Famine (The Four Horsemen #3) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,121

don’t know.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?” the man growls, giving me a vicious shake. I barely catch myself from falling into the mud.

I give him a nasty look; years of barroom brawls have prepared me for men like him.

“I mean that I just fucking woke up, you ass-licking bastard.”

The knife leaves my cheek long enough for the man to cock his fist and hit me across the face.

My legs fold, and now I do fall to the ground. I hear him spit, though I don’t feel it with all the rain pummeling me.

“Bitch. We’re going to have to beat some manners into you.”

Distantly, I can hear the other two bandits moving through the house.

“What the hell is this?” one calls from the doorway. I glance over my shoulder as the woman saunters out, tossing Famine’s scales in front of me. The metal plates clink together.

At the sight, I feel a spark of hope.

Maybe the horseman hasn’t left after all.

But then I remember how he sometimes rides away without his scales, knowing they’ll turn up eventually. He could still be gone.

I’m pushing myself to my feet when the bandit next to me kicks me forward, forcing me back against the ground. My hands sink into the muddy earth.

“Well?” the man says. “Answer her.”

These men really have no clue who they’ve ambushed, even when the evidence is staring them in the face.

Not that it will save me.

I look over at the woman. “They’re scales, you cunt-munching idiots.”

That gets me another kick to the side. I gasp at the impact, curling in on myself.

“What did you find?” my attacker calls out to his comrades.

“Nothing much worth saving,” the woman says. “At least we can trade her.” She nods to me.

No.

I’ve been used enough in my twenty-two years; I won’t let it happen again.

I hear the third bandit’s footfalls as he leaves the house. “I don’t want to deal with traffickers,” he says, coming towards us. “Grab what you can and slit her throat.”

My muscles tense at that.

The bandit reaches for me.

Acting on instinct, I kick out at the man, missing his crotch.

“Stupid bitch,” he growls, lunging for me, his knife aimed at my chest.

I barely manage to roll away, the blade embedding itself into the wet earth where I was a moment ago. The man catches me by the waist and flips me onto my back, pinning my body beneath a knee.

I buck, trying to throw him off of me, but he’s too heavy.

Distantly, I’m aware that the other two bandits are packing up their horses, ignoring us as though midnight scuffles in the mud are normal.

My attacker grabs my hair and jerks my head to the side, forcing me to bare my neck. Then his muddy blade is pressed against my skin once more.

I go still, my eyes moving to his.

This is it.

I survived all manner of frightening men as a prostitute—I even survived a horseman of the apocalypse—just for it to end like this.

I have the oddest urge to laugh. It all feels so pointless. So, so pointless.

Behind us, there’s a rustling in the foliage that borders the house. My attacker pauses.

From over his shoulder I catch a glimpse of Famine stepping out of the shadows, fully clad in his armor, his scythe at his side.

He didn’t leave.

I exhale. Never have I been so grateful to see the horseman.

He looks mildly amused as his gaze moves from one highwayman to the next; the weather, however, gives him away. The rain pounds down on us, and behind the Reaper, lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating his form.

“Well, who the fuck is this?” the leader of the group says, clearly unaware who has just joined them. I hear the slide of wood against wood as he grabs an arrow and nocks it.

“Most call me Famine, though I must admit, I have a particular fondness for ‘the Reaper.’”

Another bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, and for an instant, I can see the horseman in all his malevolent glory.

No sooner has Famine revealed himself than the female bandit takes off, sprinting across the yard.

The horseman doesn’t even bother trying to catch her. Instead he throws his scythe with impossible force. The unwieldy weapon spins head over handle making a rhythmic chopping noise as it propels forward.

With a meaty thunk, it buries itself into the back of the woman’s skull. Her legs fold, and she falls, dead in an instant.

The man above me makes a startled noise as she collapses.