"Go to hell!" Finch spat, blood trickling from his lip. He tried to knee Carcel, but Carcel blocked it with his thigh.
Carcel pulled back his fist and struck Finch across the jaw. It was a brutal, efficient blow. Finch's head snapped back. His eyes rolled up.
"Wrong answer," Carcel whispered.
From the shadows, two more hired thugs ran out, clubs in hand. They had been hiding in the back of the carriage.
"Get him!" one shouted.
Carcel released the dazed Finch, letting him slide down the carriage door into the mud. He turned to face the new threats.
He rolled his shoulders. His knuckles were bruised. His coat was splashed with mud. He felt alive. It has been long he felt this excited to work with his fist.
The first thug swung the club. Carcel ducked, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. As the man fell, Carcel didn't wait. He turned to the second attacker.
But a shot rang out.
Bang.
