Toward me.
Cute.
I step out from behind the corner.
The second guard clocks me and adjusts his trajectory. He's big and his whole body easily blocks my path.
Rex reaches Keith first.
Keith fires a second too late. His gun's already pointing at the ceiling instead of Rex because Rex's hand is wrapped around his wrist.
The sound Keith makes when Rex twists is deeply,deeplysatisfying.
But I can't watch because Big Boy Number Two is on me.
He swings.
I duck. Drop low, feel the fist whistle over my head, and drive upward with my elbow into the soft tissue under his ribs. He grunts and lashes a backhand that catches me across the cheekbone.
My head snaps sideways and my boots skid on the blood-slick concrete. I stagger but don't fall. He's already coming again, crowding my space, using his size to press me toward the wall. His fist cocks back.
I step inside his reach, where his fists lose all their power, and I slam the heel of my palm up under his chin. His teeth crack together. His head snaps back. Before he can recover, I hook my foot behind his ankle and shove with everything I've got.
He goes down hard.
His skull bounces off the concrete and his eyes go glassy. He's not out, but he's dazed, and his hands are scrabbling at the floor.
I drop to one knee and rip the gun out of his hand.
It's heavier than what I trained with at the range, but the grip fits my hand well enough and my index finger finds the trigger guard and settles outside it the way I was taught.
Behind me, Rex has Keith pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against the shithead alpha's throat. Keith's gun is on the floor somewhere and his free hand is clawing at Rex's arm, hisfeet barely touching the ground, his face darkening from red to purple.
Rex's face is inches from Keith.
A high, thin sound comes out of Keith and a dark spot spreads across the front of his pants. He's pissing himself.
"Let him go," I call to Rex, adjusting my grip on the pistol. "He's not worth it."
Rex doesn't move. His arm presses harder. Keith's eyes bulge.
I don't actually give a shit what Rex does to him. I'd love to see Keith get the life choked out of him while he pisses his pants. That's peak schadenfreude right there.
But Rex's arm is trembling and his legs are shaking too. Feral or not, he doesn't have the energy to hold an alpha Keith's size against a wall like this. Not after getting shot.
"Rex."
He drops Keith with a furious snarl.
Keith crumples, gasping, both hands at his throat. He coughs, retches, and scrambles onto his hands and knees.
The guard I floored is getting up too. He sways, hand to the back of his skull, blood in his hair.
"Stay thefuckdown," I snap, raising the pistol.
He stays down.
Keith does not.