Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath by Emily Kimelman

wrists and wound up his arms, Cyrillic lettering interspersed with swastikas was the theme. Oh, and titties.
    When I didn’t respond to the big guy’s question the smaller one smirked. “Vhat are you, blind and deaf?” he asked, his accent thicker. It took me a second to realize he thought I was blind and that Blue was my seeing eye dog.
    The door began to swing shut behind me, sweeping darkness across the floor. It closed with a soft click.
    “Get out,” the big one told me again. He was starting to look angry, his shoulders bunching up, making his neck look comically short.
    “Do you speak English?” I asked the women. The one with the forearm bruises understood me, I could see it in her eyes. But she didn’t answer.
    “You go now, we are closed,” the big one said.
    “Are you okay?” I asked her.
    He started toward me. The woman licked her lips and then pulled the bottom one between her teeth, biting down on it. She had big brown eyes and stringy blonde hair that hung down to her bony shoulders. She was wearing a bright blue dress. Its rich color made her pale skin look gray. The smaller man reached out and grabbed her bicep, shaking her hard. She winced and lowered her eyes to the ground, teetering on high heels.
    Blue growled and raised his hackles. The big man’s approach stuttered but didn’t stop. He reached out, as if to take my left arm. Blue’s growl grew louder. The man’s fingers touched my skin. I squatted low twisting my body away from him and fisting my right hand. Blue barked, high pitched and grating, throwing the big guy off as much as my quick movement. Pushing into the ground, I rocketed my body up, extending my right arm while keeping a slight bend in the elbow, and plowed into the guy’s chin.
    He stumbled back, his neck exposed. Pivoting fast I drove my left fist into his throat. His hands flew up, clutching at his neck. The man’s feet lost contact with the ground, his knees buckled, and he landed on his ass hard enough that I felt it through the floor. Staring up at me with bulging eyes he coughed on a breath. Wheezed and coughed again.
    I looked up and the smaller man was struggling to pull a gun out of his pants while still clutching onto the girl. She was shaking violently and pulling away from him, the whites of her eyes visible in her panic. The sight of his pistol had snagged in his pants and all he needed to do was let go of the girl and free it, but he was too shocked, his body wouldn’t let him release her. And that was going to cost him.
    Blue leapt forward, placing his front paws on the big guy’s shoulders, knocking him flat on his back. I knew he’d placed his teeth against the man’s already bruised throat but I didn’t wait to watch. I ran as fast as I could toward the guy with the grip. His eyes widened in the moment it took me to close the space between us and his gun arm pulled harder.
    Pivoting sideways I used my momentum to jam my elbow into his solar plexus, keeping it there as he bent around my arm, his face almost touching my shoulder. He let go of the girl and she fell back with a small cry. Straightening my arm, I reached down and wrapped my hand around his, sneaking my finger in front of his and over the trigger. With my free hand I grabbed him behind the neck. He went very still. Our faces were a breath away from each other, his chin pressed on the back of my bicep, body curled around the gun aimed at his junk.
    Sweat poured down his brow and his mouth was open, sucking in air. The man’s heartbeat thumped in his chest and I could feel it against my arm. He was very much alive and knew that could be extremely temporary.
    Blue’s low growl permeated the air and I could hear the big man’s wheezing breaths. Quieter still was the soft mews of the women, they were good at crying silently. “I know you can understand me,” I said to the woman, while keeping my eyes on the man.
    Her friends had helped her up and now they stood together, a tight huddle,