His friends rush forward, but Freddy lifts his hand and starts to pull himself up. Getting to his feet, he spits blood near mine. “Nobody steps in. She’s mine.”
I see the look in his eyes, and I know he means business. He takes something out of his pocket; it’s a sharp knife. My body tenses. “You need a weapon to take me on?”
Freddy’s upper lip curls. “You’re not the only one who can fight dirty.”
My jaw tightens. “You don’t know the first thing about fighting dirty. You’re just a couple of boys acting like gangsters.”
I can see that my words set him off, and when he jumps at me, the knife is out front. My focus is on avoiding it. However, as I dodge the blade, I make the egregious error of forgetting that he has more than one weapon: his claws dig into my shoulder and rake down the si
