The Puppet Assassin [TTR sequel]

The Puppet Assassin - Ch 36 [family reunion]

I tightened my lips together and held back tears of defeat. No, that wasn’t me. That wasn’t who I am now.

I pulled myself off the bed and started a new exercise regime.

** **

“Shall we?”

My brother offered his arm towards me with a goading smirk.

I sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t move an inch. His smile grew wider as he stepped forward and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me up. I stumbled a little, purposely so that he’d think me weak. He gripped under my shoulder and practically levered me upright. I scrambled along beside him, taking in all possible exits as he led me to a small room. I saw a body tied to a chair in the middle of the room, a bag covering his face. But I still knew who it was before my brother yanked off the hood and revealed my former foster father.

He blinked rapidly and took in the both of us. He strained to speak against his gag. My gut clenched with distress.

“I have to move along a bit faster than my father did. I want you trained and out of this area as soon as possible. Remember that cooperation is rewarded while hindrance is not. Kill him, Dizelde. Kill the man who tortured and mutilated you.”

He dropped a knife at my feet and stepped back. Was he stupid? Did he think that I wouldn’t attack him when he armed me? I bent down and picked up the weapon. And turned to my brother. He didn’t even grimace.

“You know that only punishment awaits if you attempt to attack me.”

I shook my head, jutting out my chin. Like I would let this opportunity slip. Even as he slipped two blades out of his sleeves, I kept on coming. I ducked under his first swing and came up under it, blocking his other arm and bringing up the hilt of my blade against his jaw. I quickly darted away but he managed to slice one blade across my cheek. Still, he had to be in a large amount of pain. I’d at least fractured his jaw.

He shifted to the balls of his feet and cracked his neck, glaring at me. “It’s clear who got the brains in the gene pool.”

We both heard the crash of glass but I was the only one who stupidly glanced towards the sound. He leapt at me, forcing me to the ground where I smacked my head against the hard floor. It wasn’t enough to knock me out but I was dizzy enough to miss his backhand. I merely felt it as it snapped my neck to the side.

I got my knee between us and shoved him off me, rolling so that I was on top but everything froze as I tried to bring my knife upwards. One of his was against my neck.

“It was going to be fun, sister,” he said softly, regretfully.

The panic fled and training kicked in. I slammed the side of his arm down so that his blade left my throat without slicing it. He snarled angrily and grabbed onto my hair, pulling me over to his side. I screamed as he brought his fist down onto my wrist, cleanly smashing the healing bone. I gripped hard on my knife and stabbed into his bicep.

“Argh!” he cried out, pushing me away. He stood, wrenching the knife out of his arm. The squelching sound made me wince. My breath was coming out in shuddering gasps, the pain in my hand too great to ignore.

Finally I registered the sound of someone trying the door handle and, upon finding it locked, the thumps of the same person trying to break it down. My attention was quickly brought back to my brother as he stepped forward, determined.

“It does not end this way,” he growled.

“You’re right.”

I leapt at his legs, knocking them from under him. I fought against him with my teeth and fists, my only weapons. My heart was thundering in my ears, my adrenalin rushing to give me the energy I didn’t have. Somehow I got a grip on his wrist and locked my hand around his pinkie, pulling it back so that it broke. He dropped one knife but before I could reach it, he slammed me against the wall. At the same time the door smashed open and a blurred figure passed me, tackling Tristan. The red tinted hair and long build told me that Larkin was indeed alive. The thought made me relax and I shifted my hands to my stomach where my brother had struck to fling me back. I touched a wet substance and looked down. The knife’s hilt was decorated with silver and gold and looked more like something that should be hung from the wall rather than used in a fight. The blade was buried in my stomach.