Head down, eyes steady, he eased to one side, circling the man, spinning on his own axis, putting his back downstream.
“I’m not with them,” the man said. “Let me help you.” The man’s eyes shifted. “He’s still there. Deegan. We need to take him down, together.”
Elias was slow, exhausted, and hurt, waterlogged, cold. His eyes couldn’t seem to focus on the guy, but he could damage him. He could tear him apart, maybe throw him in the river. And then he’d move on to the next obstacle between him and Leo. That was it. All that mattered. One down. Another to go.
He attacked. The man swung wide, and Elias dipped, sunk his fist into hard solar plexus. His knuckles hurt almost pleasurably.
This time when the man kicked, he was ready. He blocked it with his own leg, the pain of connecting shinbones electrifying. The shock resonated on the other man’s face, there and gone. Instantly replaced with grim determination.
The man wasn’t big, but he was fast. And he could take a hit. Ulnas collided, arms swung. Fists missed…and then got their targets with bone-crunching pain.
Elias couldn’t feel it, wouldn’t give himself the luxury. Quick swing, dip, lunge to the side. The man grabbed his hand and twisted. Elias wrenched away and sent an elbow up, curled, came back with a roundhouse to the side of his head. The man lunged to one side, Elias to the other, out of breath, his throat raw, chest heavy and tight, but driven by this hunger to hurt. This rage.
A thrust, a parry, and they’d rounded the last outcropping of rocks before the falls hit them with spray and sound.
“Elias!”
Where was that coming from? He shook his head to clear it. That definitely wasn’t Leo’s voice. He twisted. She was on the ground in a crumpled heap, just a few feet from the edge. Deegan stood over her.
“Give us a shot!” the voice yelled again from above.
A shot?
He wanted to glance up but didn’t dare look away from the two men, one to his left and slightly behind, the other upriver, on his right. Both were armed. He didn’t stand a chance.
“They yours?” the smaller, dark-haired man with the English accent yelled above the din, his eyes flicking up at the aircraft, then back down again.
“Aren’t they yours?” His head swam, his vision dark at the edges.
“No.” The man looked at something over Elias’s shoulder. “Behind you.”
Before he even turned, he knew it was too late.
The other guy—the big blond one—kicked his feet out from under him, sending him down, knees connecting hard, then palms sliding on wet stone, legs dangling in thin air, hands grasping at the slippery rock. He slid slowly, then fast, his feet finding no purchase, the water splashing him from below.
His fingers dug in hard. His body stopped moving. He looked up.
The blond man swung a rifle up over his shoulder like a baseball bat.
On the downswing, Elias tightened every muscle in his body, preparing for the end.
***
Ash shot Deegan through the head, then lowered the gun and double-tapped him in the heart. The man’s body took a slow tumble into the falls. His biggest regret, now that his hand had been forced, was that he hadn’t killed the idiot days ago. He didn’t bother asking any of those fickle gods why they’d save this man’s life and take his little girl’s. Questions like that led to nothing but pain. No such thing as fairness in this world.
Someone shot at him from the helicopter. Wonderful. That would complicate things.
Without waiting for the body to topple, he ducked, rushed to the edge and dropped to his knees, reaching with both hands. “You’ve got a foothold on the left. It’s a reach,” he yelled. But if anyone could make it, it was this man.
Pulse hammering, he watched as the giant swung just a bit left… His bare foot caught the ledge, slipped, and then held.
Ash let out a long, slow breath.
“Come on. You’ve got it.” He didn’t look at the aircraft, though he wondered why its occupants had stopped shooting. The man’s foot found purchase and he was up, one hand in Ash’s, climbing fast and hard until he stood, towering over him.
“Told you I’m not your enemy.”
“Who are you?”
