Going to one knee next to the body of a man riddled with bullet holes, I look dispassionately over the fucker who'd taken Skye. It's not the bullet holes I find interesting though. Or at least not all of them. There are only two wounds I care about: the stab wound to the man's gut and the bullet to his head. I recognize the signature offensive move.
It's mine, and it's Skye's.
I'd taught her to take down her enemy with the knife and finish them with a bullet. Quick and efficient. Skye had been an apt pupil, but she isn't quite strong enough to spill the guts the way I'd instructed her to do. Instead, she rams the knife into her victim and twists.
That's how I know she's been here, in this clearing littered with bodies. I suspect she killed her captor and used his body as a shield.
I la
