CHAPTER EIGHT
Outside the coffee shop, Avery held a bag of ice over her eye. Two nasty bruises were throbbing beneath it, and her cheek was swollen. It was also hard to breathe, which made her think she’d fractured a rib, and her neck was still sore and red from the tight squeeze of Desoto.
Despite the abuse, Avery felt good. Better than good. She’d successfully defended herself against a giant killer and five other men.
You did it, she thought.
She’d spent years learning to fight, countless years and hours when she was the only one in the dojo, just sparring with herself. She’d been in other fights before, but none against five men, and certainly none against someone as powerful as Desoto.
Ramirez sat on the curb. He’d been on the verge of collapse ever since the basement. Compared t
