Jensen’s snarl was a primal sound as he charged, forgetting the chaos erupting around him, his focus solely on me. He wasn’t fighting for control anymore; he was fighting out of pure, unadulterated hate. I stayed low, using the oak as cover, my mind already mapping his trajectory, calculating the angle of his attack. He was strong, but predictable. His rage made him sloppy.
“Fancy meeting you here, Jen,” I called out, my voice laced with sarcasm, trying to draw his attention, to make him overextend. “Come to admire my new digs? It’s not exactly the Ritz, but the security is surprisingly robust.”
He didn’t answer, just lunged again, his fist aiming for my head. I ducked under it, the wind of his swing whipping my hair, and came up in a crouch, ready to move. Rafe’s fight was a blur of con
