Water Read Free Page B

another sharp twist and the knife fell out of his hand.
    "Bitch!"  he screamed.  "You will bear my mark before this is over."  
    I snorted with laughter at his exclamation.
    Laughter subdued, I grabbed the knife and made three quick cuts on his back.  Blood seeped through his shirt instantaneously in the shape of the letter K.  Not one to be outdone with tacky declarations, I announced, "But not before you bear mine."  I stepped back, releasing my grip on him, feeling entirely too pleased with myself.
    It was short lived; four hands grabbed me.  I had forgotten about the remaining two guards, significantly bigger men, who now had me sandwiched between them, keeping me all but immobile.
    Shawn took his time getting up from the ground, dusting himself off before turning to face me.  His eyes bore into me, burning with pure hatred.  He twisted my wrist, the same maneuver I used on him, confiscating the knife.  My eyes followed its tip as he ran it past my face.  I squirmed and the guards’ hold tightened.  Pleased he had my undivided attention, he replaced the knife in his pocket and reared his hand back for the punishing blow.  The sense of movements coming in slow motion worked against me.  The split second before he closed in on my cheek with his fist lasted far too long.
    I winced, bracing myself for the inevitable strike.  It never came.  Instead, I heard a loud slap.  Cautiously opening one eye and then the other, I only saw Shawn's knuckles, tightened with rage and mere inches from my face.  I looked past the fist, finding a newcomer gripping Shawn's wrist.
    I would have liked to call it a Mexican standoff but that implies each person has some sort of advantage; I did not.  Restrained beyond any hope of action, I studied the latest addition to the group.  He was average height and weight, with darker hair and a slight muscular build.  His eyebrows were thick and flat; expressionless.  There was enough stubble on his chin and cheeks to tell me he hadn't held a razor that morning, and probably not even the morning before.  Still, there was something appealing about him.  I chalked it up as nothing more than gratitude for sparing me a potential broken jaw.
    The two men, their hands still locked together, stared each other down.  It was a silent conversation, but one could follow the gist by telltale gestures; a raised eyebrow, a twitch at the corner of a mouth, a hardened stare, lowered lids.  Finally, a blink, and Shawn withdrew his fist.  Suppressed coughs and clearing throats, the kind of noises that usually followed an awkward moment, drew me from my trance.  More guards had joined the group.
    The newcomer turned to face the two men holding me.  "Let her go."
    The guards obeyed but didn’t step away.
    "She won’t run again."  His reassurance was directed toward the guards, but he looked at me.  He was right.  I wouldn’t.  Not until I had a better plan, at least.  I let my eyes meet his.  They were striking; pools of green that caused me to take a sharp breath in.  I forced my gaze away and shook my head as if to clear it.  There were more suppressed coughs and a few shuffling feet around us.  He was still looking at me, expecting some kind of, I don't know, introduction maybe?
    I raised my hand slightly and said in a low voice with downcast eyes, "Hey."  I wasn’t about to thank him, and they apparently already knew my name.
    "Hey, yourself."  A connection, however small, was established through our shared inability to converse.  It was enough to ease some of the tension.  Ignoring the anxious looks of the rest of the guards, he took the time to give me more information than anyone else cared to, "I am Micah."
    He waited long enough for Shawn to leave the pack and disappear into the building.  I would have been grateful except that Micah apparently intended for me to go in the same direction.  He motioned for me to follow.  I hesitated but had little choice.  The circle