Shen Wangjing let out a low roar and charged straight at the blade, seizing it with his bare left hand.
The edge sliced into his palm. Blood welled between his fingers, ran down his wrist into his sleeve, and dripped onto the concrete, splashing into one dark red flower after another.
The tattooed man froze for an instant. He had never expected anyone to catch a blade barehanded. In that instant of hesitation, Shen Wangjing's right fist slammed into his face, sending him flying, knife and all, into the base of the wall. The back of his head knocked off a chunk of plaster, and the watermelon knife clattered to the ground.
The blade was covered in blood. There was no telling whose it was.
Police sirens flooded in from the mouth of the alley, and flashing red and blue lights lit the narrow passage as brightly as day.
Armed tactical officers filed in. The tattooed man and the few underlings who were still conscious were pinned to the ground and handcuffed. The two in the warehouse whom Jiang Xun had knocked unconscious earlier were carried out as well.
Blood spattered the glass door of the phone booth.
The wound across Shen Wangjing's palm stretched from the web between his thumb and forefinger to the base of his little finger, but he seemed to feel no pain at all. He turned and slowly crouched, slipping his right hand-the only one he could still move-beneath Jiang Xun's knees and back to lift him off the ground.
Jiang Xun's head rested limply in the hollow of his shoulder, his breathing so faint it was almost imperceptible. Shen Wangjing lowered his head, his blood-soaked fringe brushing lightly against Jiang Xun's temple.
"I'm sorry."
His voice was so hoarse he could barely make a