Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
He studied the feeder tube and the three closest to it. He could see the faint signs the assassin had left behind that marked the one he’d supposedly entered. The other two close to it were pristine. A rider could dive into a tube and clear the entrance without leaving a sign of passing if he wanted, but the portal would catch him and throw him into the slick fast-moving shadow before he was able to stop himself. Those small feeder tubes were pure hell when it came to riding them.
Still, his gut screamed at him he was in trouble. So where was the trouble coming from? He was a patient man when it came to hunting. He could be still for hours if need be. He remained exactly in place waiting to see if his quarry was in the entrance of the small feeder tube and if he had a partner creeping up behind Geno. He didn’t feel anyone behind him. He didn’t make the mistake of twisting around to see. Movement in the tubes displaced air and would tip off any experienced rider that he wasn’t alone.
Geno waited. The feeling of danger didn’t fade. He remained absolutely still just inside the mouth of the larger shadow where he could watch all three of the feeder tubes. It took another ten minutes before he felt a faint shift in the air right at the front of the feeder on his left. A gray outline appeared briefly and then the older man emerged fully from the feeder, stepping practically right into Geno. He was armed with a knife in each hand, holding them low, blade up, so he could sink the edge into Geno’s belly before he saw danger coming at him.
Geno caught both wrists in an unbreakable grip, directing the blades away from himself, his thumbs digging into the assassin’s pressure points as he stepped in close, crowding the man, knee between the man’s legs. The assassin shifted his weight, trying to step back into the feeder tube. At once, the speed and force of the tube threatened to rip the man from Geno’s grip. Instantly, the assassin threw his weight backward into the feeder tube, deliberately trying to fall onto his back and take Geno with him, rolling his wrist to turn the poisonous blades upward toward Geno’s arms.
Geno recognized he was in a perilous situation immediately, not necessarily from the assassin but from the power of the feeder tube.
Behind them, Amaranthe slid, no more than a small shadow slipping beneath the assassin so when he fell, the man crashed precisely on the much smaller body. She wrapped her legs around his chest, both hands gripping his head, anchoring herself. The tube ripped at the three bodies, hurtling them through the shadows toward the next fork.
Geno seized the assassin’s wrists, refusing to release him, keeping the knives out away from the man’s body, no longer worried for his own protection. He was terrified the man might be able to use the poisonous blades on Amaranthe. The assassin fought like a man possessed. The slick feeder tube ripped and pulled at their bodies, spinning and tearing as if trying to take their skin, hair and eyes from them.
Beneath the assassin, Amaranthe seemed abnormally still, and for a moment Geno feared she’d been knocked unconscious by the violence of the shadow tube and the collision of the assassin’s body with hers. Her hands and feet didn’t loosen for a minute. She stuck to the assassin as if glued to him, but she was utterly still and quiet, barely breathing.
Geno realized what she was doing. In the violent turbulence of the shadow tube and with Geno’s larger, very muscular body presenting such a clear threat, she was waiting for the assassin’s brain to dismiss her. Geno aided her instantly by tightening his grip on the man and turning his wrists slowly but surely so the edges of the blades faced toward the assassin’s skin.
Adrenaline and fear for his life made the man shockingly strong. He resisted hard, concentrating on keeping his hands away from his body, his gaze locking with Geno’s. Hatred gathered in those dark brown eyes. Whatever the reason this man had for targeting the Ferraro family for murder—it was very personal. Geno could detect fear, but there was so much loathing, so much it swamped him. Without warning, the man suddenly gave the appearance of giving in, his strength evaporating for a moment, arms caving, allowing the blades dangerously close to his thighs.
Just that fast, he turned the knives toward Geno’s inner arms and pressed upward. As if she instinctively knew his intentions, Amaranthe struck, wrenching as she’d been taught from the time she was a young child, breaking the assassin’s neck before he could complete his intention.
Geno hung on to the dead man until they reached the end of the feeder tube. One of the knives was lost to them, but the fist had locked down on the other. Geno cursed silently. It would take some time to find that knife, and he would have to. He didn’t dare take a chance that a rider might stumble across it and get cut.