How Sinners Fight - Eva Ashwood Page 0,86

into her flesh, pushing us over again.

I have the advantage.

Then she has the advantage.

Our bodies roll and scrabble on the forest floor, a fucked up dance as we brawl and punch and kick.

Why don’t you have a fucking dick? I knee her in the groin, wishing the stupid move would work on her like it did on Cliff.

Something warm drips onto my face—her blood, pouring from her nose and onto my skin, mingling with my own open, stinging cuts. Three more seconds of scrabbling and I’ve pinned her to the ground again, straddling her with all of my weight. I’ve got her pinned, her blood smearing beneath my fingertips as I steal her move, pressing my hand over her mouth and nose with everything in me, trying to get her to stop breathing for just a few seconds so I can escape.

But I wasn’t wrong earlier. This girl fights just like I do—with everything in her.

With a strength she shouldn’t fucking have, she punches me in the stomach so hard the wind rushes out of me. She bucks her body, launching herself onto me as she cuts off my airway. And this time, instead of covering my mouth and nose, her hands wrap around my throat.

The wild, manic, look in her eyes sends a chill through me.

She wants to kill me.

“You always did make that mistake,” she huffs, squeezing my throat tighter. I choke for air, but my throat is closing up, my lungs burning. “That’s why you could never beat me. You always left yourself so fucking open…”

She keeps talking, her breathless, shrill voice seeping into my ears. But the words stop making sense as my eyelids slide closed. My fingernail scrabble at her hands, but the movements are growing weaker.

For the second time tonight, darkness swallows me up.

24

When I wake up, it’s not slow or gentle. My mind jerks back into focus like a rubber band snapping, every single detail of the evening rushing back in.

I guess I should be thankful that I didn’t lose any memories this time, but it’s hard to feel grateful for anything right now.

My head throbs, and I can feel the lump on the back of my skull from where I got hit with a baseball bat-sized branch. It pounds in time to the beat of my heart, which is fast and uneven.

I’m not outside anymore. An eerie silence surrounds me, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize that there are no windows in this cold, cement room. I’m tied to a chair, but I manage not to panic. I suck in a deep breath, making my throat burn. It hurts when I swallow, and I cough as I inhale as if my body is still getting used to accepting oxygen.

I can’t believe that bitch choked me out.

When my vision clears completely, I realize that Reagan is here too. She’s sitting in the corner of the dimly lit room, watching me with the single-minded focus of a predator or a feral animal.

Reagan.

Jesus fucking Christ.

All this time I was worried about Cliff. Caitlin. Or maybe Aaron. I didn’t even think about Reagan. She wasn’t even on my radar. She was just always there, one of Caitlin’s little followers.

But she’s obviously not as much of a follower as I thought. I’m pretty sure she orchestrated this whole thing herself—the kidnapping, holding Max hostage to get to me.

And she’s obviously crazy. Bat shit crazy.

My muscles scream as I try to get the blood flowing into my stiff, cold, limbs.

Reagan shifts, her gaze tracking every small movement of my body as I shift in the chair I’m tied to. When her attention moves up to my face, my stomach clenches as our gazes meet.

“Where are they?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

She knows who I mean—Max, Elias, Declan, and Gray.

Fuck. My heart throbs in my chest at the thought of them. Are they safe? Are they hurt? Did they survive the fire Reagan set? Did she go back for them after she knocked me out?

Where are they?

If she thinks she can get away with this, she’s fucking wrong. The thought is full of vengeful fury, but it doesn’t do much to ease my fear. I’ll make her pay if she hurt any of them, but that won’t unbreak my heart.

Reagan just shrugs. She doesn’t look concerned at all, and my jaw clenches as I wonder if that means they’re okay—or if it means they’re dead.

Maybe she doesn’t actually know how they are. Maybe she never