Page 142 of Boys Who Hunt

The sound of a motorcycle echoes through the streets, and the bright light blinds me. I shriek as it’s headed straight toward me, but right before it hits, it swerves and knocks down the guy holding my arms.

The biker then drives right over him, breaking bone after bone in his body.

The guy gargles out a screaming moan.

Finally, I can breathe again.

Until some other fucker clamps down on my ankles and refuses to let go.

“Get off me!” I shriek, kicking.

Motorcycle guy has turned his bike around again, but I’m far too busy shaking this fucker off my legs because he won’t let me go.

“Fuck off!” I scream, kicking him like my life depends on it.

After I roll around on the asphalt, he finally loses his grip, and I crawl backward away from him. The asshole still follows me, attempting to grasp my ankles again, so I swiftly get to my feet and attempt to brawl with him.

They wanna take me? Fine. I won’t go quietly.

Motorcycle guy jumps off his bike as five more goons appear from the sidelines, all sporting butcher knives.

“You messed with the wrong fucking guys.”

Motorcycle guy doesn’t say a word as he casually unzips his coat and pulls out two sizable knives while I avoid a knockout blow to the face.

I throw a left fist and punch the fucker who tried to take me by the legs in the gut.

He groans in pain but swiftly regains his composure and grips my second fist midair, knocking me back into a wall.

“Whoever the hell you summoned isn’t going to save you,” he grits. “You’re outnumbered.”

“Says who?” I grit, trying to lie my way through this.

A fist comes at my face, but I lean sideways and narrowly avoid it. However, a second hit of his knee in my stomach makes me buck and heave.

The guy grabs me by the hair. “Not so confident now, are we?”

He kicks me in the shins from the side, and I’m knocked to the ground.

Suddenly, a knife comes flying right at us and hits the guy in the back.

He groans and falls over on top of me.

Motorcycle guy grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him off me, shoving him aside. He stares me down for a second, but I can’t see his eyes behind that dark visor, and I shudder in place.

When the guy comes up to a crawl, another knife is thrown at him… straight in the back of his skull. Blood explodes everywhere—on the asphalt, on my clothes, my skin, on his helmet.

Who is this guy?

In shock, I stare, still on the ground, as Motorcycle guy waltzes off and slams his fist into another one of those fuckers who came for me, pummeling him to the ground before piercing his eye, pricking it to his knife like a goddamn marshmallow he wants to roast.

The guy screams in pain. “What the fuck?!”

Motorcycle guy grips his mouth and cracks open his jaw, shoving the eye inside.

What the fuck—

Two hands grip my ankles, dragging me across the pavement, and I shriek. “NO!”