Page 233 of Bitter’s Sweet

Not pretty.

Flint.

Then she slams her heel into his wounded thigh and throws herself sideways.

Razor screams.

His knife hand jerks away.

I launch forward.

Everything happens wrong and fast.

Sweet slips on loose gravel.

Mama's picture stays clutched against her chest.

Her body goes over the broken edge.

I dive.

My hand catches her wrist.

The impact slams me flat on the concrete. Pain rips through my shoulder while half my body slides toward the drop.

Sweet hangs below me.

Sixty feet of black waits beneath her pink shoes.

Her eyes find mine.

“Bitter.”

I lock my other hand around her forearm.

“I got you.”

My boots skid.

Concrete crumbles beneath my ribs.

Behind me, men shout. Razor screams. Somebody hits him. Somebody else curses.

None of it matters.

Sweet's fingers dig into my wrist.

Her grip slips.

“I got you,” I say again.

I don't know whether I am promising her or begging myself.

Nevermore's hand locks around the back of my belt.

Ghoul drops beside me and grabs my shoulder.

Sweet slips another inch.