He got so close I could taste the sour beer on his breath. I shut my eyes, a silent scream trapped in my throat, hating the alcohol that made my limbs useless and my world a tilting prison. I braced for the tearing, the weight, the end.
Slash!
A wet, slicing sound. Something hot and thick spattered across my face.
My eyes flew open.
The guard was frozen, a statue of shock. A blade—long, thin, and vicious—was buried in the hinge of his jaw, its tip erupting from the opposite side of his nose. A grotesque metal mustache. Blood, dark and shocking, welled around the steel and fell in fat, warm drops onto my cheeks and chest.
A choked, wet gurgle escaped his lips. He collapsed backward, hitting the concrete with a heavy, final thud.
"Oh, my God." The whisper was mine, but it sounded alien.
My gaze jerked upward, past the twitching body.
