Juliet Immortal

follow the first blow with a punch in the stomach, but I can tell he isn’t hurt. At least, not badly enough. We’re too close for me to put any power behind my movement, even if I were in top form.
    I have to get out.
    Shoving him to one side, I lunge for the handle of the roof, but he grabs my arm and twists it behind my back. “Bastard!” I scream, surprised at how much it hurts.
    “Calling names. Shame. Aren’t we beyond that, sweetness?” With a grunt, he shoves me into the backseat, his knee sharp against my spine. I land on my stomach with my arm still wrenched behind me. Romeo gives my arm another jerk, making me howl.
    No. Not like this, not tonight
. On impulse, I reach around with my free hand and grab the most sensitive bits of any man—past or present—and twist them. Hard.
    Romeo growls and knocks my hand away, then snatches my other wrist and jerks it behind me as well. “I’m going to rip your arms off and eat them. While you watch!” He hauls at my limbs until my muscles and joints scream and things needed to hold my body together threaten to snap.
    He’s going to do it, actually
rip
my arms from my body with his bare hands.
    “Is that a taste you acquired in hell?” I ask, my voice high and thin as I fight to focus through the pain, praying that my words will distract him long enough for me to catch a breath, to think of some way
out
.
    “I’ve never been to hell. You know that, love.” His grip eases the slightest bit. “I’ve found eternity enjoyable thus far. Why don’t we go find a soul for you to steal, and you can learn about life as a Mercenary for yourself?” He leans closer, his cheek pressing tight to mine. “I know you’ve been dying to be together again, though it makes you feel naughty that I get under that lovely skin.”
    “You’re mad.”
    “Am I?” The torture in my arms is suddenly gone, replaced by the greater torment of Romeo’s lips at my neck, his hands smoothing over my hips. The part of me that recalls how his touch used to make me feel—beautiful and beloved—hums, the hint of bliss making my sick stomach even sicker.
    “Get off me!”
    “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright,” he whispers, helping cool the faint shimmer of need.
    That
horrible
play. That contemptible,
lying
play he helped Shakespeare pen all those hundreds of years ago when he first twisted our story to fit his agenda. It worked far too well. Shakespeare’s enduring tragedy did its part to further the goals of the Mercenaries—glamorizing death, making dying for love seem the most noble act of all, though nothing could be further from the truth. Taking an innocent life—in a misguided attempt to prove love or for any other reason—is a useless waste.
    But what about a not-so-innocent life? Why can’t I
kill
this abomination? Why is my
easily
justified vengeance forbidden by the Ambassadors? Killing me was bad enough; that Romeo made certain the world has remembered a false version of our tragedy for
hundreds
of years adds heinous insult to unforgivable injury.
    But he knows that. The monster.
    Time to make use of my free arms.
    “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a—”
    Romeo’s words end in a groan as I shift my legs, leveraging my feet against the seat and shoving us both backward. His spine collides with the dash with a satisfying thud. I’m getting stronger, perhaps strong enough to bypass figuring out how to work the roof’s latch altogether.
    I reach back, grab handfuls of Romeo’s sweater as I bend double and shift my feet again, pushing against the center console, driving his skull into the rectangle of glass above our heads. The roof fractures with a crack that’s muffled by the crunch of bone.
    My heart lurches as I drop Romeo, leaving him sprawled across the driver’s seat, and turn my attention to the broken glass. I haven’t killed him—he’s still conscious and moaning—but I’ve hurt him more than I intended. The smell of fresh blood spilling onto the upholstery makes bile rise in my throat as I punch through the roof, scattering blunt pieces of glass before pulling myself through the hole I’ve made. By the time I make it out onto the hood and down to the ground below, I’m trembling.
    But I don’t pause to look at Romeo’s new face through the driver’s window before turning and scrambling up the side of the ravine. Romeo can heal even greater damage than I can; it’s one of the Mercenaries’ greatest gifts.