Bonds of Brass (The Bloodright Trilogy #1) - Emily Skrutskie Page 0,58

but her grip remains, her other arm coming around as she tries to plant her weight and wrestle me into submission. She’s lighter than me, but I’m several years removed from the last time I had to scrap for my life. I try to break her grip on my wrist, but she twists viciously, and the gun pops free, clattering to the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her companion shift his aim to Gal.

The rational part of my brain knows Gal’s wearing the deflector armor. Knows any bolt shot at him will go astray. Knows I need to focus on not letting this woman crack my head open on the wiretram’s plastic seats. But the rational part is no match for what takes over. I plant my feet and heave, using my weight to twist the Cutter woman in front of her companion before he can get a shot off. She kicks off one of the seats, redirecting her momentum straight into me, and I stagger back, collapsing as she drives a knee into my chest.

But before she can pull back her fist and do some major damage, the wiretram lurches, the brakes squealing, and the woman goes flying down the aisle. I tilt my head back to find Wen at the controls, throwing a manic grin my way as Gal holds off the driver. I struggle to my feet and shrug the pack off my back as the tram reaccelerates, bouncing slightly along its line as we climb above Isla’s skyline. We’re going fast—far too fast for normal travel speeds, fast enough that the noise of the motorbikes beneath us is fading.

The Cutter woman lunges for the fore of the tram, and Gal steps forward to meet her, his fists up. I try to rush after her, but a hand comes down on the back of my shirt, and I whirl to face the other Cutter. I don’t know where his gun has gone—maybe he lost it in the braking—but in any case, his fists do just fine. He snaps a right hook across my face, and my vision goes starry.

The tram lurches again, and I dodge to the side as the Cutter stumbles past, grabbing a bar to keep myself upright. The commuters in the back scream, pressing against the walls, clinging to their handholds, some of them holding up their datapads to capture the moment. I scoff. Guess we put on a good show.

As my opponent regains his bearings, I glance to the fore of the tram in time to catch Wen tossing her umbrella at Gal as he dodges the Cutter woman’s swing. He grabs it by the hilt and spins it around, catching her upside the head. With the helmet she wears, it only disorients her, but Gal follows through with another spin that slashes the bladed tip over her arm.

And like the blood blooming in the wake of his slice, a smile the likes of which I’ve never seen spreads over Gal’s lips.

Bile rises in my throat at the sight, but I can’t afford the distraction. I leap sideways as the male Cutter charges me. But instead of taking a swing, he dives past me for one of the blasters. Too late, I dive after him. He rolls on his back to meet me, firing a shot that rattles my teeth as it cracks past my ear, and I land hard on his chest, elbows driving into his sternum. The Cutter chokes, and I use the distraction to pin his wrist before he can take aim.

But before I can pull my fist back and drive it under his chin, a kick catches me across the side of the head, knocking me onto the grimy tram floor. I roll on my back to find the other Cutter—the one I dropped with a stunner bolt—is on his feet again. He’s woozy from the aftereffects of the hit that took him down, and maybe it’s that wooziness that mercifully drives his next kick into my shoulder instead of my head.

“Ettian!” Wen hollers from the front of the tram. “Our stop’s coming up.”

Here’s the trick behind fighting to the top. The way forward when it looks like you’ve lost everything. You have to make it convincing. Disappear,