bridge of his nose. "Shit."
CHAPTER 13
" W ho the fuck would fly a drone through your yard." Marty's question lacks the expected questioning tone, where he would normally elevate the pitch of the last syllable in the sentence. Instead, it's a demand laced with the threat of beating Henry senseless.
Mel grumbles, picking herself up off the floor. "The only reason I'm not kicking your ass is because I thought you were dead. I'm giving you a do-over. You're a thorn in my side, Mart-AN." She glares at him, nostrils flaring like she wants to rip him a new one.
I wonder if the two of them have more in common than they thought. How unnerving is it to have a dorky ninja sitting next to you day in and day out, never even once suspecting that he's lethal? Mel takes pride in reading people, in seeing through all facades. She's usually pretty good at it, but Marty makes her nervous. There was a time when she couldn't stand him and made fun of him relentlessly. That confident jibbing stops, replaced with grudging respect. It's freaking weird.
Marty rounds on her, his voice so soft and still it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. "The thorn won't be quite so bothersome when you're dead, Melanie."
She sneers and cocks her head to the side while cracking her knuckles. "Fine, you wanna piece of me, white boy! Let's go!"
"Pardon me—" Henry starts talking at the same time as me.
"You two need to stop—" What the hell is he being polite for? Can I kill you with my manners? I'm starting to think the British thing is an act.
"—but if you get blood on the carpet—" Henry places a slender finger in the air.
"—acting like children—"
"—it'll never come out—"
"—and work together—"
"—believe me—"
"—right now!" I'm seething, as I stand between the two of them, which is probably a dumb spot to be since they both have weapons.
"I know." Henry wears a placid expression on his face. We all stop yelling and stare at him. He stands there aloof to anything odd and shrugs. "As if I'm the only person here who's killed a man? Just because I stand with criminals and lie among them, doesn't mean I want a fifty thousand pound carpet stained or worse."
Mel's jaw is hanging open. "What the hell is worse than blood?"
"Knives, you circus freak of a woman. You probably have them hidden on your person. A cut carpet is a nightmare to repair, so keep your street fighting where it belongs, outside with the other monkeys."
Mel's spine straightens like someone inserted a rod. Her mouth snaps shut as her eyes do this super-wide blink in slow motion before narrowing into thin slits. "What did you call me?"
Henry opens his mouth, "Why is she offended? She knows she's black, right?"
Marty laughs and steps back. His hands are in a surrender stance. "You're a dead man. Even if I stop her now, she'll just come back and finish you later."
Mel launches at him, springing through the air like a tiger. Henry makes a shrill scream, but it's all show. The man can fight, which wasn't evident before. He falls to the floor, and she straddles him, underestimating him. She doesn't see it yet. He didn't have to go down. He fell on purpose. This is going to end badly.
"Mel, stop! We need him!" I yell at her, but I don't want to get too close. "He's playing you, you idiot! Stop it!"
A flash of light reflects from a short silver knife in Mel's hand before she winds up to sink it in his side. When her arm swings out, Henry moves. He knocks Mel off balance, and her blade goes flying. Henry's actions are swift and well executed. She never saw it coming. He flips over her, pressing her to the floor, and crushing the air out of her lungs, before reaching out and grabbing her knife. He yanks her head by her ponytail, lifting her chin off the floor, exposing her neck. He pins her to the floor, face down, and holds her knife to her throat. If she swallows, she'll bleed.
Marty stands there, arms folded, letting them kill each other.
I throw my foot at
CHAPTER 13
" W ho the fuck would fly a drone through your yard." Marty's question lacks the expected questioning tone, where he would normally elevate the pitch of the last syllable in the sentence. Instead, it's a demand laced with the threat of beating Henry senseless.
Mel grumbles, picking herself up off the floor. "The only reason I'm not kicking your ass is because I thought you were dead. I'm giving you a do-over. You're a thorn in my side, Mart-AN." She glares at him, nostrils flaring like she wants to rip him a new one.
I wonder if the two of them have more in common than they thought. How unnerving is it to have a dorky ninja sitting next to you day in and day out, never even once suspecting that he's lethal? Mel takes pride in reading people, in seeing through all facades. She's usually pretty good at it, but Marty makes her nervous. There was a time when she couldn't stand him and made fun of him relentlessly. That confident jibbing stops, replaced with grudging respect. It's freaking weird.
Marty rounds on her, his voice so soft and still it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. "The thorn won't be quite so bothersome when you're dead, Melanie."
She sneers and cocks her head to the side while cracking her knuckles. "Fine, you wanna piece of me, white boy! Let's go!"
"Pardon me—" Henry starts talking at the same time as me.
"You two need to stop—" What the hell is he being polite for? Can I kill you with my manners? I'm starting to think the British thing is an act.
"—but if you get blood on the carpet—" Henry places a slender finger in the air.
"—acting like children—"
"—it'll never come out—"
"—and work together—"
"—believe me—"
"—right now!" I'm seething, as I stand between the two of them, which is probably a dumb spot to be since they both have weapons.
"I know." Henry wears a placid expression on his face. We all stop yelling and stare at him. He stands there aloof to anything odd and shrugs. "As if I'm the only person here who's killed a man? Just because I stand with criminals and lie among them, doesn't mean I want a fifty thousand pound carpet stained or worse."
Mel's jaw is hanging open. "What the hell is worse than blood?"
"Knives, you circus freak of a woman. You probably have them hidden on your person. A cut carpet is a nightmare to repair, so keep your street fighting where it belongs, outside with the other monkeys."
Mel's spine straightens like someone inserted a rod. Her mouth snaps shut as her eyes do this super-wide blink in slow motion before narrowing into thin slits. "What did you call me?"
Henry opens his mouth, "Why is she offended? She knows she's black, right?"
Marty laughs and steps back. His hands are in a surrender stance. "You're a dead man. Even if I stop her now, she'll just come back and finish you later."
Mel launches at him, springing through the air like a tiger. Henry makes a shrill scream, but it's all show. The man can fight, which wasn't evident before. He falls to the floor, and she straddles him, underestimating him. She doesn't see it yet. He didn't have to go down. He fell on purpose. This is going to end badly.
"Mel, stop! We need him!" I yell at her, but I don't want to get too close. "He's playing you, you idiot! Stop it!"
A flash of light reflects from a short silver knife in Mel's hand before she winds up to sink it in his side. When her arm swings out, Henry moves. He knocks Mel off balance, and her blade goes flying. Henry's actions are swift and well executed. She never saw it coming. He flips over her, pressing her to the floor, and crushing the air out of her lungs, before reaching out and grabbing her knife. He yanks her head by her ponytail, lifting her chin off the floor, exposing her neck. He pins her to the floor, face down, and holds her knife to her throat. If she swallows, she'll bleed.
Marty stands there, arms folded, letting them kill each other.
I throw my foot at
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