“Terrible.” Peter’s pale face became slightly pink, a physiological response indicating potential guilt. But was it from a deceitful business move, or was the CFO involved in the kidnapping? Or could it simply be the alcohol? Give Rif five minutes with Peter in a dark alley, and he’d get the answer, but Thea always wanted to play it straight.
A text message alert from her father’s phone emanated from her purse.
“I need to take this; it could be work,” she said. “Please excuse me.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll keep you posted on any developments.”
Rif stood, letting her slip out of the booth. A slight tremor in her knees was the only sign of her tension, and he only noticed because he knew her so well. She strode toward the door. He leaned down inches from Peter’s face and looked him in the eye. “You’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
Peter’s skin darkened to deep pink.
Chapter Eleven
Thea stepped outside the club into the cool night, desperate for fresh air. Rif stood beside her, surveying the deserted street and the shadowed overhangs. Diligent, as always. Good thing, as her brain was wrapped in layers of fog.
“Let’s go.” He had his hand on her back, guiding her down the alley.
A war raged inside her. She ached to know the kidnappers’ next move but dreaded potential bad news. Whoever was behind this had already left a trail of corpses. She couldn’t bear the thought of Papa being one of them. No way could she wait to read the message. She fumbled in her purse for her father’s cell.
Before she could pull it out of her purse, Rif’s fingers dug into her arm. She looked up. Four figures dressed in black had encircled them. Two held knives, one had a crowbar, and the fourth brandished a chain.
She dropped the phone back into her purse and slung the strap across her body to free her hands. Instinctively she and Rif positioned themselves back-to-back. She slipped off her Louboutins and kicked them aside.
Two men charged her while the other two pounced on Rif. Her sensei’s voice filled her thoughts. Unless they are highly trained, people don’t work well in packs. Use their disorganization against them.
She moved to the left, forcing them into the nearby alcove. The first attacker approached. A flash of steel drew her attention. She stepped aside, hooked her wrist around his forearm, and stepped into the hold. Crack. She broke his arm and shoved him into the other man. The knife clattered to the ground. She spun around.
The second attacker pushed the first aside and came straight for her. She turned to avoid the chain. Too late. The heavy links lashed her back, battering her right kidney. Pain shot through her body.
She was reeling when a solid weight tackled her onto the ground, followed by a punch that rattled her teeth. She rolled away, coiled her legs, and unleashed the bottom of her right foot into the man’s solar plexus. He collapsed, a loud wheezing sound escaping his throat. She scrambled to stand, the rough cobblestones scraping the bottom of her feet.
Movement registered in her peripheral vision. Rif fighting his assailants. Grunts, blood, the sound of a crowbar meeting flesh.
A metallic taste flooded her mouth. Before she could recover, the second attacker came for her again. The chain swung around. She tried to scramble out of the way, but the heavy links crashed into her shoulder, slamming her to the ground again. Her head collided with the cobblestones, leaving her in a haze. She tried to shake it off. The man stood over her, chain in hand.
She blinked, trying to clear her double vision. Her sensei’s advice again flashed in her mind. Chained weapons have a downside, leaving their users unbalanced. She protected her head with her arms as the metal links crashed into her.
After absorbing the blow, she grabbed the chain with both hands and used a quick shift of her body weight to pull him off balance. The attacker stumbled forward. A beefy, barrel-chested man, he could easily overpower her in close quarters.
She needed the knife. On all fours she scrambled for the weapon, but his meaty fingers grabbed her left leg and pulled her toward him before she could reach it.
He flipped her onto her back and straddled her torso, forcing the air out of her lungs. His hands closed around her throat, tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Her vision swam.
No, she had to fight. For Papa, Aegis, Nikos.
Her hand felt along the ground and found one of her shoes. She tightened her grip on the stiletto and swung hard, driving the heel into her attacker’s neck. He grunted, mouth slackening. His fingers loosened around her throat and went to his own. He slumped on top of her. Dark blood spurted onto the cobblestones.
Seconds later, Rif ripped the massive man off her. She gasped for air. Sirens sounded in the distance. Three of the attackers limped into the darkness. The man with the stiletto lodged in his neck lay still.
“You okay?” Rif helped her to a sitting position.
She nodded. “I had it covered.”
“Killer heels.” Rif removed the man’s ski mask, revealing his bullish nose and olive skin, and snapped a few photos with his cell.
The wailing of the sirens intensified.
“Let’s get out of here.” He yanked the stiletto from the man’s neck. Blood had soaked through the delicate fabric.