| The Very Presentation Of Death

Ava practically shoved Ray along ahead of her. 'You've got to keep going,' she urged him, but she knew he couldn't last much longer. His ankle was bad and his head was worse. He had a sticky gash on the back of his skull from Stroke's blow with the bat. Blood had run down and soaked through the collar of his thin cotton shirt.

When he stumbled and nearly fell for about the fifteenth time, she guided him over to rest against the nearest doorway.

While Ray caught his breath, Ava looked around for any sign of Stroke or his thugs. But the street was silent and empty.

Where was Jack? Ava could've punched the wall with frustration. She'd have been with him now if that hand hadn't curled around her ankle back in the darkened room before she could take off after him. It was Cin or Puffy, or one of them, sprawled and hurting on the floor – reaching out, confused, scared in the darkness.

Join the freakin' club.