He drove his knee into my ribs, right over the gunshot wounds. The blow knocked the breath out of me, and a surge of pain paralyzed my body. I had one of the panther’s slippery wrists trapped in my claws—I could have twisted it until I tore his hand off. I was just about to bite down on his forearm when he slammed another merciless knee into me. Then another. And another.
On the fifth strike, he broke three of my ribs.
I didn’t know it was three at the time—I only felt them snap inside me with no chance of recovery. The pain tore through me like boiling heat spreading across the injured area, and my hands lost their strength, along with my jaws.
It was easy for him to shove me away and crawl back to watch me writhe on the railroad tracks while he laughed.
Breathing was agony. Every bre
