Into the Mist (Falcon Mercenary Group #1)(31)

His eyes flashed at the insult, and he swung again, but this time she was prepared. She blocked his fist, planted her boot in his balls, and when he folded over with a bellow of pain, she slugged him and sent him sprawling to the pavement.

She wrenched her knife from the inside of her jacket and followed him down, pressing the blade against the crotch of those nice, expensive slacks. She rotated her wrist in one of those flashy moves Mad Dog had taught her that was more for intimidation than anything else.

“Unless you want to lose the jewels, you tell me who the f**k you are and what you want.”

His eyes betrayed him. His gaze skittered beyond her face, and she saw a glint of satisfaction.

She reacted solely on instinct, whirling and thrusting with her knife. It collided with a muscular arm, and she lost her grip on the handle as the blade slipped deep.

A hand snaked around her ankle and yanked. She fell forward, scraping her palms on the jagged cobblestones. She rolled and arched upward, snapping back to her feet.

She faced not one, but two pissed-off men, desire for her blood burning bright in their eyes.

She backed cautiously away. “Not that the knife doesn’t look good on you, but I’m rather attached to it. It was a gift. So I’d like it back if you don’t mind.”

The second attacker calmly reached up and gripped the handle and yanked the knife out of his arm in one clean motion. She winced. That had to hurt.

She reached down to slide the two knives from her boots. She rose gracefully, twirling the handles expertly in her palms, letting the smooth leather dance between her fingers.

They circled each other, the unarmed man taking refuge behind the man with the knife.

He swiped first, testing her. She easily leaped away. He pressed in closer, trying to box her in. She kept a wary eye on Mr. GQ as he sidled over to the left.

When he reached down for a piece of metal pipe lying in the alley, she threw one of the knives. It landed with deadly precision right in the side of his neck.

He went down like a rock, blood spewing like a geyser from his carotid.

“That leaves just you and me,” she said calmly as she sidestepped to keep a safe distance between her and the remaining man.

He grunted in response and whipped the knife in an intricate pattern in the air.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she asked. “Come on, slick. You’ll have to do better than that.”

To his credit, he refused to let her bait him. He continued to stalk her, and Tyana knew she needed to end things quickly before they were discovered.

The man rushed her. She felt the slick steel cut through her skin as his knife slashed through her upper arm. Refusing to allow the pain or surprise to make her falter, she dropped to one knee and rammed her fist into his balls at the same time she slashed at the hand that held the knife.

Her blade met bone, and she heard the clatter as the knife fell from his hand. She dropped and rolled, reaching for the other knife. She lunged to her feet a few yards away, ignoring the pain in her shoulder and the overwhelming odor of blood.

She tensed, prepared for another attack, but the man merely glared at her then turned and sprinted down the alleyway, blood dripping from his arm.

She didn’t waste any time herself. She yanked the knife from the neck of the dead man and wiped it clean on his pants. She looked down at herself, and apart from the blood smeared on her jacket, she wasn’t too much of a mess.

She slipped the jacket off, put her knives back in her boots and covered the remaining knife with her jacket. At the end of the alleyway, she found a bucket of dirty water and rinsed the blood off her boots so she wouldn’t track it out of the alleyway.

Her arm hurt like hell, but a quick glance told her it wasn’t too bad. The blade had just glanced off her skin, cutting a shallow gash about two inches long. It could have been a hell of a lot worse.

She hurried on to the hotel and snarled at the doorman when he took one look at her, turned his nose up and wouldn’t admit her. She gave him Esteban’s name and waited with ill-disguised impatience as he called up to verify her identity.

A few moments later, he uneasily escorted her to the elevator and ushered her in. The lift opened into a penthouse where she was met by two men who looked like poster children for steroid use.

When they tried to pat her down, she yanked the blade out from under the jacket and pointed it under the chin of the one with his hand on her shoulder.

“I suggest you back the f**k off,” she hissed. “I’ve had about all I can take this afternoon. You touch me one more goddamn time, and you’ll lose that hand.”

“Jorge, let her go.”

Tyana looked up to see Esteban standing across the room, an amused smirk on his face. Then she saw the man who’d cut her in the alley standing just beyond Esteban.

She stalked over to Esteban.

“You sleazy motherf*cker. What’s your game? You want to hire me, I say yes, and then you try to kill me?”

She pulled back to punch him but a hand gripped her wrist and squeezed painfully. She turned to gut the son of a bitch when again Esteban barked a command for his man to back off.

“Leave us,” Esteban ordered.

The three men complied, and she was left alone with Esteban.

“Come, sit down,” he said as he walked into the lavish sitting room.

She followed but opted to remain standing so she could see every entrance to the room.