Free Primacy of Darkness by Brock E. Deskins

people wearing black combat fatigues and balaclavas leapt out, grabbed Trinh, and pulled her inside. Another waved to Circe and shouted for her to get in. Circe glanced at Malone, who was already stumbling to his feet, and ran for the van. She paused just a moment at Leo’s motorcycle before jumping into the vehicle.
    The van’s tires screeched once again and accelerated in reverse. Leo made a staggering jog toward his fallen pistol, scooped it up, and managed to fire a single shot at the vehicle before it roared away and disappeared from view.

 
    CHAPTER 8
    To say I’m not on my ‘A’ game is a gross understatement. Lack of a proper feeding has left me slow and comparatively weak. I should be able to put this bloodling down without breaking a proverbial sweat no matter how excellent her fighting skills are, but between her combat prowess, my weakened state, and this goddam cord wrapped around my wrist, I am getting my ass handed to me.
    I decide that I have had enough. Kicking my ass is one thing, but the bitch made me wreck my brand new bike. She needs to die. I steel my resolve and swing my blade. She thinks I am trying to cut the cable again and relaxes the tension on it. Just because I’m not a wolf doesn’t mean I’m not above chewing off a limb to get free from a trap.
    My sword shears through the bone as well as the cord locked around my forearm. The cable falls away along with my hand and my jacket cuff. She stumbles back, faltering for just a second. A second is twice as long as I need. Finally, free of my reins, I lunge forward as fast as my legs will move. Even in my weakened state, it’s damned fast.
    She tries to take my head but I bat her sword aside like it’s a pesky fly. I smile as my blade plunges into her chest. I have no idea who she is, but she chose the wrong hombre to settle whatever grudge she has.
    I heft my blade to deliver a killing blow. A woman shouts a name from behind me: Trinh. I turn my head at the sound of her shout, screeching tires, and a roaring engine. I catch sight of the grille of a van before I’m suddenly airborne.
    The world shifts into slow motion. I watch the buildings gliding by. I see another woman standing near my bike holding a rifle. Our eyes meet for a brief second before I shoot past. I’ve reached the apex of my arc and start to descend. My shoulder strikes the pavement first, my head an instant later. My helmet is a skull cap, just enough to keep me from getting stopped by the cops, and does little to dampen my impact. Inertia is in control and it isn’t ready to free me just yet. I tumble and roll a dozen revolutions before it releases me from its grip.
    I scramble to my feet and make a staggering run for my pistol. I scoop up Shalonda and squeeze off a single round before the van reverses back onto the street and disappears. Only now do I focus on my wounds. I recover my hand and drop it and Shalonda into my jacket pocket. Pulling out my phone, I stab one of only a few numbers in my Contacts list with my thumb.
    “Raj, are you in your office?”
    “No, I left over an hour ago.”
    “I need you to get back there ASAP and prep for surgery.”
    “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    Raj is a good man. He doesn’t waste time with a bunch of questions. I holster my phone and trudge back to my bike. It’s a good thing I have super strength, or I would have one hell of a time getting my Harley back on its wheels. I’m able to get the bike in neutral and start it with one hand. The gearbox complains about my not using the clutch, but it grudgingly goes into gear.
    I pass several cop cars, their lights flashing and sirens blaring, likely on their way to the site of my ambush. It’s a short drive to the medical examiner’s office, but it gives me enough time to piece together what happened. Getting jumped in the middle of the street is odd enough, but being attacked by two women is beyond bizarre. I know I’m not popular with the ladies, but damn.
    My