“Until you forgive yourself . . .”

Sergei scrambled for the gun, and Colt flipped over, groaning, breathing through burning ribs, and grabbed his leg. Tripped him. Then he yanked the man back.

“Oh no you don’t—”

He swung his fist into Sergei’s face.

The man swore, blood exploding from his nose.

Colt fought to his knees and leaped again for the gun.

Sergei landed on top of him. They crashed into the cement. Colt let out a howl and didn’t care. But his fingers latched around the barrel.

Sergei grabbed the handle, his finger reaching for the trigger.

An elbow bashing into Sergei’s face had him sliding off, wrenching the gun around.

Colt deflected the barrel as a round went off near his ear. It rang, the flash blinding.

Sergei hit him, a fist in his jaw, and heat exploded through him. But Colt pried the gun away and it went spinning across the floor.

And then it was just Colt and Sergei.

He didn’t care how tough the guy was, Colt was tougher.

Colt rounded with a fist that knocked the man off him, then rolled and landed on him. Dodged the hit to his face and landed another blow.

Sergei got an arm up, his hand around Colt’s neck, but Colt tore it away and pounded his fist into his side. Bones crunched.

Colt didn’t know where it came from, but suddenly heat scraped up the side of his body. He gasped, the pain shearing through him, his entire body lighting on fire.

Sergei lifted a shard of plastic, blood dripping from it.

One of the destroyed drone pieces.

“Time to die—” Sergei ended with a word Colt barely heard because Sergei kneed him in his open wound.

The pain could split him.

He fell off the man with a deep grunt, gritting his teeth. Gasping.

Get up— Get—

Sergei rose. Walked past him, swept up the gun. Dropped the plastic shard. Pointed the gun at Colt. “Everybody has a right to be stupid, but some people abuse the privilege. You will die. And she will belong to me.”

Colt kicked out. It grazed Sergei’s knee.

He stumbled back, then righted himself. Laughed. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“C’mon, Colt. You can do better than that.”

He stilled, another memory raking through him.

His mother’s voice. Her face, smiling down, as she tickled him, wrestling with him. He squealed, squirming. Laughing.

“C’mon, you scamp.”

She wasn’t trying hard, he knew that, but still he wrestled himself away from her. Bounced back, laughing.

And she sat on the floor, too, grinning at him. “There you go. My tough little Colt. See, you’re stronger than you think. Now, it’s your turn . . . I’ll hide, and you find me.”

His vision cleared, the pain dropping away. “Colt, you were so much like her. She was her own person. An artist. A fighter.”