Page 120 of Victorious

Hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

Hard enough to make the world flash briefly white, before slamming into black.

VINOW. THEN.

“WHERE is he, Sydney?”

“I don’t know!” she pleaded, her vision dappling with pain.

Eli loomed over her, blotting out the world. “I don’t believe you.”

She struggled, but it was no use. Tears slid into her hair. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. At some point, her fingers had slipped off the knife. Eli tugged the blade out of his arm, blood pouring from the wound as if she’d hit an artery before the skin knit. And scarred. Syd frowned, a thought trying to force its way through the suffocation and the pain, but it was interrupted as he brought the blood-slicked metal to her cheek.

“Tell me, Sydney, and I’ll make it quick. Keep lying, and I’ll—”

Something slammed into his body. A massive black shape, a blur of fur and teeth, and then Eli was no longer on top of her, but on the ground, Dol’s jaws locked around his throat.

Sydney scrambled upright, ribs screaming and pulse pounding in her ears as she scooped up the fallen backpack and took off, even as every aching part of her yelled to stop, to turn back.

Mitch had drilled the rules into her.

If anything happens, he’d said, you run. You don’t worry about me, or the dog, because so long as you’re alive, you can bring us back.

Each time he gave the same old lecture, Syd nodded like she understood, even though she didn’t. Couldn’t fathom ever leaving either one of them behind. Even now, the urge to return to Dol was overwhelming, a weight around her ankles, the need to find Mitch strong enough to send her up the stairs instead of across the lot toward the truck and the keys they kept in the dash. But then Syd hit the second floor, and halfway to their rooms she saw the door to 13 hanging open.

She was about to turn back the way she came when she saw two shapes coming up the stairs. EON agents, weapons drawn and faces hidden by glossy black visors.

Below, she heard the sharp retorts of Eli’s gun, Dol’s yelp as he was struck.

Panic washed over Sydney, but she gripped the backpack and kept going, past her room and Mitch’s to the far set of stairs. Two steps down, her path was blocked again by more agents coming up. She turned to find the other two still heading toward her.

There was nowhere to go.

No—that wasn’t true.

To her right, a metal door, no room number, just a sign marked ROOF ACCESS—EMPLOYEES ONLY.

Her fingers tightened on the backpack.

She’d promised Mitch that she would run, and she’d tried.

Now it was time to try something else.

VIINOW. THEN.

YOU get your bell rung, Turner?

That’s what Mitch’s cousin used to ask, after a rough bare-knuckle match. The truth was always no. He was too big, too strong. Opponents were lucky if they got close enough to land a decent punch before he took them down. But as Mitch struggled to his feet, he thought he understood the saying now.

His ears were still ringing, and pain flared across his shoulders, down his back, arms scraped raw where he’d thrown them up to shield his head on his way down the stairs.

When he swallowed, he tasted blood, and hoped it was his cheek and not something more important as he spit a glob onto the pavement. He turned back toward the stairs, searching for the source of the cheap shot, the person who’d attacked him. But they were gone.

So was the shotgun he’d been holding. He squinted and saw it lying on the ground, several yards away, but as he limped toward the weapon, it disappeared.

Mitch frowned.

One second it was right there, glinting dully on the pavement, and the next it twitched, as if a hand had closed around it, and the next, it was just gone. And before Mitch could process what that meant, he saw the agents circling, two of them, dressed head to toe in armored black, their faces hidden behind visored helmets.