Page 16 of Healed

Then his gaze dropped to Michelle, and a disgusting, cruel smirk danced across his face.

I pushed her behind me and stepped further in front, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest.

“Oh, good,” I muttered, shifting my weight and immediately regretting it as a sharp burst of pain tore through my side. “We have a visitor. Right on time, too, because we were just about getting fed up with each other. The old loneliness was kicking in. Honestly, Michelle, your hospitality is shocking. No tea. No biscuits. Just damp walls and attempted murder. And let’s not even mention how shocking my once glorious beard looks.”

“Luke,” Michelle warned, but there was no real heat in it. There was fear, though. But, like with everything else in my life, my own nerves were hidden behind a humorous mask.

The Rider reached for the knife at his belt and Michelle’s hand caught the back of my cut. “Don’t, Luke. Don’t be stupid. Now is not the time to play hero.”

I scoffed. “Please, Mrs Rider. Hero is my middle name.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed behind me.

I smiled despite everything. “There she is.”

The Rider lunged before she could insult me again and I moved because there was nothing else to do.

It was eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. Fight… or lose everything.

I wasn’t graceful with my movements. I wasn’t clever or strategic. I wasn’t even really fighting.

All I knew was that the man in front of me was currently stronger and faster than I was, and I had to keep moving to tire him out if I hoped to stand even the slightest chance of keeping Michelle safe.

I pushed away from the wall and met him halfway, using my size and the last scraps of adrenaline keeping me upright to slam him back against the doorframe. The impact went through me like fire. My ribs screamed, my head swam, and for one second the room split in two before crashing back together again.

I got my hand around his wrist, trying to keep the blade away, but my grip was weak, slick with blood and sweat, and he knew it. He grinned at me then, the bastard actually grinned, as though the sight of me struggling pleased him.

“Not so fucking big now, are you, Vice President?”

He almost spat my title at me, and I laughed in return.

“I’m big…where it counts,” I panted, which was not my best work, admittedly, but I thought it was pretty funny considering the several internal complaints and the external wounds.

He drove his knee into my stomach, and the breath left me in a rush. I staggered back, my entire world spinning.

Michelle shouted something, but the ringing in my ears swallowed half of it. The Rider came at me again, and this time I couldn’t get my feet to move quickly enough. My heel caught the bucket Michelle had warned me about, because of course it did. Apparently that fucking bucket had been waiting for its moment all along, and as I stumbled, the Rider lifted the knife.

Michelle moved faster than I would have believed she could.

For a second, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. One moment she was behind me, frail and shaking and barely strong enough to shove me earlier, and the next she was in front of me, one arm thrown out as though she could stop the entire world with nothing but the last pieces of herself.

The knife went into her with ease, the sound louder than it should have been.

Her body jerked, a small gasp of pain and terror spilling from her lips. The Rider froze, and we both watched as Michelle looked down at the blade buried beneath her ribs.

And then she chuckled. Despite everything, she stumbled back and she chuckled.

Pulling the knife free, she almost gasped with relief, falling back onto the stinking mattress I had found her on, and threw the knife in my direction.

“Shit,” the Rider hissed, and that was all I needed.

Running off nothing but adrenaline, I hurled my body forward, grabbed the knife, and slammed it into his left cheek and straight out of the other side.

Blood sprayed onto my face, and the Rider mumbled something incoherent before hitting the concrete with a thud. I didn’t look at him. My attention was fixed solely on Michelle.

A pale, agonised-looking Michelle, who was doing her best to cover her stab wound and failing miserably.

She looked up at me with trembling lips, shaking hands, and an ashen face.