meat, something animal and pathetic.

THUD.

What remained of the skull folded into the wet earth.

THUD.

I sucked in a breath.

At last, Ghost stopped. Behind him, the rain washed the blood from his hood in long pink ribbons.

He looked good in red.

Chapter Twenty

Lai

I didn’t resist when Ghost lifted me into his arms and carried me to the Challenger’s passenger seat. I might be a dragon, but I was also a princess, and there was something pleasantly humiliating about being carried like one after an evening spent proving I was perfectly capable of violence.

I could have walked, perhaps; not with any dignity or grace, but I could have. Instead, I rested my head against Ghost’s shoulder and allowed him to lower me into the seat with a great deal of care. The leather was cold beneath my wet clothes, and even the gentle movement sent a deep pulse of pain through my ruined ankle. I caught Ghost’s shoulder, my fingers tightening until the worst of the pain had passed.

Ghost’s eyes sharpened. “Broken?” He asked.

“No.” I didn’t think so, anyway.