He should’ve felt the heated surge of fresh adrenaline. But, instead, a cool calmness washed over him.
He didn’t drop the shotgun. But neither did he brandish it as he slowly,slowlyturned until he faced the Russian.
His first thought was,This is one tough bastard.His second thought was,He looks like hammered dog shit.
The crash had left Orpheus with a deep gash above his right eye. It leaked thick rivulets of blood that mixed in with the blood still trickling from his nose thanks to Grace’s well-timed headbutt. The way he held his left arm told Hunter the appendage was broken. And the fact the assassin limped forward heavily on one foot broadcasted that the bullet wound in the opposite ankle had made that limb nearly useless.
Why hasn’t he shot me?
Then he knew. Orpheus’s gun hand shook violently from shock and pain and blood loss. The Russianneededto close the distance between them to make sure his shot actually hit his target before Hunter had time to lift the scatter gun and fill the assassin’s chest with buckshot.
“Drop it. I will not ask again,” Orpheus snarled, limping ever closer so that the starlight blinked dully against the matte black finish on the end of the silencer. “Kick it toward me,” he added harshly.
Lifting the hand not holding the shotgun, Hunter slowly bent and deposited the big Remington on the ground. After straightening, he used his booted toe on the butt of the weapon to send it zinging across the road. It made a terrible rattling sound as it skimmed the asphalt and then came to rest two feet behind the Russian.
It was at that moment the world around him faded to black. His entire existence condensed down to the assassin and the few feet separating them.
Come on. Come on, you sonofabitch. Do it.Do it!
Orpheus did it.
The Russian turned his chin to see where the shotgun landed and it was the opening Hunter had been waiting for.
With a roar, he launched himself at the man. The minute his booted feet left the ground, time stood still. Or, at least, it seemed to slow to a snail’s pace.
He saw Orpheus turn back, eyes wide with shock. Saw the instant the man understood his mistake. And then saw the Russian squeeze the trigger.
Poom!
The round flew by Hunter’s cheek, displacing the air at the same time he heard the report. But not only was the shot wide. It was too late.
He hit the Russian with all of his two-hundred-and-five pounds. And, for a brief moment, they were airborne.
With time slowed, he was able to think through how things would go next. Which meant when they hit the ground, Orpheus’s back smashing into the pavement and cushioning Hunter’s landing, he was fully prepared to take advantage of the assassin’s shock.
He wrestled the pistol and its attached silencer out of the man’s stunned hand and shoved it beneath the bastard’s chin before the Russian even had time to catch the breath the fall had knocked out of him.
“No—” was all Orpheus managed before Hunter pulled the trigger and blew the top of the fucker’s head off.
“That was for Dale and Sissy,” he snarled as he watched the life fade from the assassin’s blue eyes. After he shoved to his feet, he gave in to the urge to spit on the corpse. “And I hope your death was anything but soft, you weird, whistling, murderous prick.”
32
56 Crimson Valley Ave.
Something was wrong.
Grace’s eyes wouldn’t focus. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. And after she’d stumbled from the den to the front door to await Hunter’s return, she’d been too weak to keep standing.
Blood loss?she wondered. The wound over her scalp continued to seep despite using a tea towel to apply continual pressure.
She sat half-in/half-out of the front door, leaning heavily against the jamb, staring numbly at the darkness engulfing the acreage beyond the house. The night insects buzzed as they called to their mates. And somewhere off in the distance, the lonely cry of a whippoorwill echoed through the trees.
I used to love the night, she thought groggily. Love the dark and the quiet and the cool. But after the past two nights, she was beginning to loathe the idea of the sun setting.
Bad things happened under the stars.
The distant rumble of a big engine didn’t immediately catch her attention. And when the low, throaty sounddidfilter through her sluggishly working gray matter, she thought maybe she was hallucinating. Hunter hadn’t been gone long enough to finish off the assassin.
