Page 158 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

He lunges first, testing my reflexes.

I hop away and bounce on my heels. I could burst in, try to get inside his guard and overpower him, but something tells me he’s smarter than that. He’s been a cop—a detective, really—for at least ten years. If he said he hadn’t seen his fair share of fights, I’d call him a liar.

He makes no such promises, though—but he is aggressive. He comes at me hard, throwing punches. I return them wildly, stupidly.

He gets under my guard and hammers my kidneys.

I let out a harsh grunt and back away, circling him.

He grins at me. “This is a fight I’ve been wanting to have for a while,” he says. “Do you know she cried your name while she was unconscious?”

I almost, almost let the fury overtake me.

We intercept each other again, trading blows. I land an uppercut, and his head snaps backward. For a moment, I think he might fall.

But then suddenly there’s a gleaming knife in his hand, and I barely jump out of the way.

Someone screams.

Sky, I think.

And my next thought: I’m going to die.

Some fights can’t be won. Not flesh against a weapon.

I strike out, catching his throat. It’s a lucky hit. But he has a lucky hit of his own: his knife blade sinks into my arm.

“Liam!” Sky screams.

In slow motion, the blade is tugged from my skin. It rips, really. Blood spurts from my arm, spraying up, and I stagger away from Masters. The man falls to his knees, clutching his throat. It might’ve been a hard enough hit to crush his windpipe, or maybe I’ve just surprised him.

Sky is suddenly on me, her hands clamping over my arm. “Artery,” she breathes.

Masters makes a choked noise behind us, and then a noise I’ll never forget: the click of a firearm’s safety.

We both turn and stare at Masters, who holds a hand to his throat and the other aiming a gun at us.

I bow my head, touching my forehead to Sky’s.

“I love you,” she whispers.

A loud siren shatters the night.

In an instant, we’re surrounded by flashing blue and white lights.

I drag Sky flat down, into the snow, as dozens of police officers shout orders at Masters. He glances around and grins.

“Tell your dad I say hello,” he calls to me.

And then he puts the barrel of his gun to his forehead and pulls the trigger.

43

Sky

Tell your dad I say hello. Masters directed that at Liam.

He figured it out before I did.