The Only-Live-Once Society | Book 2

Prologue

It's not risk I'm willing to take. Besides, the attackers are on us now. I don't have time to run.

"Can we not"—I say with a grunt as I fend off the attacker's first blow—"do this"—I take a half-step to my left and kick out at his stomach—"today!" He falls to the ground.

A masked woman appears in front of me, popping up from nowhere. She whips out her arm and I feel a punch in my side, a perfect blow, causing me to fall down the stairs.

I don't know how to explain what happens next, call it adrenaline, but it's as if the last seventeen years, all that I've learnt about combat, come to the forefront of my mind.

I know that this fight isn't going to be won by the hardest kicks and punches. It's science. It's about the right timing, quick thinking; being light on your feet. It's like I have absolute clarity on how to move and what to do.

One of the men rushes towards me. I duck as his fist flies, it just about misses my head. I scan the stairway, our bags of luggage left abandoned, looking for a weapon, a way out, or both.

And that's when I see it— a vespa, right outside, easy to hot-wire and lure the attackers away. My heart pounds. Sweat dampens my face. I jump to my feet and sprint.

There are footsteps behind me—a hand on my arm. I spin around, pulling back my arm and punching the man in the throat. It's a perfect shot, he tumbles like a sack of bricks.

"Where are you going?" Grace yells, throwing the woman down the stairs, staring after me.

"I have a plan!" I yell back, reaching for the vespas handlebars and swinging my legs over the seat; I hotwire it in seconds. It roars to life.

After all, they only want me, right?

"Wait!" Vince shouts, knowing my plan straight away.

"Get to the car and drive!" I tell them, swinging my legs over the seat and shooting off.

"Amelia!" Vince screams.

Behind me, I see the attackers start chasing. Good. It's nice to know some things never change. It's nice to know that even though they have the blueprints of the weapon they want, stolen from my childhood home, they still want me.

Unless, of course, they don't have the blueprints and that's why they want me. Maybe Vince's mum isn't working with them after all.

The attackers scramble into a car and begin chase.

I don't focus on the fact that I legally am not allowed to drive as I'm only sixteen. Or what I'll do if this divulges into a high speed chase in the heart of London.

I just need to get them away from my friends. Friends who are now throwing themselves into Graces car. These are grown adults against three school kids, and I won't let them hurt more of the people I love.

The attackers car is faster then the little vespa. Grace and Vince are faster than us both and they bring themselves level with the attackers, with me gliding just in front.

My mind searches for what to do next. If I leave the square we're on then I head out onto a busy high road. No sooner do I think this, than do the attackers ram their car into Graces.

"No!" I cry out, as if that's all it will take to make them stop.

And then I see it—an old parking garage, twelve-feet in front of me. I push down on the accelerator as much as I can, pushing my head forward and bringing my elbows into my side, trying to make my body aerodynamic.

I whizz under the barrier of the car park and down the ramp.

Daring to look back as I speed around the corner, I see Grace and Vince spin out of a crash, leaving me alone with the attackers chasing, as their car flies after me through the narrow space.

I spin around the next corner and as soon as I'm out of their sight, I skid to a stop and throw myself from the scooter, crawling along the floor and behind the row of parked cars. I duck when their car slowly pulls up to the abandoned Vespa.

The car park is dark and dreary, one that hasn't had any money poured into it in decades. Somewhere in the background is a drip, drip, dripping of water. The air smells stale and musty.

I glance through the back window of a car, right through to the front window and out. Three bruised faces glare out as they trail past my vesper, crawling around the bend and up a level.

I wait for a minute before I start to make my escape, but someone grasps my shoulders with a steel grip, holding me to the spot. A part of me is relieved, if they have me then they'll leave Vince and Grace.

But the wilder part of me recognises they took too much last time, and I would rather die then let them take me back to the evil clutches of Daniel Snyder.

I claw against the hands; but hard as I try, I can't get free. A stark realisation that I'm still a teenager fighting grown adults, and even at my strongest I'm not strong enough.

The hand pushes me down harder, practically impossible to fight against.

"Stop," the voice says, and I spin quickly to see achingly familiar green eyes.

"Elijah?" I hiss.

He grins at me, "As I live and breathe."

I know this is not the time for it, but I still say, "What are you doing here?"

It's been six weeks since I saw his beautiful face. Six weeks since I smelt him. Six weeks since I felt truly safe.

"Grace called." He whispers, his eyes running over me to check for injuries.

All I can do is stare at him. It's like I've been put back together now he's here, a piece of me has been returned to make me whole.

He leans away, satisfied I'm okay. "I was cleared for the field. Didn't expect to see you sprinting off on a bike though."

Just then someone grabs Elijah and throws him over the roof of the car we are crouching behind. No thoughts come to mind. No plan of action. No natural instinct.

Suddenly, I'm all flight or fight.

"Elijah!" I scream, scrambling to my feet.

My eyes land on his, over the top of the car he was thrown across, he jumps to his feet, a gash on his head. The man who threw him is converging on him.

I take a step forward but there a stab in  my side where I was punched on the stairs making me gasp in pain, I know my ribs are either broken or bruised. I realise I already don't have much fight left in me.

Behind us, an ear splitting screech causes me to spin around, bracing myself, knowing that I probably won't win this round, two men rush out of a car.

"Grab her," one of them says, pointing at me.

"Like hell!" I hear Vince shout. He flies in from nowhere like Tarzan. Kicking out both his legs and taking both men out at the same time, his feet perfectly smashing their heads.

Elijah is locked in a chokehold with a guy four times the size of him, which is no easy feat considering the height and width of Elijah.

Vince and I dash towards him, fending off the mountain of a man. We succeed, but just about. The other two men have gotten back to their feet and are heading straight towards us.

There is no place we can run. No place we can hide. Three figures approach us in perfect formation—a hunting party, coming for me. Coming to deliver me back to Daniel, who no longer needs me alive and tortured.

I grab Elijah's arm and turn to Vince, "We've got to get to Grace."

"Okay," he says. "How?"

Just then, a car I don't recognise comes shrieking into the parking-lot, sat in the front of is my friend, her strawberry blonde hair wild. She screeches to a halt, swinging opening the passenger door right next to us.

Salvation.

"Get in losers," she yells.

We don't wait for her to say it twice and scramble into the vehicle, she veers off before the doors are even closed, leaving our attackers to dust.

"Woo-hoo!" Vince screams, fist punching the air.

I do as a trained spy should, as we're told to do - I burst into tears.