Delih’s breath came harsh through her teeth, chest heaving as she squared off against Roughhouse. The brute loomed like a mountain, battered but far from beaten.

  Her arms ached. Her ribs burned from where his st strike had nearly caved them in. But her grin didn’t falter. She’d fought men faster, stronger, crueler. And she was still standing. The only problem with this guy was his durability and healing.

  Roughhouse cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders with the zy calm of someone who knew he could keep swinging all night. “You’re tough, girl. But tough don’t beat me.”

  Delih spat blood onto the dock floor. “Tough? No, it won’t, but skill will.”

  Roughhouse charged. The dock shuddered beneath his pounding steps. Delih darted sideways, fast as a whip, her heel catching his knee at the angle just sharp enough to buckle it. He stumbled, cursing, and she lunged—fists hammering his jaw, elbows smashing his throat.

  Roughhouse reeled but recovered fast, swiping his arm wide. She ducked under it, drove a knife-hand strike into his ribs, then snapped a kick into his gut. The giant staggered back against a shipping container, the impact ringing like a drum.

  “Not ughing now, are you?” she snarled, eyes fshing.

  Roughhouse grinned through the blood running down his chin. “You hit hard, doll. But I hit harder.”

  He swung. She caught the fist with both hands, twisting, redirecting the force into the container wall. Metal groaned and dented under the impact. Before he could recover, she smmed her forehead into his nose.

  Bone crunched. He roared. She ughed.

  But the ughter masked the truth: her body was wearing down. Each blow rattled deeper. Her arms screamed from absorbing his power. Every dodge, every counter cost her precious energy.

  Roughhouse was like Juggernaut—less a man, more a boulder rolling downhill. You didn’t stop him; you redirected him. And Delih knew she had only so many redirections left.

  He caught her across the chest with a gncing blow, and it was like being hit by a car. She flew back into a stack of crates, wood splintering around her. Pain fred through her side, sharp and hot.

  She groaned, staggered to her feet, and wiped her mouth. Her vision blurred, but her smile was wicked. “That's all you got? I thought you were supposed to be scary.”

  Roughhouse bared his teeth. “Keep talkin’. You won’t have a jaw left to fp.”

  She backed toward the crane, eyes flicking upward. The container dangled, chained and creaking. She remembered Ricochet’s move earlier. Clever kid. Time to prove she could py that game too.

  Roughhouse charged again. She let him. Waited until the st second, then dove aside. His momentum carried him under the crane, his fists smashing sparks from the concrete.

  Delih drew her pistol in one smooth motion. “Smile, big man.”

  She fired. Not at him, but at the chain.

  The bullets tore through the links. Metal screeched, then snapped. The container dropped like a guillotine, smming down onto Roughhouse with an earth-shaking crash.

  Dust and debris plumed into the air. The dock rattled with the impact. For a moment, silence reigned—then the muffled sound of Roughhouse roaring from beneath the steel.

  Delih holstered the pistol and exhaled. “That’s how you win.”

  She turned—and froze.

  A cold hand cmped over her shoulder. Cws dug into her skin. Her blood ran hot down her back, faster and faster as the grip tightened.

  Pain tore through her veins like fire. Her body convulsed. She tried to wrench free, but the strength left her limbs. Her knees buckled. Her breath hitched, and for the first time in years, Delih felt fear.

  “Such fire,” Bloodscream whispered into her ear, his voice a serpent’s hiss. “It burns sweet.”

  Her scream caught in her throat as the life bled from her body. Darkness swam at the edges of her vision. She cwed at his grip, but it was like fighting iron.

  Her strength gave out. Her body sagged in his grasp. The world dimmed, sounds distant. Her st thought, bitter and furious, was that she had almost had him. Almost.

  Then everything went bck.

  Ricochet saw it—the pale figure with his cws sunk into Delih’s back, her body going limp. His chest seized with arm. He couldn’t let her die, not now, not like this.

  He sprinted, springing off a container wall. His boot connected with Bloodscream’s chest, the impact unching the vampire back into a steel gantry. The creature hissed, releasing Delih’s body as he staggered.

  Ricochet nded, ready to press the attack, his discs already fshing in his hands. Bloodscream rose, eyes burning brighter, fury twisting his features.

  The fight wasn’t over. It had just shifted.

  Unseen, perched high in the shadows, Felicia Hardy watched with sharp eyes. She had tracked every motion, every blow. She had seen Delih fall.

  Now, as Ricochet squared off with Bloodscream, Felicia slipped down silently, her cws hooking into the steel to control her descent. She nded beside Delih’s unconscious body, movements quiet as breath.

  “Don’t worry, kitty,” she whispered, hefting the assassin onto her shoulder with practiced strength. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  Ethan’s voice called out from the communicator, “Don’t forget the other important thing I asked you to get.”

  Soon, with her job done, she vanished into the shadows before Ricochet or Bloodscream noticed, melting into the maze of containers. By the time anyone thought to look, Delih was gone—spirited away into the night.

  Ricochet tightened his grip on the steel pole in his hand, facing Bloodscream as the dock lights flickered and the water pped against the pilings.

  Roughhouse bellowed somewhere beneath the crushed container, his roars muffled but growing louder. Bloodscream hissed, crouched like a predator ready to spring.

  Ricochet’s jaw set beneath his mask.